I’m scribbling this numb.

Very, inexplicably, numb.

there’s a frigid draft coming in from my window,
and, at this moment,
I feel that if i were not bound by endless expectations and worldly aspirations,
I would probably go with the breeze and leap from the third floor.

praying that I land on the ground hard enough to wake myself up.

I’m scribbling this worried.

Very, knowingly, worried.

there’s a reoccuring dream, every other day.
when I am knee deep in my poison,
diving into glass shards and trophy caps.

an array of chanting.
I am the reigning queen, of,
Nothing.

and, here I am.
Up to my neck in caps, swimming in remains,
on the third floor,
ready to wake myself up again.

Three….
Two…
One…

Wait, how did I end up back in my bed?

There was a somber sky.
and when I thought I felt a raindrop pounce on my arms,
I was sorely mistaken.

You hovered above me, stout defense in your eyes,
rounded fists and lips sealed.

I wanted to be sorry.

Your tears slithered down my arms,
my palms caught them,
and back onto your shirt they went.

"I could never be more sorry.
I could never feel worse.
I could never understand why I did this. "

Why don’t you give it a shot?

Imagine the hunting knife tucked neatly under your pillow,
drives a hole in your heart.
Imagine your throat swollen from sickness,
And someone asks you to swallow nails for dinner.
Try thinking about jumping off a cliff and landing on some rocks.

You could never, right?

Then why did it seem okay to do it to me?
Do you know how hard it is to scrub heartbreak out of the carpet?

White Lies

or was it white lines?
I suppose,
in the romance of it all,
she married the lies, to get the lines.

and in some infinite world, where she’s immortal,
it does not matter what lie made the line.

as long as there is a line.

she lays in her bed, layered in guilt,
what to say to me next, I bet she has no clue.

Once.
it just had to happen once.

before I was knee deep in a desk lined up with lies.

A crystal white.
a decadent white,
she fell in love with the way her body sang,
with the way her heart pattered against a drum,
with the way her eyes gave out before she could give in.

Just lie to me,
and tell me you’ll make it out of here alive.

Green Kisses

it’s grotesque.
The hum drum sound your lips make when they’re sour.
it’s a shame I love sour candy.
she’s so lost, just look at her
does she even know no one wants her here?

Pity.
On you.

For assuming I was anything less than your opinions.
is it because I wear my hair down in loose tendrils, so you can see them twirl.
or is it because I wear shorts, so you can see the scars,
I doubt you noticed those anyways.

you seem to only have eyes for the lime eyed monster in the mirror.
is he as pretty as you?

I wish you could understand why I sit in the back, why I speak when spoken to, why I never smile.

You.
I imagine you figure it’s because of you,
isn’t everything
because of you?

Or you’d like to assume it is.

Your hands, dead grass green with vanity,
While I, dousing myself in insanity,
hope , that, maybe one day you’ll see colors less loved.

Yellow Dreams

it’s a loss
to know that in some offset, far away world, there’s the possibility that I survived.

the almost time, when I stood, when I dragged my limbs across deserts and lived.
in a cave set on fire, I let the flames swallow me.
the last thing I knew was the devouring heat of a yellow glow,
clenching my pulse with a fist,

Telling me no more.

it’s a tragedy
to know that in that offset, far away world, there was the sometimes opportunity for you and I to thrive.

the would have been moment that could have opened our eyes.
in a deserted orchard,
the lemons, though sour, kept me alive, reminded me of you.

I bit fruit too pretty of a shine, for a rotten inside that tasted of sour hopes.
some unfortunate Adam and Eve parable,
I was taught to trust my own.

Telling me to move on.

it’s a victory
to know that in some offset, far away world, there’s the knowing that through fire and poor taste,
I learned to survive.

Bathing in a field of sunflowers,
drenched in sunlight,
the only color I know so well.

Purple Plush

it’s a me thing,
because of you.

There’s a once over glance now when they approach me.
Having to analyze them before they are allowed to speak.

soft,
the way you tainted me.
Slowly let the ribbons bleed out until I couldn’t stand by myself.

lavender lines painted on my walls,
attempting to soothe my innermost thoughts,

of you.

Of what we once were,
Plum lines dancing in an infinite sky.

These lavender lines fade now,
to be wrapped in silks, fine linens of serene purples.

it’s a me thing,
because of you.

There’s a slow cry in the background now,
a symphony of a dying plum, drifting into a lavender that consumes me.
it’s comforting,
the way your toxins brought me ease,
a plush love, a cocoon of decadent almosts.

What am I to do now?
When the plums are bruised and the lavender fields stop growing.

Blue Fever

Remembering that,
in some preserved chamber of my sanity,
is your name.

Scarred into dying birch.
Etched in some warped bench.

Call me, sometime.
know me as the sometimes you once held under a warm sky.

I’m in bed, feet wrapped in blankets and my sides are cramped up.
There’s a slight chill,
your touch lingers.

and it burns.

Hand me another drink.

something drowning in rocks,
a crystal blue, like the sea you swim in.

sinking, submerged in you.
I want to swim again,

but , to be this blue,
I cannot imagine I’d want to swim in my own sorrows.