Crushing gravity;
Knowing that I crave human
intimate moments.

I'm young,
but feel like I've lived a long time.
My memories have been twisted
into many stories,
and yet I feel like I'm running out.

One morning with a tired mind,
I aimlessly stared into my coffee,
eyeing the cream as it swirled in circles,
and it reminded me of the time we danced
in your kitchen at two in the morning,
and you pulled me into your arms so close
that I could smell the whiskey on your breath.
The world passed by around us in pirouettes
of blurry madness and drunken bliss.
Sometimes it makes me wonder why
the rain on my window pane doesn’t echo the
words you last said to me while we stood alone.

I have awakened
a deep, drawing wanderlust
that yearns to break free.

Catching the wind
through my fingertips
trying to snag a taste
of open aired freedom
since it rings and rings
passing through my ears
like a singing bliss.

Watermelon sweet,
a juicy summer mess that
I taste in July.

I remember that night when you were drunk,
mumbling over and over again
about how you weren’t a good person.

We all laughed at such a thought
escaping your chapped lips.
I couldn’t fathom you in a bad light,
never mind knowing that’s
how you viewed yourself.

Cigarette ashes and cheap *****.
Those were the things we indulged in
two nights before you decided
you no longer cared about me.

Unfortunately, you were right about yourself.

You aren’t a good person,
because good people don’t shatter
and break other good people.
That would be bad karma.
And I hope that cycle envelops
your damaged and sorry soul.

I have been tiptoeing around love
for as long as I can remember.
It takes shape of those monsters under your bed
or in your closet that you can’t get rid of.
Fortunately for me, I think I found
my flashlight and the monsters that I once
thought occupied my various bedroom spaces
are actually figments of my imagination
strewn about my room.

Instagram
is telling me
that it was 87 weeks,
or 613 days ago,
that we last
held hands,
and you pretended
that you loved me.

The last time we
locked eyes
was 43 weeks ago
at our mutual friend's
art exhibit.
304 days ago
we saw each
other last,
and it may be a
lifetime
before that ever
happens
again.

Your trance: seductive,
oozing voluptuous love
I cannot resist.

Ruby red caress,
ceremoniously hums
melancholy fears.

Sometimes I sit in silence,
and contemplate the world I once knew
while I stir the contents of my glass
and feel the burn of tequila grace my lips.

The sun sets in an uneven shade of red,
and unfortunately all I see is you
hidden within the ungodly gray clouds
that slowly pull the night upon us.

It has been three years now, and I'm over us.
But there's still a longing to know what
really happened, and why you left.
Do you ever stop and think about me?

I'm glad you exist.
I need my space.
Some moments I just
want to be touched
very hard by your
logic and kindness.

Continue to learn me,
feel me, and love me slowly.
You tell me to trust you,
but the truth is I'm scared.

The last time I trusted so hard,
I was left to drown in the crater
of tears I created for myself.
I’m still coughing up water.

But this is the last time I want
someone else to hold that
kind of power over me.
You aren't a bad person,
I've just learned my lesson this time.

My back is barely a canvas
as my blood drips between my shoulder blades
creating a destructive masterpiece
from allowing the cuts to be visually stimulating
rather than attempting to treat them
with the love and respect
that they deserve.

Blackberry kisses
form on my cheek like bruises,
but won't fade away.

His hazel eyes remind me of chocolate,
and I wish that the storm in my heart
could have engulfed his, too.
Then maybe he would have seen me as
an equal, not just somebody he could use.

A galaxy paints
my fragile hands
a spectrum of
vivacious color
that even a sunset
just born will envy.

They only glow for
such a small amount
of time, that it's like
seeing a shooting star,
or a lighter's spark ignite
with the naked eye.

I'm left with a thin layer
of crust resembling the earth's
core plastered on my fingertips,
with their jagged edges
and the way they are used
to cutting through skin.

As painful as it is trying to
rid this archaic wonder,
I am not a fossilized relic of myself
left behind for viewers to learn about.
I am just living my life the only way
I know how, as remnants of a lost soul.

Destruction of sin
meets an unwavering faith
that will not alter.

My fingertips
snag your skin
as if it was cloth
I could pull closer
to my body to make
the pain of the world
around me dissipate.

It’s almost 1AM,
and here I am wondering why
you never wished me a good night,
or even tried to tell me that you love me.

He was everything
that I was scared to become.
I hope he's okay.

Her powerful grace, and her torrent of waves-
They collapse me onto my scarred knees,
bearing my head down low, submerging it beneath the surface.
She somehow willingly heals my past scars, and as she does,
gives me a warning that future ones may hurt just the same.
With bated breath, my mouth breaches the barrier, and I tell her that as long as I don't drown alone, I'm willing to take the risk.

I still share stories of us...
to strangers, and to people that never knew you.
I paint a lovely picture of those memories and my tool is the knife you left stabbed in my back, right between my shoulder blades.
The blood has this thickness that helps portray this realness that
is unlike any other medium once it's delicately laid upon a canvas.
I've passed your apartment stoop, hoping you'd be sitting there with a stale beer and a cheap menthol drag dangling from your *******.
Even though it's never you sitting there, the same stench of *** and
the aroma of Svedka still drifts around the humid city air.
It causes a whirlwind of emptiness in my head and I'm never
able to clear my thoughts of you completely.
When I look up at night and see the millions of stars making their headlining appearances in the dark, I always wonder if we'll ever be
discovering the exact same one like we found each others hearts.
But then I remember, just like losing sight of a star in the sky, we lost each others hearts and you chose to never try searching for mine again.

I lust for his lips,
the cherry red pout that makes
life a bit sweeter.

The horizon tries
turning me to the night, but,
I know better now.

Wood floors underneath
my ****** and dragging feet.
Maybe you should leave.

I am your weakness,
No matter what in the end,
It is always me.

Crackle, sizzle, snap,
Fire burns intensity
Too hot to notice.

If I could sew
every hole in my heart
back together
that was created
by your touch
and your words
then I would need
an infinite amount of thread
and a steady hand
to successfully free
the last few demons
that made home
in the crevices
of my damaged soul.

Buttermilk pancakes
and their sweet tasting batter.
Reminds me of when we stood in
your tiny Boston apartment kitchen
trying to cut lemons into slices
that we'd use as chasers
for our alcohol binges.

Sometimes I picture us back
on your roommate's couch
trying to make sense of the
useless television we put on.

The lies didn't cloud my vision
then like they do now.
If only you didn't leave me
like I meant nothing to you.

The ocean is a powerful, all-knowing being.
She causes the wind to whip my hair over my shoulders,
while the salt stings my eyes, making it hard to see clearly.
She leads me along the damp sand and entraps me there.
This endless, all-knowing being whispers in a low gravelly hum,
to let the cold bitter waves soak my feet.
I bravely oblige and turn my body towards the water,
stopping to feel each wave gain new control over me.
I'm getting what I deserve.

I imagine myself standing on the edge
of a skyscraper,
and we're holding hands
looking each other in the face.
The wind whips my hair
and the hard rain clears my senses.
We give each other a glance,
wondering if we'll let the voices win,
and then when we meet eyes,
we know that we need to jump together.

Forgot my halo,
I left it on your nightstand
right next to your horns.

Golden sun, shining,
illuminates the moon, now
we shine together.

My lips are glowing,
color, reflecting dew that
illuminates rooms.

My Victorian gold bordered mirror
shines the withered teal tides back at me,
wrapping my body in such a way
that doesn’t feel too loose, or too tight.
It's a comforting embrace that reminds me
of the swaddling technique mothers use
on their newborns, so they feel safe again.
Internally, I hope this finally makes me
feel like everything is going to be okay.

Autumn approaches.
Pumpkin spice, apple cider,
the flavors of fall.

It's been six years now
and I still wonder about
what we could have been.

Point the barrel at me.
Let me see my future
unfold right before my eyes
as you pull the trigger.

Red hand-picked cherries
leave behind a residue
on smudged, brittle lips.

The conversation took a turn.
A turn, I wasn't expecting.
Like when a yield sign
is on one side of the road
and you have to brake anyway
for the people that don't follow it.

"I'm sorry," you breathed,
hugging your legs close,
tucking your hands behind
your kneecaps.

Your bed suddenly felt
like I was sitting on stone.
"You don't want me anymore,"
I shouted in a pain-ridden voice.
I pulled away, sinking further
into myself and bending over.

You pull for me.
Your hand snags my shirt
and then my arm.
You attempted to pull me
in closer to you.
I never understood why
you wanted to give me
a protective embrace.

"You said you don't want me anymore!"
I reiterated, looking at him with
tear-streaks on my cheeks.
Any hope left was in this one moment,
and it turned out to be the moment
you let me go.

Molding lumps of clay,
Sticky, earthen residue,
shaped to doughy love.

Milk and honey;
one is more luscious and inviting
dripping down your pouty, cherry red lips.
The other is warm and tempting,
but for some reason,
I can't stand to stomach it.