I'm going to rip my insides open
and bleed out drugs and cigarette ash.
watch my face contort in to pain
without my ink and guts.

color me the hue of your cigarette ash;

slam broken beer bottles in to my palm

and wipe the blood on an old t-shirt. 

paint me pretty with ***** red lipstick
(stolen from my mother)

and stuff me in to china doll shells. 

you say “this change will be good for you”

i say “this is too fun to stop”

my father says “oh good god, what have you done?”

but darling, let’s not listen to anyone else,

and continue tattooing memories on our skin.”

my feet are not touching the floor
I am not gripping this pen
I am not me
I am not here

I float above my-body and everybody
I am loosely tethered to the girl
with the terribly dead eyes

do you have a scissor?
s
n
i
p
.
.
.

the sky was looming with gunmetal wisps,
tickle me pinks squeezing among lavenders.
sunny blues and cotton clouds merged among the
charcoal prophecies. darkness kissing light.

i was soaked within seconds, screaming yet
laughing, feeling my bones shake and rattle along the
drips.

i ran through puddles, the sky nothing but sheets of
recollections. my skin limp and drenched, becoming part of
the soggy grass between my toes.

the rain stopped within minutes, the sky changing to
juicy orange.
as i attempted to dry myself with sopping towels, i stared at the sky,
and was reminded of us making love. beauty, beauty, beauty.

he wasn’t in love with me.
he just wanted a broken toy to fix.
— the truth

he crumbled me
in his callused palms
and just
threw
me
away.
— he made it seem so easy

she paints the sunrise
at 2 a.m.
when all is dark.
the colors
will forever remain
blazing in her memory.
— dreamer