Pink Hotel

and behind some bitter, white picket fence
she sat
actually, she stalled.

Tapped her feet on the pavement, cuddled the curb in her ripped dress.
She wore pink in her hair,
little slivers of an innocent, chapped lip.

a dying pink.

The fence creaked with the interrupting wind.
and she stood, danced across the street.

cracked hands gripping frigid door handles,
come on in.

Torn garments, wisps of pink flying from her head,
she felt pretty in pink,
third grade, mother-just-bought-a-new-bow pretty,
innocent, dad-bought-me-glittery-shoes pretty.

Painless pretty.
Sane pretty.

No more
he-just-wants-to-see-me-bare pretty,
he-gives-me-lots-of-drinks pretty,

Worthless pretty.
Lost pretty.

Pink matter that drips onto a glass floor,
everyone can see through it,
through her.

What is it, woman?
she gave her hand to a solo cup,
So alone.
Pink drink, it’s good for you,
good to me.

To the third floor,
and lay down.

do you like the pink?


He always said I looked good with pink.



-C.M Aldecoa

Religion had locked me up in a closet
shrined with Adam and Eve
        Mary and Joseph.

Adam married Eve, my child,
Mary bewedded Joseph, my child.
Blessed be the day you crawl out of this closet
to be coveted by the golden halo God has waiting for you.

I have been clothed in God’s golden halo,
drapery of fine linens, for he loves me so,
and religion had locked me up.

I wish for Adam to marry Adam,
Eve to love Eve.
For a closed door shall never preserve,
progress has made its step forward,
and I choose to march with.

Religion had locked me up in a closet,
for if I had never opened the door,
misery would have reigned upon me.

And with this,
though I may be frowned upon in a chapel,
hostility will never hold my heart.  

-Chloe Aldecoa

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.

I am avoiding the memories.
Taking every ounce of heart I had and pouring it back into its jar,
storing it in the freezer,
letting the ice form over the fibers and watch the I love’s and I promise’s until they because never again’s and caution tape.

My stomach is empty.
Let the regrets simmer at the bottom,
I will feed them bourbon through a tube,
because heartbreak has left my lips gaped open, dried out from screaming.

Lay me on the concrete, let the heat bake me into the footsteps of every hand that held me, allow their feet to press me into the floor.

Take the telephone wires and string me along their lines, I want to hear every I told you so.

Call me in the middle of the night, high and forgetful of everything we said,
tell me that I am forever a handprint on your chest, a kiss on your lips,
and I will ask whose prints have covered mine, who has wiped my lips from yours.

I can take honesty like a bullet through my heart. I can take truth through a ***** needle, but never assume I could attempt to survive knowing I was an accessory to your assumption that I was merely a smoke break.

Something to come back to in the middle of the night, but can be put out until it’s needed again, when you need to feel something.

After the last,
I remember vowing I would never fall first before knowing where I’d land.

Funny thing, everyone told me where I would land. but I laughed and said no, this one is different.
I’m back in my bottles, forgetting what it is like to laugh sober and smile clean.
and they’re incessant song,
I told you so
I told you so.

Well, so did you,
told me I would make it,
I can trust a ***** needle and let my already beaten heart take a few more hits.

You can spread a pair of legs like a gate,
trap lips like you’re catching a meal,
and destroy hearts like a smoke break,

not too often,
but it’s intoxicating everytime.

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?

Senseless, nonetheless

That you should love me for every ounce of my being here,
but, it is only when I am here.

that you truly love me.

The walls, they speak,
I lay, ears to the stucco, praying you aren’t the one mocking my perpetual inloveness I have for you.


Poison.

and , for a brief moment,

I was almost sure that my not being there,
was still enough to know that you could love the thought of me just as much.

tell me, what do you think hurts more?
the suffering,
or the dying...


-I should’ve known

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?

One day, you will feel me
in ways you have never felt me before
The way you once touched my skin, never again
to the way you called me yours
you will feel me in the pit of my soul

Some day, you will understand all of me
in a brand new way that you never knew before
those sweet nothings you whispered,
they will turn to rocks
that I will make you run on in the burning heat
once you finally understand what it means to raise hell

and I cannot wait until the hour
that I can glare at you, and you at me
with such frigidness in my eyes

That  it will force you to question
why such a fiery wrath,
can burn in a heart so cold.

-Chloe Aldecoa

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.

I wear my hair curly,
tight spirals that lay on my neck.

I wear my makeup dark, intimidating,
keeps the mystery that I’m so terrifying with a sweet glaze,
like honey.

But I don’t dissolve well and I came from poison.

I like my drinks colds, tingly, intoxicating.
It was the way my father handled his problems.
The way I handled mine,
I like my death cold, perspirating with teases that the next shot can be my last if I let it. I never really let it, I just allowed it to crawl in bed with me and sing me to sleep.

I’m attempting to romanticize a habit that dragged me a couple miles away from sanity, left me to dry up in the arid desert, surrounded by merciless voices.

I want to pour glitter on an addiction that gave me paranoia that I would rot in my bed, tied down by the idea that I can only be loved if I am bare.
Open, hands sprawled and not folded in prayer, because when I confessed beneath the altar, I leaked toxins that I swam in.

Wet dreams became a phrase that shook my ribcage, the grim reaper was the boyfriend in my head that mentored the shadows with a sweet malibu fantasy.  
Keep playing the same song, and I soon memorized each lyric.

I like my drinks on demand, I like them rolled in fury, drenched in sorrows, a control less kind of romance that undressed me every night, alone.

Control yourself, it whispered to me, you still need some for tomorrow.
I need to escape, covered in glitter and malibu kisses.

-C.M. Aldecoa

I attempted to translate our love in every possible language my mind could handle.
How we laid on the carpet, hands intertwined, eyes locked on each other’s souls.

My stomach churned, my heart beat escaped into your palms.
I had drank the night before,
You could tell, because my eyes wanted to portray innocence, but you knew.
Yet, I wanted to drink your love instead,
It was just as bitter.
Just as unhealthy, with the complements of the same regret the next morning.

I suppose those stamps on my neck never helped either.
The way you managed to **** the life out of me was inexplicably wonderful.
But it hurt later.

Or how my lips tasted like you, I never loved the taste,
But I told you I did.
I lied, you knew.

That night, when you went home, questioning me.
I mosied on over to the glow of my stove light,
Allowed my hand to marry the egg white bottle,
They looked like little sugars,
But I got nothing sweet from it.

Down the hatch.

I called you, against my wall dizzy, giggling.

You love me when you’re lost, you told me,
You love me, you want me when you’re not you, you told me, you yelled.

I passed out that night,
You called me to check up,
And I could not recall what happened,
Or why I loved you.

So I walked over to that stove light,
Hoping the bottle would help me remember,
Just so I could taste you once more, and not feel guilty for never loving you sober.

When you were cold, trapped in a dark place
     pleading for my love and desires
     I saw that you needed a light,

so I set myself on fire.


-Chloe Aldecoa

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.

What is my brain made of?
You.
It’s swollen pink with your handprints and eternal pleasures.
I’ve been quiet for a minute, closing my eyes in the dark room and feeling fingertips dance on my spine.
You could make my hoarse throat sing lyrics I had never heard before.

Pleasure.

Withdrawals.
A container for your memories now,
I hold every second of contact, every touch, every word in my head.
My brain is made of you.
You’re the greatest good that has killed me.

All I need, gone.
I would cut my head off if you weren’t still holding me together,

or, I could,
but something tells me you’d watch it roll down a hill.

-Chloe Aldecoa

Hive behind the fact that I shower you in petals,
remember who gave you wings.
I wrap every limb around those antennas, and I listen.
You relieve the fear of being stung by something so horrible,
I use to hide behind bushels of lies,
blanket myself in dead flowers.

Now, I hive within you, make my home in something that brings me sweets.
I hive in the taste of an unknown kiss,
I thrive in a kingdom of crystal wings and patterned glee,
honey sweet touches that bring life into me.
Allow me to be the field of flowers in the dead night of spring,
harvest what I have left, let the body sing.

Take me back to the warmth of the comforting honeycomb,
and I will follow you wherever you roam.
No distance is too long, no field big enough for me,
to always, and forever, be with my darling honey bee.

-honey comb tastes best when picked from your lips
-Chloe Aldecoa

I have excrutiating back pain from carrying double heartbreak.
It has been three months since my liberation,
three months since I stopped envisioning my nails scratching a kitchen table,
screaming out his name, my back arched.
Three months since I have kissed sanity on the lips and watched it undress me ever so gently.

I have been in bed with insanity for months now, letting it tear me open in my sleep.
For months, I have involuntarily let loneliness hold me in the night and ***** every inch of me.

Every ounce of my heart is rolling around in my throat.
It chokes me in my sleep.

I swallow my own tears,
let my arms lay limp and my legs drag behind me.
At night, when the dim moonlight dresses my skin in glow,
I rip my clothes off,
I allow the darkness to follow the moonlit floor, and watch it dance with me, all in my bareness.

I sleep,
it touches me.
I awake,
it watches me rise and take the day.

If you were stranded in the desert
getting slapped by the sun, dying from thirst
I would cry you a river to drink from
because that's the type of person I am

If your voice was lost in the sea of silence
swimming amongst hollers, not making a sound
I would lend you my shaken vocals
because that's the type of person I am

If you fell into unknown depths, lost and broken
incapable of walking, moving, I would cut off my shattered limbs
and give them to you
because that's the type of person I am

If you died today, heartless and incomplete
I would give you my heart, the one that you broke,
so that you would be living in pain,
but at least you'd be living
because that's the type of person I am

-Chloe Aldecoa

I ought to know why you stare at me with intention,
but you treat me with hesitation.
Fear what you know for sure, and swim into unknown waters and learn to love an uncharted sea that knows no boundaries with a full heart.
There lies a shore with white sands and calming winds, the comfort of knowing.

-Chloe Aldecoa

I will hold every man after you with contempt.
He’ll want a first chance, but  I will gaze down at him with second chance eyes.

he deserves a first impression, an at-a-glance judgement, but before he speaks I will already have decided why he won’t be wrapping himself around me.

and he will owe me an explanation for you, every man after you will answer for your misdeeds.

Do you all act like this? Do you all do this to us? What’s the cure?

and I won’t mean to offend an entire gender, but after being a victim of one member, it’s hard not to **** the whole crowd.
a stereotypical concept, but it’s one that’s being fed.

but, every man after you will have to hold up to the way you kissed me before I left. With presence, passion, a lingering mystery.
and he will have to be up to par with your words and the gentle touch you gave while lying down.

every man after you will need to tame me after a long day, the way you did, subtle aggression, but it was kind, sweet.

he’ll pray that he can be the one, but every many after you will have to pay up for your sins and stand up to your level.

- so, it’s hard to know what will happen, when I push them for what you did, but love them for being better than you.
-Chloe Aldecoa

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.

I apologized for correcting you.
when you told me I was wrong.
I apologized for not listening to you,
when you would ask me to be quiet.

I painted my skin red with anguish that I could stand up to par with what you required.
Drowned my lungs in cheap toxins that left me sick the next morning.

Facing you.
I apologized for running my mouth, for telling you I loved you.
when you got tired of hearing it everyday.

I lathered my skin purple with your aggression that I could ever learn to obey.
Sinking my stomach in doctored ways that left me unconscious for hours and dead the next morning.

Facing you. Dead.

I didn’t have to,
because you finally felt sorry for burying me, way after I already passed.

-C.M. Aldecoa

Cannot lie,
I felt like a ***** when I said good-bye.
Knives cut into my flesh and I bled out in your name,
but *******, did you write me off with a mutual slip of solitude.

Your voice remained dead sea still, calm as a frozen over lake,
but so ******* cold  I couldn’t feel my legs.
You told  me, if it ever came to that, you’d be understanding,
so comprehensive that I wouldn’t feel a thing.

*******, you were supposed to fight for me,
call my name, tell me you love me and that we can get better.
You slacked off and forgot to call me,
when I wept in my own bleeding palms,

You put me on hold.

So you could tell your friends you were too busy to have fun.
As if hearing my lips quiver through a phone was so much hell for you.

You were supposed to object to my stance,
tell me you’d get better, that you’ll remember more,
and put me first.
Maybe a let’s talk this out first, I love you too much.

Because when you answered that phone,
I still loved you.
You never fought, you let me do this so easily,
my hands shook and my ribs rattled and you said,
Okay, I get it. Have a nice life.

That’s what hurt the most, and the stabbing still lingers,
because you quit, long before that phone call.

Now, I feel bad for you,
not because I left,
but because you let me go.

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.

I believed in you,
In us.

I vowed my undying love to you and, with hope,
Began to imagine a day where I wasn’t lying on the floor,

Alone.

We had the world in our palms and yet you managed to create blacks and blues on my flesh into galaxies that made no sense,
I was attracted to the unknown.

And I did not know you.

Dandelions grew over my blood that flooded a meadow,
Roses blossomed from weeds and out came my will to leave you.

Each petal fell with the grace of a dancer and I was uplifted into a world of light.

With a bottle of trouble in one hand, and you heart in the other.

-Chloe Aldecoa

If I learned to love with both eyes open

I would crawl into unknown alleys
with the expectation that it’s perfect for me.

and maybe that’s why I approach open hearts with sealed eyes,

so I can feel,
hear,
taste their imperfections,

knowing the heart for every chamber it contains

- sorrow came to me in the middle of the night and asked for a kiss, I showed it romance and eternal bliss
-Chloe Aldecoa

I am learning to love my reflection.

I have new hands,
old calluses have surfaced from trying to drag you around with me
making sure your limbs are all attached to my backside.
Pulling my hair to reveal the secrets I am hiding from you,
you cannot harvest my thoughts from kissing me
let me catch you washing your hands every time I ask you where you’ve been.

My new hands have the desire to remove your hand prints off my sides.
I can see myself.

I have brand new eyes,
and they see through the smoke.

I’ve bathed in the sorrows of every heartbreak,
but this time I’m drinking the water.

Busted my ceiling so I could breath,
let the air infiltrate my lungs and I was reminded of what it is like to love what I already own.

me.

BRAVERY WON’T ALWAYS **** YOU

I ought to know why you stare at me with intention,
but you treat me with hesitation.
Fear what you know for sure, and swim into unknown waters and learn to love an uncharted sea that knows no boundaries with a full heart.
There lies a shore with white sands and calming winds, the comfort of knowing.

Maybe, you’d learn to love again, if you decided to jump into the sea.

It is unspeakable
Yet I find words in the darkest places of my memories
That leave my crevices torn.
The taste of deception in your breath is but a million concerns for me.

‘Could I ever?’ is but a question I incessantly pose myself with,
for the fear that one day I will never unearth an answer.

Why are you hiding?

This is not a test, and my lonesome ears are eavesdropping for a piece of your word.
These walls are thin but my heart is thickened flesh encompassed in veins that ship blood to the places that yearn to bleed at the thought of your voice.

I will not bleed.

I lay down face up and talk to Him. You, sinful warrior,
or worrier.
There’s a difference and you managed to scramble up these definitions into this conjured dictionary of menacing deeds and misconceptions.

You are fooling no one.

And I pray,
And I pray every evening until I can hear your words again
“I’m sorry,”

I wish I was.

-Chloe Aldecoa

My words,
can look like poetry,
and still taste
of poison.

Your eyes,
can shine like stars,
and still burn
like flames.

My hands,
can feel feather soft,
and still
carry a knife.

Your words,
can comfort like a hug
and still manage to steal
all my blood.


- we volley between our love and our desire to hate each other, but I could never pick one, you have damaged me to never love you, but been there enough  so I can never hate you

-Chloe Aldecoa

To a memory:

I recall, on a weekend evening,
My body tells me Saturday,
That we laid on the small grass patch that laid beneath a tall mesquite tree.
Our fingers interlocked and our bodies fused together, in an effort to truly become one.

Owls hooted in a nearby nest, the wind swept my hair,
I remember, faintly, the way you smelt.

Like guilt, deceit.

Our chests inflated and deflated in sync.
I could feel your pulse in your wrist,
You were so calm.

A distant cat meowed in sorrow,
You looked over at me, smiled, and got up.

Moonlight danced on your skin and with a swift pivot,
You walked away.

Forever, you whispered.

Meant nothing to you, I hollered.

-Chloe Aldecoa

six.
small fingers counted the days until I could perish with the wind.
become one with the stars.

mother wept into the arms of her reflection
what life had become, she could not say.
father drowned himself in toxins
what had become of him,

no one could say.






in his love
I found my limits.
in his temper
I found my strength.

and in his absence
I found my voice.

Listen.

-if I’m being honest, your inability to raise me was the best way to let me grow
-Chloe Aldecoa

I can recall the first moment I knew I fell for you, that very moment where the war was over
and my mind died down, letting all common sense and instinct loose
When my heart stood atop a heap of a dead minded girl, who cared for nothing but the lips of a dead minded boy
I had to be cautious with how many times I told you I wanted you
I was careful with how many times I let you into my  secrecy
  

For a while, I pondered on the infinite thought of us becoming so much more,
not just a star in the sky, but the whole galaxy
that I would no longer be just your flower, but the gates to your garden
and perhaps, you would not just be my drop of water, but my whole sea
in hopes that I would sail your waves that flow in and out of your intriguing soul
The way you spoke, those numbingly sweet words,
“I never want to lose you, and I never plan on losing you, ever.”

it wasn't until then, that I had realized, that you never lost me
I lost you, and quite frankly, I don't intend on finding you, ever

-Chloe Aldecoa

I use to fear you.
The way your hair reminded me of an oil spill, drowning me in poisons not fit for a queen.

Your eyes sat heavy and dark with despise.
What you were hating, I cannot say.

Maybe you could no longer stand yourself, you could no longer withstand.

I believed in the way you told me we’d survive.
That we would escape and run together.

Our lives with riches and sunlight.
I believed in all of you, all that you were.

I should have known,
To never believe in ghosts.

-Chloe Aldecoa

Pain and love are at one with the heart,
just as a poet and their words are one at spirit
Each, from a divorce of such bitter pastimes
to become one with one another, in mind and in soul

The heart craves love,
just as a poet craves a pencil and a paper,
at every moment of the day
To crave one another, is to build a kingdom
built on love and the powers of a dark past

To only be virtuous in the world,
to have the eyes yearn for the heart,
just as a poet looks in others for inspiration
For their eyes to meet words, just as the heart meets another
and often, to be rooted in each other, such a beautiful phrase

Pain and love are at one with the heart,
just as a poet and their words are one at spirit
Each from the darkest realms of life,
only to be joined to form a brighter road

-Chloe Aldecoa

Where do I begin?
How can I say this in the softest, most harmless way possible?

This will be the hardest part, the honesty. No one likes the truth, but they demand that everyone be truthful for everything.

So, this is my disclaimer,
you may not like what I am about to say, but you should accept what is said,
because when you begged for the reality, I had no problem serving it to you on golden plates.

Just, please, if you’re going to throw up, do it where I cannot see you,
because, honestly, I do not care how this makes you feel.

You knew what could happen when you invited me to dinner.

-Chloe Aldecoa

New, not better.
Giving, not more forgiving.

Loving, not lovelier.
Softer, not the softest.

Brave, not the bravest.
Kind, not kinder.

Neverending, not ephemeral,
because, I pray she can stay forever with someone as precious as you,

but, she’ll need to know who made you so precious in the first place,
and , please, give me some credit.


- it’s only fair, I always accredit you when I’m told I’m picky, because, someone had to be the first to be everything I did not need.
-Chloe Aldecoa

I have storms brewing within me,
Hurricanes, tornadoes, lightning
I am who I was and will be
Stars birthing in the sky,
bursting and creating
Universes
I was your world.

I have jungles growing within me,
Towering trees, blossoming flowers
Poisonous animals
I am what I am and what I want to be
Swaying branches and thunderous sounds
roaring and preying
on the weak
I was your adventure
With the abundance of nature’s fury
beneath my skin

I am the rough words of a struggling poet
The discombobulated jumble of rhythm less music
The unfinished art work made in the hour
of darkness
I am horror
I am chaos, utter obliteration

and you,
are nothing.

-Chloe Aldecoa

Being reminded.
Two o’clock in the morning.
I am dreaming quietly, the blanket has yet to be ripped off of my skin,
unveiling my vulnerable flesh.

Two-thirty, and I am skinned of my dreams and told I am unable to find what I want.

You.

Could I be held again for one more second? May my hands hold yours in the dark of a room lit by your smile, am I allowed to know you again as only mine for another moment?

You are not mine anymore. The world had taken you back and I am reminded when I wake up to words of sending me off into the world without you.

Remind me, again, about how much you needed me. Lying in your lap and wishing for an eternity of finally knowing what it is like to feel alive.

Foolish, I know. To be reminded and expect miracles to unearth from the universes I have created where I can have what I need and what I want.

Impossibilities haunt me at night, reminding me of what I cannot have.
The spoiled little girl inside me throws tantrums unworthy of this world.

I have grown up, and I grew into you and to be ripped away is simply a knife to my chest, a heartbreak I have never known. I kiss the pieces goodnight, and shape them into your name.
and let the wind sweep them away, the same way I have to, but, at night, I am reminded of the last night I thought this would last.

and it is the only memory keeping me sane.

- to be more was a reality I knew, and is now a dream I hold onto
-Chloe Aldecoa

I am the good in every good-bye.

Hands held.
touched
felt
printed

Grabbed my heart and toggled it back into its hiding spot.
where it dribbled between the truth and heartache
it sits in a cave.

Etched with small moments and diamonds.
and when I try to dust off the ash,
to let the shimmer of the gem come through,

it reminds me of you.

But it is the greatest good you’ll ever know,
a diamond.
To wear it, hold it, feel it, stamp your lips into it.

It is dangerous.
To fall for a diamond too bright for you, but pure enough to let you look.

The greatest good in the hardest good-bye,
how does it feel to lose your riches, and dig in coal mines,

searching for the diamond you left at your doorstep.

-I will always be sorry for what could’ve been, but never sorry for what has happened
-Chloe Aldecoa

If you had stayed.



I would have never learned to color my own sky blue
it would have stayed blue

If you had called.

I would have become accustomed to a familiar voice
and not create one in my head
jostled sounds to create comfort

If I had known you’d vanish.

I would have visited
called you myself
and told you goodbye.




-  the heartbreak was not that you left, but the way you left
-Chloe Aldecoa