I want to write about what makes me sad
But I don't want to feel it again
I worked so hard to overcome the crashing waves
I don't want to drown anymore
To swallow the salt that burns my throat like your lies burned me
To plug my nose so I can't smell the ashes of what we had
I don't want to wave my hands through the surface hoping somebody spots a survivor
You're not worth the effort I made to get back to shore

I am sitting in my bedroom on a fresh summer morning, and I am thinking about you.
I am sitting in my bedroom on a fresh summer morning, and I am thinking about how gentle your hands are when they run themselves over the steep curves of my body.
I am sitting in my bedroom on a fresh, and somewhat rainy, summer morning, and I am thinking about the burn I got my on thumb last night when I was making a hot chocolate, and I am thinking about how it doesn't hurt. Your hands are electric, your mouth sparks fires in-between my thighs and they burn and burn and burn, but they never hurt.
I am sitting in my bedroom, and it's a rainy summer afternoon with a cool breeze and I can hear the trains passing on the track nearby and I am thinking about you and all the ways we could be great. And how, for the first time in my life, I don't mind being burnt if it means I get to share these fires with you.

Loving him was like a warm gust of wind during the summer, blowing your hair back and whispering past your ears.
It was like apple orchards and abandoned shacks,
crisp white sheets stained crimson red by a nose bleed,
the carpet burn on my knees,
the lights, camera, action.
The flash, the flame.
Loving him was like broken glass digging into the soles of your feet,
like clenched fists and bruised bones,
hot breath and dialated eyes.
Loving him was like acid settling into my spine.
Loving him was a breath of fresh air that turned into lung cancer.

someone once said that if you love something,
you should set it free.
as if this is something done so easily.


they could have explained a little about
the tide of chilly, bittersweet memories
that greet me every morning
making my socks wet all day

Honed fangs behind
sweet lips.  

Lips made to caress my
skin as they travel along
my throat.
So gentle he is,
For a monster

His tongue against my
jugular;
Heartbeats quicken.
Shallow breathing
as his dark eyes
bore into mine.

"Take me," I plea, "make me into you."

You are mine...
His voice is thick,
laced with seduction
but also some sort of
tenderness.

His movements
careful
slow
calculated.

He plants a
kiss on my neck,
fangs barely brushing.

*And I do not destroy that which is mine.

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"