she was a river running red through my veins
but i loved her anyway
she would hold my hand but it vaguely
reminded me of when i held my
dying grandmothers hand for the last time
i wonder, what’s killing her.
is it me or the fact that she can’t
go a night without talking to the
most destructive thing in her life.
i guess they’re really the same thing.

i feel bad, she was clean linen sheets
and i was the blood that splattered
them when i just wanted to see her
i couldn’t’ find her in my blood so i
looked in my morning tea and the stars in the sky
now i cant look at anything without thinking
of her

she still has my shirt and i wonder if when
she wears it if she smells the gasoline she
used to light a fire in my soul. i can still
smell the sulfer on the swings where she
first kissed me and i can feel the flames
creeping up the poles holding up our love.

rainy days remind me of how my volcanic
anger erupted lava all over her and how
it burned her for weeks.
and those burns scared.
they tell you fire is dangerous but they don’t
tell you human fire the most dangerous
of them all

we both liked breaking thing so we broke each
other hearts. the six glasses, three bottles, and one
bone were purely accidental. she bruised
her knuckles when she punched the mirror
so hard i felt it in my bones. she didn’t
like what she saw reflected but i liked
the poetry i carved in my skin with the
shards of glass. words written as long
gashes that meant a lot to only me.
the broken mirror broke me.

i couldn’t find her in my blood still but later i
found her curled up in my bed
with the nile river flowing from her
eyes and her hands shaking like an
earthquake. she talked about how life
wasn’t her cup of tea and all i could
think about was the mess in my bathroom
the mess of my life was even worse.
the mess of a wake i left behind was
worst of all.

i tried to take a cold shower to freeze her
touch on my skin but i forgot how water
washes things away. i never quite understood
how i could hurt something i loved so much.

she was worn down with
rust that came from our
combined tears that dried on her skin.
the bags of her eyes went on for miles
until they met her hollow cheeks. hollow
head too, stayed with me even though
she was a white flag of surrender being
swallowed by a stormy ocean who
had no regard for warring hearts

i would never tell the priest that my confessional might
be too much for god himself. i couldn’t
tell about how two of his sheep got
stuck in the crossfire of each others love
and lived to tell the tale. noah didn’t
realize that those seven days on flooding
were gods tears when he heard about the
tragedy of her and i.

i’m surprised she didn’t **** herself when
i told her about how truly messed
up my mind was. about how i walked
only thanks to a prescription cocktail.
about how hearing someone talk could
bring me to tears or make me shut down.
about how i may never be able to love
her properly. that was the hardest part.

telling her that my love was toxic just like my
personality and she was prone to poison.
slowly her eyes dimmed but not before i could
infect her clean blood with my perpetual
sadness. she was a walking skeleton by
the time i was done with her. i felt
bad, i took the flesh off her bones and
the threads of her personality to fix
the holes in my soul. it didn’t work.
my only solace was found in the night time
sky and bruised knuckles that stung with
scrapes from plaster walls. she covered my
walls with poster to cover
where i took out my rage

we were never ones for alcohol but rather getting
drunk off the smell of each other. she always
said i smelled like smoke and mint toothpaste
and an empty house on a summers morning.
she smelled like heaven, the smell of sunshine
and clean clothes and a faint trace of something
sweet and unknown. if i could bottle her smell
i would because it’s almost stopped lingering
on my sheets and clothes. she smells better
than my unwashed hair and salty tears mixed
with the smell of the outdoors.

the night sky was my safety blanket, covering
me in darkness. she was the sun, hurting my
eyes and my head. and they could never share
the same sky.

gods thunder had nothing against the
thunder of her slamming doors and
pounding down stairs. luckily his
tears stained our clothes as i chased
her into the oncoming storm.

you were my january, new and fresh, waiting and eager

you were my february, lovely and red, short and sweet

you were my march, long and gruesome, grey and heavy

you were my april, clean and damp, lively and green

you were my may, blooming and new, wispy and pale

you were my june, loved and fiery, hazy and breezy

you were my july, red and blue, revered and bright

you were my august, muggy and sweaty, sticky and hot

you were my september, dreaded and anticipated, stressful and hectic

you were my november, chilly and windy, biting and thankful

you were my december, merry and cheery, pining and frigid

but most of all,

you were a year wasted.

sometimes she would stand in my doorway
bright blue lace ******* that she knew were my favourite
and a little white shirt that was just a bit too small.

she'd enter my room ever so gently, after brushing her teeth in the morning
and pass me a stick of gum
to sweeten the taste of red wine and beer from the night before.

she would stand there in the doorway, with the cutest smirk on her dimpled cheek
and give her ***** a shake

as if to say
"yeah I'm cute, but how do you like me now?"

(she was always watching in the mirror anyway)

i would lay there and smile, and extend my reach
as she lightly pounced into my arms, and my bed

as if to say
"welcome home, sweetheart."
even though we'd just spent the night drunkenly dreaming

and warming each other's souls.

she would rest there smiling as i looked down from above
and tucked her hair behind her ears

i would kiss her 3 times;  on her third-eye and on her crown.

once because i loved her.
and twice more in case she didn't feel it the first time.

some days there was a look of wonder
an unknown amazement shining from her eyes

a look so indescribable, i can't help but think she wasn't real

couldn't have been real

but here she was beneath me.

staring up at me, as if i had the power to magically whisk us away, to a far away place

and here i am, convincing myself she wasn't real.

this is why i can't have nice things.