We are brutally beautiful
We are
The soft red glow of a nuclear sunset
Pooling like blood
From wounds
Like that one time I cut my forearms open

Oh so that’s what a heartbeat looks like

It is sign language after a fist fight
When I’m so angry I can’t speak
So with my hands I tell you
No one should talk to you that way

It is the assbackwards way we allow ourselves to heal

For instance
When I had cancer
My parents took me to church when they could
Asked people to pray for me
And I thought drinking holy water might help me

It only made me sick
And I spent three days in the hospital

This life is *****
It is ugly

We are ugly
Like
Crime scene photos of bathtub suicides
Shortcutting life
And still getting into heaven

How after so many years
Just to make things interesting
Peter takes bribes now

And we are beautiful
Brutally beautiful
Endearing in our passion
Because it’s just a little too conscious to be animal
But we try

It is shotgunning a dove
And the rain of feathers
Even when damp with blood they are still soft

I wanna hold you tightly
You coarse cut angel
Your jagged edges rub
But neither of us wants to fall asleep alone

We will never be perfect
But we were supposed to be

Remember that
When your ugly rears its head
Like a mental mirror showing you only the things you notice about yourself
Know
nobody sees you the way you see yourself

Just remember
To smile more
And laugh when things are funny
Make love when you can

These things are good for you
Balance out the brutal
Because you

Are brutally beautiful

It's one of those nights - again.
My hope drips away, but I don't want to
Stop The Bleeding.
A scream claws at my throat
and I drown it down with another shot,
preceded by my medication.
Love Is The Movement
but no one has ever said to me,
“Wake Up, You’re Alive.
We’re On Your Side.”
So I'll fight this on my own
because here's the thing:
I have a whole list of people
who tell me I should just
Pick Up The Phone,
but they don't really understand
this sick obsession of mine.
I'm so tired of all this
pretending-to-care *******
everyone keeps feeding me.
"You Are Not Alone"
is nothing more than another lie.
Sure, I guess for some people
Rescue Is Possible,
but part of me has already died.

The days are winding 'round and 'round.
When will I have this mental break down?
Everything will be okay.
I'm just programed to feel this way.

You want me, you've got me.
I'm your drug; like ecstasy.
You're calling, you're craving.
You don't see the way that you're behaving.

I'm your princess; so cute and frail.
I'm tired of being your ****** up fairy-tale.
I'm a binge anorexic and a promiscuous ****!
When it comes to your "love" do you think I give a ****?

Use me, snort me, get addicted.
Shoot me up like I predicted.
Tell me I'm pretty?
I'm neurotic and crazy.

You can never give me enough.
Pleasing me is just too tough.
I'll eat you up and spit you out and you'll come back for more.
Begging and pleading, as you lay upon the floor.

Shaking and shivering from your withdrawal.
You need me so bad you're willing to crawl.
Hand me the ******* bottle of *****.
Neither of us has anything else to lose.

Let me help you crush those pills.
Can't wait to see what else spills.
Get a ******* grip on reality.
You will never be able to handle me.

I'm a selfish ***** with panic attacks.
I'm a seductive ***** that always wants you back.
Vampire or victim, you decide.
The truth is really all mine to hide.

After lunchtime, and before tea
Donna quietly bade farewell
to Mr. Samuels
and to herself.
Calmly, she twisted the bolt
into the lock
and pleasantly drew the curtains
closed.
She gratefully glanced at a photo
of her dog
and touched the piano as an
afterthought.
Making quite certain that everything was
tidy, Donna swept up
some dust she had overlooked.
and then after lunchtime and before tea
on a perfectly pleasant tuesday morning
in a perfectly pleasant day in Donnas life
she sat herself down in the
center of the parlor
and without hesitation
ceremony
or further ado,
in 2 swift motions
cleanly slit her wrists.

I've been curing my loneliness
with solitude

talking to myself
instead of somebody else.

I've been spending days
staring at the ceiling
dreaming myself to outer space
or New York

instead of leaving my room.

I've been writing letters
whose length would make Anna Karenina blush
all tucked into the curves of my cerebral cortex

instead of sending

"hey, hw r u?"
text messages

I've been curing my loneliness
with solitude

if you call crying alone
with my own hand patting my back

curing

Our love is like a cancer.
I’m fighting for my life again.

Stage One.

The first time you appeared,
you filled my brain with affection,
that felt as if it were like oxygen,
a necessity for my survival.

You came on to me,
fast and overpowering,  
feelings I hadn’t felt before,
you and only you is what I grasp onto.
I can’t eat but slowly you consume me.  

Our love is like a cancer.
I’m fighting for my life again.

Stage Two.

I like turns into I love,
my affection for you is growing like a sponge,
soaking up every bit you can give to me.

Little did I know you were a poisonous being,
embedding yourself into my brain you ***** wretch,  
clouding my emotions by threading my prefrontal cortex with detrimental lies.

Our love is like a cancer.
I’m fighting for my life again.

Stage Three.

The symptoms are there,
yelling loud and clear like an angry father,
when curfew wasn’t met.

My reality becomes evident when I see your hand in hers,
I become trapped in an ache that I can internally feel,
and that others can physically see in my figure.
I decide to cut you out like a surgeon
and try to mend the pieces that are severed.

Our love is like a cancer.
I’m fighting for my life again.

Stage Four.

I try to heal but it seems to be no use,
the ache persists not only in my head,
but has spread to my heart.
My body is conquered by chemical reactions like chemotherapy,
trying to wipe out the memories we have created and disease you are to me.

But still my body, my soul is weak and fragile
like a dry leaf in autumn,
crumbling,
only after time will it be able to remise.

Our love is like a cancer.
I’m fighting for my life again.

Remission.

You are vacant from me,
but you will always linger.

The beat of my heart makes it difficult
not to be blinded
by the reality of my own thoughts
when they are broken down within the sounds
of my dreams.
Yet, no one hears the wind
running through my mind
and I find nothing is
as it seems.

All I do is race to hide from the smoke of lies
to find subtle truth
inside of uncertainties colors
but what I come across
means nothing to you.  
When I drift off to sleep I bleed mirrored glass
until I forget about the bruises
for a moment
or two.

I want someone to listen to the words I speak
even when breezes fill their hands
and time goes by quicker
than the air they tasted.  
No longer do I wish to live and breathe
In this life of empty rooms
where my heartbeat
is wasted.

Tonight I sit and weave faith upon grounds
where forever
I have searched through eyes
that paint my mistakes with words
of ecstasy.  
Yet still, the beat of my heart
makes it difficult
not to be blinded  by love,
even when
I know....
you lie to me.

caught up in the game, he ran my mind tired.
i was crazed and my body wired.
staggered at the thought of being without,
my tired mind filled with doubt,
i couldn't live this one out.
my eyes scrambled from face to face,
heart to heart,
glancing,
gazing.
the innumerable parts to this true tale of two who never knew of this legends end were left isolated,
self-contained in their indigenous state.
warnings fired, screaming through the heavens,
rip-roaring,
adorned to the nines and past the elevens.
the immediate lash or forever's perpetual dream,
spiraling,
striking.
the masses laid down without a word.
silence.
not a soul resisted the fate of what was to become.
my mind was stormed,
clouded with the unmapped essence of nothing's everything.
so i too sat,
in silence and tears.

Black skirts and black blouses,
Black slacks and black jackets.
One hundred black bruised hearts.

Black faces and phrases;
“I’m sorry for your loss”s and “If I can do anything…”s.
I’m burning up and down,
Dying to run from this place like a tiger escaping his stripes.

Anger spills over,
Punches are thrown like whipped cream pies into a clowns face,
Fists fly, crows on great gusts of pain,
Noses bleed and suddenly

                      I am home.

Sliding on the ***** of death
up to see her,
knowing she would be ashamedly proud.
Watching for effervescent soda bubbles,
thinking this a terrible,
terrible April fool’s trick
only to be greeted by her ashen smile
inside a tiny                  
              wooden
                    box.