We are close to death, and
Earth was carved from chaos.
The aging bags beneath our eyes
Are swollen full of gold dust.
So we'd better pierce our skin with needles
To let the glitter out,
To make the crystals grow magnetic
Before the final bow.

The wrong belongings -
The microphone is meant to reside in our city cove
And everybody loves a Dead Girl

The illusion of completeness -
I still dream of Catholic high school hallways
Of teenage girl's knees, living clean beneath plaid skirts

The humid taste -
God hid all the secrets under particular blades of grass
It's nostalgia in the typing pool

words like bullets.

i don't want them to hit me.
i don't want to bleed.

i don't want you to hurt me.
i don't want you to shoot.

i don't want
you to
wake up/
get out of bed/
get dressed/
look at me like that/
close your eyes/
turn around/
turn back/
speak/
turn around/
leave.

but your tongue's on
the trigger,
and my heart's beating fast.
and i'm closing my eyes,
counting seconds,
counting sheep
because you can't hurt me
when i'm asleep.

i won't feel a thing.

you're pulling the trigger
and my mouth is quieting the racing bullets,
but although they're muffled they still hit my ears,
the pain travelling to my heart.

i bite your tongue too hard
and you bleed into my mouth
and i try to forget that you said

"i'm sorry."

and i watch you,
everything in me
still.

everything in me
is
lifeless.

my bones urge me to
reach out, reach towards you
bear an honest to god broken smile
tell you how violence lives in the back of my mind in a whisper
tell you my will is as thin as paper
dissolve slowly in your arms
but you're so far away
and i have to find a way
to do this on my own
force myself to be okay
gotta stop getting you caught up in my
messy hot glue strings

I complicated your life
with these feelings,
and it's hard to accept
of you being untroubled
with my absence.

I was finding possible ways
to fix every broken word,
but every broken road
lead to me to a conclusion:
love is a luxury
we just can't afford,

You're still beautiful,
beneath the moonlight,
drawn by the clouds,
and I can't be jealous of
seeing you with him,
holding you closer
than I was with you before.

I lay in your bed.
I shouldn't have been there.
But still I lay in your bed,
And I found a hair.
Too long to be yours.
Too blonde to be mine.
I'm no longer yours,
But I still wish you were mine.