We built this house. We eat watermelon on the floor, spitting seeds across a shooting range measured by the planks in the floor.

We built this house. We spill barbeque sauce while trying to make pizza and lick it from each other like wild animals, we are free.

We built this house. We drink our coffee cold. We’re too busy looking at each other to drink it hot. I guess we’re admiring the temperature of each other instead.

We built this house. My eyes are the color of the garden you gave me, watered by the April showers of tough times. Flowers come in spring.

We built this house. Your eyes fell from the stars, your dreams stayed there, never to come back down.

We built this house. We dance in our underwear as we pack away our scars, the scars that don’t scream,

we can walk away from this quietly.

We have never loved each other more than this moment, but now this moment has passed. We sit across from each other in more April showers, flowers come in spring. We sit on the wrong sides of the table. Packing our scars into separate boxes, they scream. We keep them quiet.

If Christ can move stone to forgive our sins, why can’t we?

Rip open the scars that scream, pack them with the dirt of a grave, you are ready to let them die. You are ready to plant seeds. Flowers come in spring. We don’t wait for healing to find us. We have risen from the ground and better **** well act like it. You water flowers, not leave. Regrowth happens in spring.
We are spring.
We are spring.

We built this house.

I'd liken you to an alien
Pulling out a new skin suit from the closet each day,

But that would mean you're extraterrestrial
And you are nothing but ordinary.

Tell me you and him are “just friends”
And we are “close friends”

As you sharpen the fangs you’ll leech me with,
Plastic over your teeth.

It’s not winning if you don’t become someone else.
I’d call you chameleon, but

I have too much respect for them
And your colors just aren’t that bright.

Your slithering tongue won’t be remembered in a year.
Your name gone the next.

Take solace in knowing that what you tried to break
Will forever be etched into his skin

Like the tattoo in mine;
Memorable, but not you.

You stood in my shadow
And tried to call it yours.

Blame the sun for spilling your secrets.
And blame me when you burn.

I warned you,
Sweetheart,

That I crawled up from hell.
You just crawled out of a casket.

I have flames; you have your fears,
And you cannot bury me with them.

You tried to warm your rotting soul
And take the flames as your own.

Smother your ugly in ice
And ask me why I was so cold.

Whirling wardrobe,
Break free.

Mystic?
*****, please.

A sunflower doesn’t succumb to weeds.
You’re just fertilizer for me.

This is my summer part three.

There's something sick about the blood still on the door.
There's something sicker still about the way that you touched me.
There's something brutally honest in these walls.

You were predatory, coming undone.
And it's the one thing I haven't figured out or washed away.

There's some things you can't scrub clean.
My hands still smell like bleach from all the times I've tried.

You were anything but accidental.
You were calm, criminal, calculating,

Broken.

I was all your gory daydreams,
Covered in flowers,

Wilting.

There's no way to run with bruised limbs and broken bones
And blood never cleanses sins.

But sacrifice in the name of "please don't take me."
Please don't take me.

Am I still going to hell?

<i>As the songs start becoming more "I love you."
And more "*******."</I>

You're a ******* art project
And I'm the wasted paint.

You're the jaws of life
And I'm the crumpled up car.

You're an accidental adventure I was so lucky to go on.
So sunshine and self worth.
How much of you is real?

I need to stop casually referring to myself as toxic waste.
I need to stop talking about you like you put the stars in the ******* sky
Because it was me.

I did.

I am chaos in a small bottle.
I am more than some tragic masterpiece you painted in 7th grade.
I'm the pure white paint you couldn't use because it never matched your soul.

How tragic.

You touched my walls with your blackened hands and you weren't burning them down; you were bringing them up.
There's no fire in your bones.
You're only cobwebs and I'm dusting these shelves off.

I'm a ******* art project.
You're just wasted paint.

You're a ******* car crash
Under your deadened sky,
Potential wasted in wasting time.

Am I still the only star in your sky?

I was the telescope, all eyes and waiting.
But all you became was a black hole, black tar,
Sticky and swimming.

Swallow me.

You slammed the door when you walked in.
I slammed the door equally as hard when I left.
There's no stars in your sky.

                                                           ­       Goodmorning.

My wrists still hurt on Thursdays. I still remember the way you looked at me. I haven't slept in the past two twenty-four hour periods. I miss the way you ****** me, like I didn't even matter. I knew I didn't matter, but my god, I wanted to matter.

     CALL IT MENTAL, BUT I SWEAR MY MIND KNOWS MORE ABOUT THE PAIN THAN THE BODY THAT HOLDS IT.

     I constantly have three pills in my pocket. I'm at work and I have three pills in my pocket. I'm at work and I'm carrying drugs I should not need. One to stop the pain and two to stop the panic. That's still three times the recommended dose. You still give me three times the recommended dose. I still need three times the recommended dose.

     The trees and the sky, the sky just as blue as your eyes; and you say you don't understand why I wouldn't want to live forever, but how can I not want to die when forever was in your eyes? The trees weep your name and how can I live knowing they're dying just as slow as the respiratory rate of our love?

     YOU MAKE MY MIND FLIP AND MY STOMACH WHIRL AND THE ONE THING THEY NEVER MENTIONED ABOUT SUICIDE WAS THIS.

     I haven't slept in the past two twenty-four hour periods.

     I feel the rusty nail in my back as much as I feel the nail in my coffin. The rusty nail you pushed me against. I am buried alive. The dirt is beginning to smell like home.

     I drink caffeine to keep me awake. I drink too much caffeine to feel you in my chest. I still don't eat. If you were to touch me, you could feel every inch of my spine. And all this time I thought I was spineless.

     The only way I know I never loved you was when I tried to say your name, I would say someone else's.

     IT SOUNDED A LOT LIKE "HELP".

     If I were to forget you, maybe I could sleep. And then maybe my caffeine heart could take it's final beat.

Tomorrow I'll drink three monsters

And pray that I will live.

Because it became too much for me

And I'm not the one you're with.



The caffeine will bring my mood up

Just enough so you can't see

The scars that hang around my wrists

And the demons chasing me.

The 21st. 2:16am. I told you you were going to hurt me. You were destined to hurt me with your too soft paws, accidentally pulling out your claws and ou didn't want to see the blood spatter.
The 21st. 2:17am. This is when I told you I loved you. Maybe, definitely, always. You never said it back.
The 21st. 2:18am. You told me my heart was too big, but still not big enough to hold everything. I sure as hell couldn't hold you.

It's been three weeks and I still see your blood on my bed sheets.

The 21st. 2:19am. I told you I would never be heartless like you. You told me if that's all I aspire to be, I'll be nothing more than another ******* cliche.
You were stupid and I was dumb and we were toxic waste.
The 21st. 2:22am. I said, "Honey, I'll never be like you." You didn't get it.
My mother's eyes are weary. Your mother's eyes never stopped creating seas. *
The 21st. 2:36am. I pushed you into a lamp. It shattered.
The rest of their eyes are filled with contempt and I don't know if it's for you or me, but my god, it feels like me.
The 21st. I lost track of time. You slapped me. You slapped me again. I am lying with the lamp.
I screamed and you shouted and we were alive.
The 21st. 2:53am. The cops stopped by for the fourth time this week. They called it a domestic dispute, but it just felt like breathing in water.
You were the false positive of a pregnancy test, nervous and scared and alone. I was the father too scared to stick around. You were the drug induced high that kept going.
The 21st. 3:26am. I told you, and I quote, "We live fast and die young and we are dying fast."
And then you stopped
I burned myself on the toaster twice just to feel you touch me.*
The 21st. 3:27am. You were lovesick and I was high as **** and we were too far gone.

I hate that
Whenever
You
Are interested in someone
Else,
You stop talking to
Me
And
I
Hate that
I
Don't even miss
You.

Bedrooms are intimate. Showing someone exactly where you breathe is special. To see it, they have to worship every breath that goes in and out, even if your exhale is poison.
The walls still smell like you
Last week, I pulled the sheets off the bed. I placed them in the burn pile.
I do not wish to see you.
This week, I painted everything a new color, a darker shade.
I pulled down the Christmas lights and let my stars burn out. I placed them in the burn pile.
I do not wish to see you.
I ripped stuffed animals off the shelves and letters off the dresser. Even the photo album went in the burn pile.
I do not wish to see you.
The flowers off the desk... They were dead anyway.
I do not wish to see you.
Everything in a bedroom is sacred. Not everyone belongs there; you sure didn't. You kissed everything with fiery lips and charcoal dust and I am still sweeping up. I continue to find your ashes in my bed.
I do not wish to see you.
You took everything. You took my air and gave me back poison. I couldn't tell the difference. But the worst thing you took from my room is me.
I do not wish to see you.
I do not wish to see you.
*I put you in the burn pile. I see you in the flames. I see you everywhere.
I start to tear at the drywall.

You put

Me

Together.  



You tear

Me

Apart.  



You shock

Me

Into silence.  



You rip

Apart my wings

And hold me down.  



You tell

Me

To suffer.  



You tell

Me

It'll be okay.  



But how

Will

Things be fine?  



With no wings to fly

Away.

No heart to feel my

Pain.

No pieces left to

Take.

What causes panic is having him push over the passwords to your body with one password override, one guaranteed to work on every girl passing by, but he chose you.

What causes panic is waking up to a cold knife held to your throat, being held there with three single words with no defined meaning except to you because you can't leave him in the nightmares.

What causes panic is feeling the sick way he showed his love branded into every scar on your body, for anyone to read the story.

What causes panic is feeling him hold your hand through crowds, watching him pull out his eyeballs have them rolling behind you like some sick parade just to protect you from those others.

What causes panic is knowing that he will always have a way in because he broke all the locks and pushed access denied access denied access denied to anyone else that tried.

Because, *******, he says "I love you."

And you can't love others.

Austyn met a bad boy.
He ****** her like a *****.
She hid and hid and hid and hid
Because maybe she deserved more.

Austyn met just some boy.
He hit her one time or maybe four
Austyn shrugged and told her mother,
"What's a little more?"

Austyn ****** a good boy.
His girlfriend was such a bore.
Austyn was mistaken for entertainment.
She hated herself some more.

Austyn is a little girl.
Daddy's creeping through the door.
Austyn is 16, alone, in bed, bleeding and screaming:

"Please
No more,
No more."