i always said
i'd die young
i wouldn’t make it
past 40
was that my depression talking
even at age 12
i had that feeling
running through my veins
it just didn’t have a name yet
it's starting
to make sense
now

crime scene love story
my skin feels two things:
your skin, and cold porcelain
i’ll be quiet, i promise
even as you’re tying me up with
the vein you cut from my neck

all i wanted was for you to notice
the blood under my nails, but you
only saw the stains she left on
your neck

i promise after tomorrow i will
still be quiet, even as you crush
my bones and dissolve them
in tea

i am sorry that i mothered you,
and that my mother never taught me
how to love, or breathe air that didn’t
contain you

if only my mother could see her
daughter now, with her heart in your
throat, and your arms turning
her into rotten skin

tell her this is not a crime scene
this is where we fell in love.

The unspoken words
grew in my veins till
they intoxicated my mind

A deadly psyche planted inside
a breathing corpse
that’s perpetually dying

There is a reason water is clear, and blood is crimson,                                                                                                             for it would be far too painful to try and see the truth in your veins.

There are so many lilies in my brain,
spreading the petals of the pain,
full of the fragrance of regret,
they are too hard to forget,
thrive and flow fast through the veins.

I'm kind of glad
that the world is dying today.
I've longed to beseech the ruins lost,
under the abyss ink of my gentle fingerprints, as I
dance among the sage green moss
and meadows shine, the dew drops glint.
I am of doom, I am of loss.
I'd love to see the world forsaken.
Only now, only today has the universe marked me as its prey
and I bent towards the ending day.

© fey (12/11/24)

Wondrous porcelain above,
the pines have felt your touch beyond
and in the woods we sing –
of ephemeral, heavy spring.

© fey (09/11/24)