darling,
it hurts too much
to watch
as you chase
someone else's dream,
as they chase
someone else's dream,
and no one's
chasing their own.

darling,
it hurts too much
to watch
you pass through
the valleys of life,
as the shadows
stretch further
with every step,
and the valley
stretches too.

darling,
it hurts too much
to hear you
say to me,
in that crystalline voice
that warms my heart,
"the only way
is through",
while I stare back
and whisper to you
"the only way
is through".

darling,
it hurts too much
to look up
and face the sunlight
with eyes
that've only
tasted the dark.

darling,
you love
sunlight.

there was a boy with scars once
he had anger
years of red hot gum stuck in his furnace of teeth
the mirror of his mouth protecting his soul
like thread knotted
twisting
twisting
s n a p .
he punched the mirror
and the glass fangs swallowed his heart

there was a child made of flowers once
the fangs are still embedded in their ribcage,
but now flowers grow from their scars,
sedum and chrysanthemums
sprouting for all to see
but every morning,
the flowers are carefully glued on,
so the scars underneath don't exist

once, there was a girl made of thorns
she glides on the wind,
the forest echoing her name
(because there was always someone calling)
she comes and goes,
a child of the road
never a home, always a house

once upon a time, the girl made of thorns and the child made of flowers were one,
and the thorns taught the flowers to take pride in their scars,
as the flowers taught the thorns to push back the glass monsters,
(but leave the fangs so you never forget)

You only love me when I let you pull apart my peices

my mouth burns



since i was young i was taught to please,
taught to hold the flames in my gums
and let them burn my flesh
for the sake of others

the words i have eaten rise like flames in my throat,
scorching every bite i take
like it was my fault

the charred teeth make it hard to eat
so i stopped
(it did wonders for my figure)
(at least, that's what they said)

the root of my teeth turns green with rot,
until it's indistinguishable from the bile in the sink
their opinions served to me on a silver platter,
red and pulsing organs matching the scarlet scars
on my wrist and in my mouth

this life was given to me,
this heirloom passed down,
so everyone gets to feel the weight
of wanting to be needed
and needing to be wanted

when the opinions go uneaten
(i'm full on my own)
the heart goes unbeaten
(why should i help you)
the response unsweetened
(you're not helping)
and the meat reacts
(violently)

so the scars are ignored,
the burning mouth and charred teeth unnoticed.


their rotting flesh is painted red