I wish I could throw up my heart right now,
To relieve my mind of its sickness-
to wake up in the mornings
and feel the sun and not speculate on how it feels
colder and colder each day.
And at night I could fall into an automatic sleep,
Instead of writing out all these ******
stories.

If bones crack and no ones around to hear it,
does it still hurt as bad?
Or suffering in silence-
does that hold a pain of its own?
I would think so.

Bodies drip,
Like molten candle wax.
I've glued my heart to your chest.
You never asked for it, though it's there.

Too bad the handle with care
label was scratched away.

Maybe then you'd have changed your ways.

I know I'm one of those people who will never laugh and mean it.


The world is a lonely place.

One day, I'll choose to escape.
And when you find my body;


Just let it be.

I've put myself here.
In this mess.
No one's fault.

But my own

I don't wish to hurt you,
You're so kind.
And you have such a nice smile.


Why did it have to be me?
I'm so complicated.
Sad.
Scarred.
Bruised.
How could this be appealing?


Happy people belong with other happy people.
What can I do?
My heart's not in it.
Must I pretend?


I should have apologized right then.
For the way I am.
A bird without a song.
I'll sty trapped in this cage.

**Until the time comes

Flowing skirts that brush my ankles.
Dancing while the golden rings jingle.
Gypsy summer.
Gypsy night.

Smell the smoke while it licks at your skin,
Drink me in.
Passion ensues in this little caravan.
I crave your scarred hands,
Exploring my waist.
The fragments of my neck,
Chase the wine with sweet shots of my lips.



Opening my wounds to you,
Let the blood trickle down until it baths us in it's dying life.
Stuck together, emblazoned with this new sacrifice.
Tonight,
Is our night.
And on, we shall fight.

Here's how it goes, the magazines, the tiny jeans,

A continuous circle of hard feelings,


When it's not this, it's that.

Always something nibbling away at my mind.

My skin, it isn't clear today, my hair hangs in a limp mess, my clothes feel too tight,
suffocating my breath. Too pale, too much of anything I'd rather not be.




I'll get out of bed anyways, and face the human I am, but not "supposed" to be.

Sleep comes creeping into your eyelids, tears stain your cheeks. It won’t be long until you won’t feel your heart beat.

You drown in numbness and when you awake, the pain of the memory jolts in your brain.

Staring at the ceiling with it’s chipped paint, wishing you could go back into that wasteland where you felt no pain.

Just the bliss of forgetting. Or not remembering.

You wonder how you can face the day with this hopeless bubble encasing your essence.

How can you go on living when there’s nothing in your chest pumping the blood?

Just a gaping chunk of splayed veins, their ends frayed.

Your ends frayed, as well.

Temporary things never last.



Tis' why they are temporary.



Your love was temporary.





Like sugared gum. So sweet for the first few minutes.







Slowly turning into a depleted lump, burdening your tongue.

















But you spit me out.
I was determined to live with the tasteless blob, hoping it would morph back into something beautiful.













I guess I see why I was pulled from the inside.
I settled, yet I was still yesterday's trash.









My bubble burst.









Now it's only me left with the sticky mess.

I lay curled in a sleepy pile,
sheltered from the world outside, from the rain beating the
earth like a worn out drum.
It thrums in a sorrowful manner,
Wanting people to listen, hear it's muffled cries.
But everyone's too busy and rushes on with their lives.
Although I am inside, I can gaze through the window panes,
the drizzle of drops spelling out my name.
The song of the gray sky and the water pouring from it mix into a symphony and I stay tuned.
Even though inside my tangled veins a rush of industrious activity hammers through my being,
I drown it all out.
Just to sit.
In peace.
With the ballad of the world playing out before me.

Who was I?
Who have I become?
I feel this whisper of an itch I've tried to forget.
Stuffing it down like ***** laundry in baskets.
There's not enough coins for this pile of socks, not enough cleaner
for these speckles of stains.
Stains that won't wash away.
Can't wash away.
Some damage is permanent.
And when it's committed to your heart, there's only so much healing
it can do, the beating will always be off.
Just slightly, but enough to notice.
To remind your soul of the December months when the tree's
spindly fingers grasped at your neck and the snow seemed to bury
you into the ground.
Like a corpse in a grave.
Don't remember that now.
You're warmer now.
It's less mechanical to laugh and smile now.
Although haunted houses stay haunted, even if they're freshly painted.
I will stay a cavern of broken dreams, even if I'm freshly created.
Appearances are illusions and I am a fun house.
Aren't we all just distortions in an array of jumbled mirrors?
Hiding our true identities from the world.
When we can peer into the ghost story and truly understand,
That's when our lives can really begin.
That's when I'll know; who I am.

Little town, bundled up, like a tightly locked box.
Our coats zipped up too high.
I feel stuffy with the humid air- especially surrounded with all these fixing stares.
Turning into glares.
I used to be fine, the bath tub just a place of comfort, not to self harm.
But you've broken me in more ways than one.
I can feel the walls closing in.
Each place holds the ghost of a memory, my escape knows no end.
Can the light shine to hide my shadows again.
Close the book, I'm at my end.