we wound in stars on old fishing rods;
reeling on promises from days where
the light still brought species, clutter,
schematic belief. you caught three. i
caught nothing, but glimmers of hope.

allusions and reality are often cleft,
though. this truth i'd rather cast,
like myself, over cliff-face. but, i
alone am
mutable in this scheme. you named
yours as blank-faced children, born
to the sea.
predictably, i named mine woe.

fate moves through seasons, sovereign
groups, ways set down to dot. the
object stands;
here lies truth. this is the truth:
pebbles form kiltered circles
under the dock. floating
above the architecture of my
ribs consuming churned
air, i watch me fade. i
discern and too, dilapidate.

you raised yours with colour
in iris. i picked mine up
lovingly-
this woe is
awake and tightly circling.

While she may seem like an angel, crawl closer and smell permeating fear
Her visage morphs - shadows dance on alabaster flesh
Large eyes drawing you in, comforting and innocent
Bleeding lips portray underlying carnivorous greed

Run to the top of the mountain , you will do this for me?
It's time to scream at the sun .
Glory is able to work
my face in small rivers .
I will worship this perfect sky .
Breathing, I am alive .
Why do you keep still ?
Here you are with me , that's what I do .
Bring you to the other side of the mountain ,
where the sun will always shine .
This can be good. This may be mature .
To look at the moon and stars only .
But this side of the mountain will make you grow tall .
This side of the mountain has beautiful flowers.
Run to the top of the mountain , you will do this for me?
It is close to the end of the day .
It is time for shouting at the stars.
Tell them to calm their loud twinkling.
We want to sleep in the sunshine , we are drunk on love.
Take me , breathe with me , look at my eyes when sunlight pours into them.
The sun will burn me in the fire , so that we use our bodies as if they were flint .
Adoration of heaven .
Glory is able to race down the mountain .
Glory waves freshly plucked flower, yelling to me:
We are alive .

I'll be okay if you aren't here to hold me
I'll be just fine because my blood keeps me warm
I'll keep breathing if I can't feel your skin against mine, I promise
I'll be just fine
If you won't be mine


The world screeches to a grinding halt and my heart breaks again
Everything pulsing
Everything Pulsing
My blood throbs behind my eyes
Skewing my vision
Shaking my foundations
A scream, was that my voice?
A vibrato of pain and an all-encompassing dark shroud of guilty pain
I welcome thee

M83 and another sober night
I reach for her knife, but my hand stills. Can I stop the flow for mere moments?
A semblance of normality would cheer my little shaking soul.
I want to appear as a white beast with dark auras, not a dead thing by the wayside

Grasping my quivering hand, can you feel the hate?
Good night to my soul, I put you to sleep before I frighten you with songs of death

Come witness the death of a young star, crippling flares bursting from the retinas. Succumb to her madness. A deformed creature of habit - unintelligent, misguided scoundrel ravenously craving the one she can't have. ***** breathing. Sanguine drippings run down white feet - she tears the rampant emotions out from her skin. Hush! She can hear you...


Wander uselessly through the South. An old acquantance becomes your sole purpose. A waxing!
A wedding. A waning... weeping. Wanderer, you are banished back to the ice.
Learn to obey, or learn to become creative in your rebellion.
Hold your heart just close enough to smell the metallic tang, but not too close or you'll ash on it.
Breathe in little Wanderer, you have so much potantial.
Cut out the poison
Cut out the poison
Cut out the poison

Drench the wounds in Everclear
Burn away your doubts

My eyes can see nothing safe or sound in these days
Take me back to October
Take me back to my old life
I want my little nest with my mate and my young
and my potholders and my clutter
I want to sleep next to something
I want to die

Crying little children, all of you. I am just one more.

What is my image?
How do you see me?

Hippie, Emo, Rocker, Tough, Strange, Metal, Hipster, Child
Am I the words you would use to describe me?

What do you see?
What am I to you?

Am I the clothes I wear?
Am I the color of my eyes?
Am I the music I listen to, or the bands I obsess over?
Am I the games I play?
Am I the knowledge I've retained?
Am I the the breath on your neck, or the softness of my lips?

How am I doing?
Do I live up to your expectations?
When you see me, what have I done to deserve your reaction?
Am I the memories we share?
Am I the photos I take?
Am I my depression?
Am I the change in my appearance?
Am I the eloquence in my step?
Am I who you thought I was when you met me?

What do I smell like?
Are my hands cold, or are your hands warm?

Am I the weight I shed when food is tasteless?
Am I the skin that pales in winter and browns nicely in sun?
Am I the socks I don't wear?
Am I somebody's ex?
Am I alone?
Am I my sexuality?
Am I the colors in my head?

Do you remember why you started to call my name, and stopped yourself?

Am I normal?
Am I out there?
Am I somebody worth your time?

Am I hungry, or is this just a passing phase too?

What visuals do I bring to mind when you think of mewhen I cross your mind?
Do I infect you with curiousity and a taste for the Earth?

Am I beautiful when my acne is red and my makeup smudged?
Am I the sounds I make in my sleep?
Am I the faces I make in the mirror when I'm alone?
Am I the texts I send when I'm too tired to think?
Am I the shape of my silhouette?

What goes through your head at 3 am on a Wednesday?
If you could stand outside of your skin, would you approve of your own visage?

Am I the song I always sing in the shower?
Am I the voice I use when I wake up in the morning?
Am I the space I occupy?
Am I my number of days I have survived?
Am I the days I have left?
Am I my mistakes, or my successes?
Am I the people I have saved?

What stands out more, my flaws or my laughter?

Am I the food I pretend to eat, then throw away?
Am I the short white scars on my arms?
Am I the person I want to be?
Am I the debt I owe?
Am I someone you think about often?
Am I the moment we shared when it was just the two of us?
Am I the secrets I keep?
Am I going to be a mother someday?

If you spent every day with me for a year, would you grow tired of me?
If you could see the world the way I do, would it change you?
If you could sit inside my mind while I think and just observe, would you judge me?

Am I the voice I use to sing when my headphones are so loud I can't hear myself?
Am I the smile I wear when I would rather drive nails through my skin?
Am I the diseases running through my body?
Am I still alive if I don't feel a heartbeat?
Am I my blood type?
Am I the effort I put into life?
Am I meant to be this way?

If I wasn't me, would I die for me?







Am I?
Are you?

RHCP, my stomach aches
i confuse what could be hunger
with weakness.
another long evening
my last smoke
went missing. my hand
shakes
violently.
I haven't slept in days.
I search for something.
Will someone catch the paper I've shredded?
My heart's blood spattered across sheepskin
skin torn asunder
hands clenched under
the table

Stop judging me and staring so critically
stare lovingly into my eyes and notice my effortless elegance

I lie when I say I don't want to be noticed.