to me,
you are
an art

                              to you,
                              I was
                              a tragedy

Some people have mind palaces
I have a dungeon in its place

I do not roam about the luxurious memories
I flinch at the various tortures
I vegetate in the various prison cells
Each an old regret and an older memory

Some people savour the past
I am suffocated by it

(c) Anavah 2018

I am worth a million
I don’t deserve to be wailing
I now understand, I can’t keep this broken heart from breathing
I am capable of recovery
Thank you for the tears, they taught me all i need to know about your kind.

I fall in love with souls not faces

i bathe in serene
sleepy mountainside ledges
kissed by lips of fall

Please
Don't say it as a friend
Everytime you do
My heart sinks

Please
Don't remind me
That I can never
Have you

Please
Just don't say it at all
I can't hear it
Without breaking

Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.

I always thought memories would decay with time, but they only seem to become more tangible.

It feels like I'm making a rope with them.

Twisting and braiding them together, gathering them up like twine.

Hanging on every moment, every recollection, every thing about you.

I'm conscious of my folly, my unhealthy obsession. Yet I keep making it.

It is no longer the task of a madman, like it once was, but of one who is quite horribly sane.

And I'm not sure what I'll use it for, but I do know that whatever that is, it does not scare me.