i’m not welcome here
anymore. the ground is
calling calling calling
my name in your voice.
i grab yellow roses-
did you know Van Gogh
ate yellow paint once?
people said it was because
he thought  it would make
him happy, but he was
trying to **** himself.
i pin the flowers to my dress
because i want something
beautiful to die with me.
god knows i’m not.
i’m coming down to get
you, darling. i hope the concrete
hurts. you’re worth it.

it feels like it’s been lifetimes
since the last time i lit the candle
i only let burn when you’re around.
the flowers we picked together
have died and the blood you smeared
on the glass in my room is now commonplace.
i weep sad songs at night right before bed
because you should be lying beside me
on the floor of my parents’ house
and giggling until two in the morning.
come back so the wax can melt into my skin
and give me marks to cherish you by forever.

you saw me fall for death
and turned your back
with a laugh. ‘let lovers
rest’ was your philosophy.
i bled rivers of red but
that came to be not
even close to enough.
it wasn’t enough for you
either. when you came back
you saw my arms and laughed
and told me i was just in love.
“that’s how you know it’s true.”
i wanted to **** you, but not more
than i wanted to **** myself.
you took to happiness and i
begged for death with rope
around my fragile neck.

sleek nothingness,
a comforting nihilistic
home. everything is
possible, but nothing is
likely. flowers grow but
can’t be seen. the moon is
eclipsed. despair sounds like
it is the only option, but you
hear a calling from the void.
songbirds growl and you smile.
rain can only be felt, but is
welcomed. let your damp skin
peel off and let yourself drop
down, down to a fate you
trust will be preferable
to the life you are living
now.

sitting alone in a room
silent aside from the
pounding of the rain,
whirring of the fan,
street noises travelling
through my open window.
i am alive and do not
feel as though i
need to tear my hair out
due to silence.
i feel the universe
congealing in my bones
and god i feel alive
and **** i feel like god.
turning off the lights
doesn’t make anxieties
race through my skull.
darkness is peace at last.

i am disconnected from
my body, my life,
the shattered pieces
bearing my once loved
consciousness.
i exist on autopilot
after the sun goes down.
my bones ache with
lack of purpose,
desire, compassion
towards myself.
i’m lying when i say
i hate everyone i’ve been
and everything i shall be.
in truth, i am just a hollow
unfeeling mass that one day
illusioned flowers will spring from.

4:30 AM.
I needed the lucky cigarette
but didn’t smoke it.
You were downstairs sleeping
though I had had too much coffee
to be able to join you.
All of that coffee was mixed
with whiskey creamer; I threw up
the next morning.
You were calm about everything,
keeping me from going over the edge.

4:30 AM.
I was staring at the snow
thinking about your touch
while the smoke fogged my room.
I needed your arm around me
as I contemplated a life different
to the one I’d been living.
The one I’m still living,
but having you around
makes it a hell of a lot easier.