My blackberry jam
bruised covered lips
have slowly turned
into a pastel shade
of peachy rose bliss
because they had the
time to heal that my heart
has yet to figure out.

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.

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.

I yearn
for a touch
I haven’t yet
experienced.

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.

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

The taste of ***** burns my lips
but it doesn't pain me as much
as the abandonment did when
you broke up with me at 2am
in your city apartment.

Am I worthy?
Of mercy?
Of kindness?
Of love and affection?

Or am I doomed?
To the void?
To being numb?
To feeling incomplete?

Your smile favors the right side of your mouth
while i favor the left,
so i can trail kisses along your
jawline and back down your neck.

The idea that your heart is a galaxy
that can love infinitely is one you may
only find trailed along the pages
of a philosophical novel meant for the
scholars of an alternate universe.

Stars only reflect
the inner most desires
burning to escape.

There is something so raw and glorious
about being awake before the rest of the world.
When a new day is breaking through over the horizon,
and the birds are just starting to stir.
The air is a mixture of stickiness and solitude.
The dew lines up on the blades of grass,
wanting to be the first touched by the rays of the sun.

Your lips -
they parted like the Red Sea,
dripping words blacker than ink
across the blank page
that was my body.

Your hands
smelled of vanilla,
but rough like granules of sugar
stirred into teacups.
Your fingers,
they teased me,
snarling along my ribcage
as if trying to tie flowers along
my weeping torso.

The connection was instant
like a polaroid picture.
But the love was slow
like when a bump turns to a bruise.

And it faded, too,
just like all wounds do,
love does too.

All of our brains
are sick with worry and fear.
Mental illness *****.

My heart
feels heavy
being weighed down
by the words
I’m too afraid
to say to you.

Music is a curse
in the way it brings you back
to a certain place in time.
Whether that moment was special
or if it brought you pain,
Music doesn’t care.
It just is.

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.

A godly nectar that is a
blessing only to those worthy
enough to have an encounter.

A golden hue making home
within the shallow depths of
the catacombs,
holding crystals of pollen's past
and honey's future.

A delectable dynasty
that oozes from the waxy,
permeable pores that are succulent
and luscious in nature.

Comb honey;
A godly nectar that is a
blessing to all those that
have been lucky enough to taste.

Freckles dot the lined
curvature that is
my cheekbones.
Simple brush strokes
on the canvas that
is my body
shape the path
of my veins.
They're similar to a map,
leading you to many
destinations.
If you get lost,
just look into my eyes.
They’re the landmark that
will help guide you
home.

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.

Words dripping in desire
like the oozing thickness of honey;
it's too sticky and hard for me to swallow.

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

Trauma from the past
knows how to enter itself
back into your life
when you least expect it,
causing the dominoes of your
sanity to collapse under the
societal pressures you've housed
your mental state into, silently
praying there will be a glitch in
gravity that will cause all motions
and bad thoughts to cease, leaving you
with a state of uninterrupted peace and
numbness to shield your remaining
innocence and childlike mannerisms away.
Even if it's just for a second.

Water drenched bodies
soaking in the rains from heaven.
Nothing had seemed more clear
in that moment than lips on lips.
Sometimes I wonder why
the passion and intensity burned
hotter than fire, and yet
the cool rain intensified the doubt.

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.

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.

Even when I seem
to be surrounded by souls,
I still feel alone.

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.

Blackberry kisses,
stinging strawberry cuts,
and raspberry colored veins.
If only the shape of your lips
had been as perfect as the
cherry I'm ******* on.
Unfortunately, the golden apple
hue that your soul radiated
was only momentary.

Nurture me,
touch me gently
and don't worry
if I'm frightened.
I've just felt this feeling
before and it's never
worked out in my favor.

And then I saw it,
At dusk, beating its small wings.
A guest from heaven.

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

Flecks of gold stardust
got caught in my weary eyes
and awakened me.

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

Hands almost touching,
I'm out of my **** mind, right?
How could we do this?

Stark shadows haunt me,
dark lies shudder and sweat blood,
maybe I'm alone.

My chest became so
Hollow at your absence that
Echoes could be heard.

Succumb into me,
and hope for the gift of light
to shine from within.

Grip tightened on me,
Strangers falling in love now,
is it not over?

Ruby red caress,
ceremoniously hums
melancholy fears.

Hands carry burdens
that are meant for more than one
person to handle.

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

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

It has all been said,
a line, a word, a dull phrase,
yet you're everything.

The sinking ship is
in my thoughts, but navigates
a new charted course.

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

My lucidity
fights alcohol like how glass
cuts skin like a knife.

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

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