Burn this candle late at night.
Watch it flicker, watch it light,
up the darkness in your room.
Banishing the things that loom,
or stalk upon your very dreams,
with open mouthed screams.
So burn this candle late at night,
when you feel undeniable fright.

Perhaps it was cowardice
that made me this brave.

I’m addicted to it now;
to courage in its liquid form.

The dry drag of depression
salts my tongue with sand.
My hands tremble in fear
when my teeth can’t clatter
around the hard A in alcohol.
So I drink my fill of courage.

Perhaps it is cowardice
that keeps me this brave.

She wakes up after drinking
glassy eyes rolling like marbles
rattling against her aluminum skull.
Last night’s poison congeals in her blood
leaving her fevered and sick.
Her mind is overcrowded with
the throttle of spray paint canisters
and the incessant buzz of fluorescent lights
tunneling deeper and deeper into her temple.

She wakes up to new hurts
ferociously spattered across paper tissue.
Bruises kiss her knuckles, her knees.
Cuts lace and stitch her arms together.
A cherry burn line stripes her shoulder.
Just vague memories of clumsy rage
and stress relief.

Shaky fingers flutter and brush
the ragged skin she wears
assessing the damage
dressing the damage.

Her black out injuries are mementos.

I feel the plates of the earth pushing us apart
We grind and we glide but we never let go
I think about you there in the cold winters
On my tiny island
In my inferno
I think about the scruff on your face
The rose in your cheeks
I wonder about your scent
I think about the way your skin must feel
Underneath another's nails
But in truth I know I deserve no claim
My loyalty came with a price
And to be fair
The wound is still raw
Still open
Still waiting
If waiting for the past makes me a fool
Then to hell with wisdom
I won't swallow this
But today is not the day
For resolutions

A tired girl starts her day with a sigh like the moan of a violin
Her groggy mind is overflown with empty thoughts that have yet to be tamed by sleeping in
Her mornings consist of the same boring routine,
Get up, get dressed, but first make sure you’re clean,
In her sleep drunken state, she stays in the shower until it’s too late,
I guess making it to school on time was not to be her fate.
When she finally stumbles into class, tardy slip on hand
She sinks to an empty desk, unable to stand.
The classroom discussion gets her more and more lost,
Although I suppose missing half of it would have its cost…
She seemed to be quite vacuous at times,
But she held a lot of smarts, just hidden in her mind.
She would scrutinize her work until she had an idyllic idea
But sometimes it was too big of one for her mind to appeal
But even though she tends to assail to her work,
Her perfectionist tendencies don’t let her finish any work,
A tired girl ends her day with a sigh like the moan of a violin
But tomorrow she will just have to stop and try again.