it happened in a matter of seconds,
metal folding in on itself, the crunch of
glass shards raining down like crystals,
the sudden impact and the distinct
silence of bone snapping, blood pooling.

i opened my eyes and took a second,
took it all in, felt the dull ache
in my ribs and the ringing in my skull.
and as i fell out onto the concrete,
oil seeping through my jeans,
i looked up to watch the clouds pass by -
to watch the birds dance - and i wondered
how long it would take me
to forgive myself
for surviving.

The woman in the chair is not my mother.
Her eyes the same shade of blue, but sunken too far in;
Her skin too big for her bones and hangs like a sheet
             draped across her shoulders.
Her hair is sparse and scattered across her skull as though one puff of the wind might blow it all away,
her smile - weak, her lips dry and cracked
             stretched thin across her teeth.
The sound of her voice is familiar but soft, a whisper
echoing from somewhere deep in her hollow lungs
             as she calls my name.


This woman is not my mother.
Tubes snake out from beneath her oversized flannel shirt;
            I count six from where I stand stagnant in the doorway.
Pumping toxins from her body,
Draining life from her core
Stealing the woman I used to know, used to cling to.
She sits somber now, engulfed by the chair and the room and the noise
and the tears that flow silent from my eyes
As I sink to my knees against the doorframe
        and curse a god that I don’t believe in,
        in a life I no longer want.

I've been here before.
My heart finds a home
In the cold of your shoulder,
The sting of your silence,
The bite of your blame
As I hold my knees
To the edge of the bed.

I've been here before;
I've counted the bricks
One by one
As you pile them between,
Locking me out, leaving me
Alone, armed with nothing but
a dull knife
And shattered ribs.

I've been here before;
I know the words you keep
Coiled between the plates
Of your skull.
Harsh words, left to marinate,
    Thicken, grow.

I've been here before
In this place that I know so well,
This place I fell back into
head first
again
Cinder blocks tied to my ankles
And I'm drowning
In your eyes
And your pain
And this vicious cycle
Some *******
Called love.

through all of the times
i've been shattered
beaten
crushed
trampled torn tattered
scattered to the wind
haphazardly
left aside,
forgotten;

i always thought that
one day
i'd find someone who
would carefully
delicately
gather my fragments
of scar and bone
one by one
and put me back
together.

i realize now
it was you i needed.

not to fix me,
but to fit
in the spaces
between my broken
     pieces.

a hollow carcass
with a kinetic spark
is nothing more
than hollow.

my body is a canvas
of old scars,
fresh wounds,
and someone else's art; my

thoughts drowned out
by the whistle
in my skull
and the echoes
in my lungs and

i'm chilled by
the breeze
between my bones. so

i silently offer
this pagan prayer
for the day i find purpose
as a meal for
the maggots
and the
earth.

Cough syrup and gin slow
the beat in my heart
and the ink in my skin
and the thoughts in my head
     until I forget why I started,
why I stopped.

So I cover my nails in black
and trace the roses on my hip,
soaking in the cigarettes and aftershave
stuck in the fibers of your flannel
that kisses my knees
and leaves me naked in tears
and empty spaces.

Sleep runs away from my eyes
and I’m left in the light,
frantically searching for something
I have already found
in the dark.

1.    I realized I could love him again.

2. It was after the accident. After the windshield turned to dust on the pavement in a pool of oil and gasoline, glimmering in the oncoming headlights. After the hoarse screams and the crunch of metal folding over itself like a paper fan. After the seatbelt tore the skin off my chest leaving bloodstains on my shirt and a ringing in my ears. It was even after the cops came and arrested the drunk driver who hit us head-on at five o'clock on a Wednesday evening, after the tow truck came and flipped her car right side up again, watching empty bottles fall from the open windows as it turned. After all of this, in the silence of the aftermath, I sat on his couch with his head in my lap. I traced my finger across the skin that stretched over his hipbone and listened to his rhythmic breathing as his lips curled slightly upwards. I imagined he was dreaming of days that didn’t end in shattered glass and tears. The calm, steady rise and fall of his ribcage as his cheek left an impression in meat of my thigh, safe. In the silence of the aftermath, I realized.

3. The next morning, I woke up with my head in the crook of his arm, my left hand asleep from the weight of my body on top of it. The impression of my earring was stamped into the soft skin inside his elbow. I turned to face him and lazily draped an arm across his chest, remembering that last night I had decided to love him again. I smiled. I lifted my head to speak, but he turned away and without saying a word, walked half –naked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. In the silence, as I stared at the impression of his cheek in his pillow, I realized. His love lay there, in the glimmering pool of glass and gasoline, still spreading in the middle of the pavement.