promises locked onto a small hand
became broken fingernails
that were sharp as the needles
that littered your bedroom floor.
you never told me secrets anymore.

pink lemonade was mixed with
other things. stronger than the bleach
you used to dye your hair. sickly summers
in your throat reminded me of palma violets.
i’d hate to know what went inside it.

the people you loved became
people you’d forgotten.
i like to think you loved me once.
but now i live in your memories
and our childhood shines faintly like dreams.

does it hurt when you die?
i hope not.
i hope you don’t feel it
when your cells fade out
like a star that stopped burning
that you still see.
i hope i never cling on like that.
i hope the end is fast
and drifting
like waves maybe, or
tumbling clouds in the wind.

does it hurt when you die?
does your body still feel
from beyond the grave?
please don’t cremate me.
please don’t subject my bones
to the flames.
please don’t bury me.
i hope i will never feel my skin decay.
i hope i will never feel again.
nothing is worse than the numb
apart from the feeling.

does it hurt when you die?
even growing old
do you feel pain as wrinkled skin
and once-beautiful eyes
change?
i can see your body lying there.
you look so peaceful.
are you sleeping?
or does everything hurt too much?
i hope i never know.
rest in peace.

i’m all i see.
i’m all i have.
i’m all i’ve ever known-
living in this fragile shell
filled with broken fragments
is all i’ll ever know.
it’s no wonder that i’m so lonely.

her breathing was ragged and
sweet;
like strawberries that stuck in my
throat.
sickly summers had never tasted
so divine.
her laugh burst effervescently; it
was lemonade
on my tongue. her skin was
peaches,
her hair a soft toffee that wouldn't
leave
my fingertips. i found her melting
on my hand.
like ice cream, her cold hurt my
teeth
but left me craving more. her name
caught
somewhere between my jaws
and never
*******
left.

but when i leave
will there be nothing?
will my solipsistic
(vaguely narcissistic)
beliefs be proved
with an ephemeral body
and even more fleeting soul?

will there just be blackness?
or will i be with someone
(or something)
greater than my sordid self?
i don't mean to be nihilistic
but how can i not be
when we're so short-lived?
how can anything matter
when we know no answers
and tell so many lies?

i am ready for blackness.
it sounds so quiet.
life is all too loud
for my agnostic mind.

nothing seems real anymore.
i am roaming the earth
with transparent feet
trying not to fall through the ground.

my bones are always cold.
i am trying to scream
but no one can hear.
no one sees me anymore.

i am not quite dead; not quite alive.
a stranger in my own skin
but not a ghost.
even ghosts have homes to haunt.

when I told the only person I trusted
about all the times I tried
and failed
to die,
they told me that I can't have meant it
judging by the fact
that I am still here.

I did mean it.
and my broken mind
and my burning stomach
wish that I didn't.
I wish that I didn't.
but I also wish that I meant it more.
maybe then everything would stop
hurting so much.
maybe then I wouldn't regret failing.

you used to flow through my veins
but then you left
and now it's just blood
and it's not even all there
because most of it stains the sheets
that you used to lie on
and tell me you loved me.

we only feel so empty
because we left
little pieces of ourselves
in everything that
we once loved;
once lost.

people only see youth
in the eyes of a child
and not in the soft hands
of a 70 year old woman
who still believes in magic.

do you know the feeling when
you wake up early
at the time when the rest
of the house is sleeping
and you don't have the energy
to do anything else but
stare blankly at a wall?
that's what it feels like.
numb.
silent.
tired.
you just want to sleep again
but the stars behind your eyelids
are so beautiful
that you fear when you shut them
you'll never wake up
again.

darkness is spreading like a virus
and you're telling me that my mind's diseased
but you won't give me a cure
or a torch
and you're forcing me to feel my way out
completely alone
and cold
and blind
when you promised
that you were here to hold my hand.

it's the hardest thing in the world,
watching you fade.
I'm waiting until you become dust
all for a more prominent ribcage
and to be able to cut diamonds
with your collarbones.

it's the hardest thing in the world,
watching you cry
in front of your reflection.
your pain is never beautiful
but your soul always will be.
you always were.

it's the hardest thing in the world,
watching you die.
you were always so fragile,
so delicate. I fear you might snap
when I try to hug you close,
with your bones digging into my arms.

it's the hardest thing in the world,
watching you fight.
although, it's not so much of a fight
when you're too tired to
and the winner is guaranteed
and you never wanted to win anyway.