i am theirs, i am theirs, i am theirs.

his lips touched my neck and they were nothing like yours, they were nothing i had felt before, and in ways i longed for more, but my heart always tells the same ****** up story and i have been left with no open doors.

i am a she, i am she, i am she.

i am a work of art, but only in the sense that i'm one of those canvases with a bunch of pieces of trash stuck to it that is deemed as art.
i smile at the thought of oblivion more than i ever smiled at the thought of what it felt like kissing him.
i keep jars full of the wings of bugs because they're the only proof of a possibility of angels above and i keep my thoughts of you under the kitchen sink to have something to open up and remind me that there's hell when i've had too much to drink.

i am her, i am her, i am her.

he told me that he couldn't keep going because it would feel like abuse,
i never ever got that from you.
this concept of what i am, you can't even understand it.
i am nothing.
i am raw.
raw.
a raw slab of meat.
nobody knows how cook me, to what degree, they can never bite into me and really understand what i am.

i am mine.

i've been walked like a dog with the noose around my neck used as a leash and stabbed with a sword dripping wet with regrets. these retreats stain the pages i emptied my heart out onto, kind of like the kids my age with those glass bottles do.
the only difference is while they're throwing up all of that poison at four in the morning, i'm throwing up your name, every last bit of shame, and the parts of me that i will never reclaim. they wake up with a headache and a hangover on sunday afternoons but i've woken up with same one everyday for the past four months that comes from something that was probably just lust.

the thing is, i'm getting better.
you can see my lips curve like the slight waves in a lake on a rainy day instead of looking so flat like the boards of the floor inside an old abandoned house that resembles my heart.
you can see the sparkle in my eye like the spark on a lighter when you're trying to set your lungs on fire instead of pieces of sheet metal that you can see hell reflected into.

every once in a while i'll have a thought of you, and then i remember her too,
and i know you're not the person i once knew.
i smile these days and we both know that i never used to.
i hope when you see a graveyard you think of me and know that the memories of you are now buried six feet underneath me.

morrissey said "to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die" and donnie darko said "every living creature on earth dies alone"
and maybe we're thrusting ourselves ourselves into the unknown
but from what i know the birds tell us stories with their wings and the sky is a lot more beautiful than his hands ever were to me and the overgrowth in the woods holds more passion than my eyes do some nights
when we walk through this world, we are doing so alone

to die on your own is a way most people don't want to go.

we have shipwrecks in our hearts and thunderstorms under our fingernails and sometimes i swear to god i can hear the rain in your exhale and highways never come to a complete end so why should we

comatose linked to these tombstones and the way you never understood what her eyes were saying when her lips couldn't move
i keep thinking back to the sunday mornings i found god in and i see the exasperation staining my knees from all the pleas i was sending back to me

maybe we have to see our own blood on the pale white concrete before we can understand what love is or what the sunset really means and i guess i'm saying i lost so many parts of me that i mopped up the blood and rung it out into the veins of a creature you'll never meet

to die in the passengers seat of a car with your heart on your sleeve and their saliva still on your lips is the way most people want to give death it's first kiss

we are brooding through the wavelengths of familiarity and unfamiliarity all at once and we chant deja vu when we meet someone new because they say the last thing you see when you die is those you love so what do we do when we **** the things we once knew and love all things brand new

to die by my own side is such a heavenly way to say goodbye.

i'm driving down the road listening to the songs you used to listen to and for a second it feels like you're still here with me, like you're still present. the moment is still, and you never left.
then i feel the air drift through the window and it reaches my hand and grabs it the way you would have if you are there and i am reassured that my lover is only a ghost these days.
some nights i scream at the lines in the center of the highway for being too perfect and i bet she's spending her night same way, only screaming about how perfect you are while you lay her down gently.
some mornings i wake up with this weight laying on my chest, on my lungs, holding me down from enduring the day. she's probably holding you down with that same weight on your chest, but with a good morning kiss. the ones you would accept from me.
there are small bits of blood on my carpet and i don't remember how they got there.
all i ever will be is a concept to get them through their nights, to get them through their lows, to give them their highs.
when i met you, i painted the walls of my heart with what i thought love looked like and they never really dried.
my veins tell stories better than my lips, and my tears have more lust than anything near my hips.
i keep having these nightmares and I keep "waking up" from them but they never go away.
does she have pretty fingernails?
i wrote an apology for not being sane enough on my chemistry text last wednesday and i tried to rewrite it on my wrist but you couldn't really make out the i'm sorry's, they looked more like i'm sad's so maybe i should have used a pen instead.
it's 12:52 a.m. and all i can think about is how she's probably beside you, and you're probably telling her all the empty promises you left me with and she's probably eating them for the fourth time with the seventh guy in eleven months and i'm sorry that i wasn't enough.
please don't ever talk to my tombstone.

for the past three months i have been trying to climb back up to the top of the cliff i fell from a year ago that ended with a ****** mess. i have been trying to reach the top and jump off of it myself instead of being pushed off into a free fall. the other day i reached for the wrong jagged rock and it cut me and i saw my blood and realized that i'm actually still alive, you see, my body and my heart is stronger than i thought. as soon as i realized this i let go and hit the bottom again. as soon as i did i stood up and ran away. when i looked back i realized i had been jumping into a pile of leaves rather than off a cliff and there were remnants of strands of my sweaters and hair everywhere and you couldn't tell the difference between them and i saw a pile of flesh on the ground and soon realized it was your fingers from the hands that once held mine because they broke off your palms like the pieces of my metaphorical heart did. i began running away after the fingers started crawling back towards mine and i know now that i was not made to be held by the hands of another, only to be held by the hands of my ambition. and the pile of last years leaves i had been jumping into soon became a pile of this years leaves and instead of falling into them and hiding i am building crowns out of them for the love that still resides in my life, for the friends, the family, and the familiar faces and important places. i wandered deeper into a path away from the leaves and i impaled the memories upon the antlers of a deer. i was soon shot by a hunter who shot so slowly and skillfully through the center of my heart. i pulled the arrow out. i am not his trophy. my bandaids became highways and conversations with those who seem to be just as broken as me but still laugh like there is a god. i hated the moon for ninety days and the sunrise made me sick. now the sun makes the leaves the color they used to be to me and the moon shines down through the trees. i could only see darkness but now i see that the shadows the moonlight through the trees create are one long withstanding path to my repaired heart and a home within myself.

one: the first day my skin met yours god realized jesus was his one and only regret.
two: if i could untangle all of the veins in my chest, if i could make them stop strangling every last molecule of love i have left in my body, you would see the last words you spoke to me fall out of their crippled noose like teardrops.
three: will she ever love you enough to give you her lungs?
four: when she screams "**** me" before she comes i hope you hear me screaming "*******" the night you walked away.
five: i write words and stare at the letters. the arrangement of letters is a puzzling thing to me, the way these same letters that can hold so much hate towards you once held the same amount of love.
six: they say time heals all. well why didn't they ever ******* tell me what happens when i have a broken watch?
seven: i made the stars fall out of the sky like they were the moons teardrops for you on the 31st night of lying in bed alone. you didn't see it because you were catching her tears in your bed instead.
eight: you will still walk the same streets that i do from time to time and i hope you see a footprint that looks like mine and realize it belongs on your throat.
nine: you are nothing but a tragic, rusty, chipped nail. you are the nails that pin me to this cross. your palms once fit into mine but now there's only holes from these stab wounds.
ten: i thought about the time you said you'd never leave and it knocked the air you inhaled into my lungs the last time you kissed me right out. it hit me so hard two ribs broke. it was a tuesday.

as a child she got lost in the woods
she received a more assuring hug from the wind than anyone who had ever said they loved her
the flowers spoke words with more softness and care than any human around her ever had
and before she found her way out of this woods she spotted a hollow tree where she placed her heart

after many years the girl went back into the woods
the wind was dry and smelled of burning wood
the flowers were wilted
dead
and that tree had rotted leaving nothing but roots and the veins from her heart

the girl now resembles the tree the first time she saw it
you do not know if that is curse or a blessing
a human so incapable of loving that she breaks everything in her path that dares to attempt to fill the hollow place in her chest with words and beauty she hasn't seen since the day that she gave her heart to that tree or a human so incapable of loving she lives without the fear of a broken heart
only an empty void