Eliana: Poems

Eliana Jan 2014

My eyes
may burn.
My lips
may tremble.
My breath
may catch.
My hands
may clench.
My voice
may break.
My shoulders
may heave.

But not one tear
will escape
between my lashes
no matter how
I crave the obliteration
of a flood.

Written May 13, 2013

Panic Attack

Eliana Jan 2014

Panic Attack

Breathe.
Freeze.
Don't move.
Don't talk.
****.
Do not move.
Stop breathing.
Stare.
Calm down.
Breathe.
No.
Nonono.
Too much.
It hurts.
Oh, ****, it hurts.
They've noticed.
Freeze.
Stop staring.
Make them think you're okay.
Leave me alone.
Shut up.
Shut up shut up ****, too loud.
Way too loud.
Don't talk.
Do not get up.
Run.
Runrunrunrun.
No.
Hurts.
Dig your nails into your arms.
Pick a scab.
Now another one.
Blood.
Yes.
Good.
Now hide.
Curl up in a ball and hide.
Don't move.
No.
Nonono.
Can't get away.
Make it stop.
Can't.
Please.
Pleasepleaseplease go away.
Help me.
Breathe.
Freeze.
Don't move.
Don't talk.

Written December 17, 2013
I don't even know about this one. I adapted it from the page I scrawled all over in my notebook while it was happening.

paper cut

Eliana Dec 2013

paper cut

Your words
are a knife that slides
through my skin
sharp enough to be smooth
but for a slight stickiness as I
am pressing too hard.

You know me well.
    (the flesh the blade has passed through looks momentarily untouched)
Too well.
    (i notice the faint groove, like the trail left on a paper by a pen with no ink)
We have used
identical metaphors.
    (the furrow is suddenly dotted with beads of scarlet)
If you know this
I have failed.
    (the trail fills with blood, a red line threatening to spill over)

Not yet.
You do not know
    everything.
You have forgotten
    that I am
a liar.

You write of victory.
    (the knife continues its journey under the guidance of my hand)
You write of battle.
     (stinging pain finally seeps into my consciousness)
You make a chrysalis
of my coffin.
    (the line is no more as blood escapes to bathe my skin in red)
You foretell my emergence
marred by fading bruises.
    (knife forsaken, my fingers tug at the path I have carved, forcing it wider)

I was lying
    when I told you
    that at our reunion I
    would fling open the gate
    and run to you.
I will be lying
    prone when you find me
    beside the gate I made
    of my will, now corroded
    to let you in.
Too late.
I am all but dead.

Written December 10, 2013
Revised December 16, 2013

in response to:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/december-60/

Payment Due

Eliana Jan 2014

Payment Due

I have found it,
the price I was seeking
that elusive side-effect
to my false joy.

I always knew
of its existence.
The ability to detach
behavior from emotion
could not be one cheaply bought.

But I was mistaken
in my long and fruitless search
through the channels of sentiment
to find a blockage in the pipe
pressure building.

The cost of my functionality
is not an explosion
but a memory
of the time when joy was real
no schism through my psyche
to trap it in the beyond.

A memory
forever lost
to a death
and my folly.

Poetic Justice

Eliana Dec 2013

Poetic Justice

I write of voices in my head
You think that is a metaphor
I say I live in constant dread
You see that as a point to score

I think the difference between art
And truth that I must try to bear
Is that one swells to hold my heart
The other, rigid, traps it there

Pursued

Eliana Jan 2014

Pursued

Sometimes my
memories are
too sharp
and I run
away to
the now
where you wait
for me and
I try not
to seem out
of breath.

I fail.

Razors

Eliana Dec 2013

Razors

I am torn
between biting my nails
until I taste
blood
and leaving them long enough
to draw it
from my flesh.

Written December 13, 2013

Red

Eliana Dec 2013

Red

I'm standing naked in the shower and
blood is running down my legs and
the tiles are cold under my feet and
I start shivering harder and
I just want to crawl into my bed and
I won't because I don't want to leave bloodstains on the white sheets and
this is so familiar, like I've come full circle and
there was never anyway this could be avoided and
the burningstingingscreaming of my nerves reaches a crescendo and
it hurts so much and
it's all my fault and
I don't care and
I'm shuddering so forcefully I feel like my muscles will tear and
I look up at the mirror and
I see all the places where the redness of inflammation blooms upon my skin and
there are so many they mask the cuts and
all I can see is the red and
my vision goes blurry and
my knees hit the freezing tiles of the bathroom floor and
I don't feel it, I don't feel anything and
I don't remember how to make my brain send signals to my muscles and
it's one a.m. and
I somehow have to stand up and
go to bed and
get up tomorrow.

unedited

red dress

Eliana Feb 2014

red dress

red dress lying
folded in a suitcase, lying
by its relation to me

though it fits my body
perfectly it seems to snag
the scars that decorate

my story, and wearing it is
a betrayal and an escape, I
look beautiful and feel

not myself, gone beyond sweet
and into rotten, a doll with
hips and legs and

******* that are not
mine, I am fascinated and
repulsed by my

Relapse

Eliana Jan 2014

Relapse

Just when I was
nearly
decontaminated, you
returned
to administer
my daily dose
of poison.
I hate you.

Revolution Three

Eliana Dec 2014

Revolution Three

I chose to deny I was running
in a circle - around now
I'll start ignoring the ground

under my feet is red and
still damp enough to preserve
my lone footprints over the many
I brought with me before -

under my feet is full of
bones and broken shields and
furrows like scars in the earth
where my fingers fit perfectly -

under my feet is a number
and it's one, and so am I staring
across too many skulls for one
body.

I walk straightened, slowly and
forward, and I know.

Running to Nowhere

Eliana Dec 2013

Running to Nowhere

When every sound
seems to pound
in my ears,

when music is noise
and the sound of my voice
is my fear

then I choke on my breath
and I beg for my death
and I flee

to some silent place
where there's nothing to face
except me,

alone in my head
alone with the dread
of what I

will hear in my mind
what I can't leave behind
till I die.

So there's nowhere to run
but I need to be done
with this life.

I have one escape planned
all I need is one hand
and one knife.

Seething

Eliana Feb 2014

Seething

I do not bottle
myself up anymore. I
no longer push my soul
through the glass neck and
shove the cork in after it.

But underlying the bubbling
explosion of my sentiment
stands the apprehension that I should
stop shaking the champagne, that I should
never have looked so hard for
the corkscrew in the first place.

When the bubbles have finished
rising out of this inadequate container,
less will be left inside the bottle.

Sleeves

Eliana Jan 2014

Sleeves

It seems fitting
that straight red lines
should be hidden
under a layer
of folded waves
usually blue.

Snap

Eliana Dec 2013

Snap

I am so tired.

Weariness
  aches in every *****,
  weighs on every limb,
  drags at every thought.

My face is haggard, drawn and gray.
My eyes are burning coals
  sunk deep into the dark pits of their sockets.
My muscles clench in terror,
    as I panic at sudden noises
    and unexpected physical contact
  but they burn with exhaustion
  and I beg them to stop
  before they tear themselves apart
  and me with them.
My movements alternate
  between sluggishness and flailing desperation.
My mind races with paranoia,
  strains to differentiate perceptions from its own creations,
  abandons both reason and reality.

But still I do not sleep,
  for the fear that preys upon me constantly in my waking hours
  runs rampant in the night,
And in my slumber
  I cannot clench my muscles to fight,
  I cannot run,
  I cannot even attempt to differentiate nightmare from reality.

Thus I flee my own consciousness,
  running from sagacity
  while still dragging my reason behind me.
It stretches,
  tighter and tighter,
  until it snaps,
And I go mad
  once again.

"Write drunk, edit sober."-Ernest Hemingway
I think I'm incapable of sobriety.

Snow

Eliana Dec 2013

Snow

I can't feel my feet.
Snow crunches under
my inadequate shoes and
melts into my socks.
I tread lightly.
My steps are quick,
my near-invisible footprints
fading swiftly behind me.

I walk quickly, though I
have no particular destination
in mind.
I do not seek refuge
from the icy white specks
swirling around me.
The cold was biting,
once,
but it must have stolen
its fangs from a spider
for its venom
numbs me.

This strange white world
is bereft of sensation, and I
have no desire to leave it.
When I depart
for places walled in and
warm
my feet will burn me
as they thaw.
I have no desire
to face that pain
just as I have finally begun
to cease feeling
my old, ever-present
ache.
When I remove
the garments that chafe
the rents and rips
I have torn
into my skin I
will once more wear
my wounds
as a badge of shame.

As I traverse this place of
icily blunted edges,
I gain knowledge I
have often sought.
I know what I want.

I want to take off my coat,
to pull my shirt over my head and
kick off my soaked shoes.
I want to slide my slacks
over my hips and
down my legs.
And when I have removed
the layers of fabric that stung
as they scraped against
my much abused skin,
I want to run naked
through the snow,
my bare feet sinking
into its softness, flakes
blown against my battered body.
I want to fall,
to tumble across the frozen ground and
let the cold sink
its soothing fangs into all the wounds,
all the holes in my flesh and
the tears in my skin.

Once it is done,
I will lie there
with all the warmth
slowly ****** from me,
life bleeding
from my skin
the way it dripped,
red,
from my cuts, and
I will be peaceful,
at last.

Written December 12, 2013

Still

Eliana Jan 2014

Still

At some point                                                                                         I miss him.
along the line                                                                                   I haven't slept.
my thoughts changed.                               I can't remember how to be happy.
As nothing progressed                                        I can't escape from my head.
and I began                                       My nights belong to the nightmares.
to feel at home here                                                           I haven't slept.
the stillness                                                                                           I miss him.
trickled into my head.                                                                        He's dead.
It's such a little change                                       I can't stop looking for him.
but now                                               I don't know how to deal with this.
the landscape is colored                                 I don't enjoy being alive.
with unfulfilled waiting,                                                                         He's dead.
unmet expectations                                                                          I'm not dead.
excuses.                                                                                        I still miss him.
The sharp brightness                                                         I still haven't slept.
of the initial pain                         I still can't remember how to be happy.
(and I had never felt so alive)          I still can't escape from my head.
fades to dull colors.      My nights still belong to the nightmares.
My eyes don't burn                                   I still haven't slept.
anymore.                                                   I still miss him.
Maybe I don't have to run.                He's still dead.
I can just embrace this;          I still can't stop looking for him.
this stillness          I still don't know how to deal with this.
stop expecting             I still don't enjoy being alive.
stop waiting.                           He's still dead.
And in that case...I'm still not dead.
                  *Why not?

#6 in a series called Seven Shades of Suicidal. I might actually edit the rest of them at some point.

Stop

Eliana Dec 2013

Stop

Stop.
Stop letting me go
Stop helping me leave
Stop making this easy for me, this
     should not be simple
Stop hurting yourself just
     because I asked

Stop.
Stop thinking of me
Stop imagining my agony
Stop trying to climb over the gate, I
     am just trying to spare you pain
Stop caring about me, right now I
     want to stop wanting to be with you but I
          can't help reciprocating when you love me this much
Stop calling my name out, into
     empty rooms, you think I will not hear you but I
          am so attuned to your voice that I hear it speak in my ears
               even when you are not here
               even when you have not actually said anything
               even when the words are not from you, they
                    are just another weapon my brain turns against itself
Stop saying that I am asking you to twist the knife
Stop twisting the knife

Stop.
Stop turning away
Stop drawing back
Stop being okay without me around, you
     are supposed to miss me, please
          say you miss me
Stop leaving me here inside these walls, I
     am being torn apart and if you
          are not here I will die without seeing you again
Stop being deaf to my stifled screams, I
     am far too committed to hiding this from you, when I
          said I did not want you to see this I meant it but now I
               just don't want to be alone, don't leave me alone

Stop.
Stop listening when I tell you
     to stop what you are doing. You
          are more sane than I am, you
               should make your own decisions, they
                    will always be better than mine, you
                         are right.

I think this one should be read aloud.

Stories of my Scars

Eliana Dec 2013

Stories of my Scars

1 . When I was born, life
cut the cord that connected me
to my mother. There's still a
tiny hole
in my stomach.

2. There's this faint, jagged line
between my eyebrows.
I have no idea
where it came from.

3. Three dark parallel lines
run down my ankle,
a reminder
of friendship
and barbed wire.

4. The skin on my hands, feet, forearms and shins
is decorated in tiny white flecks,
like a snowfall.
They mark me as a warrior.

5. The skin on my knuckles
is just a bit thicker, just a bit more silvery,
younger than the rest of my skin.
That marks me as an idiot.

6. Nine pale parallel lines
run across the inside of my forearm,
a reminder
of solitude
and razors.

7. There's a puckered, jagged line
on my hipbone.
I know exactly
where it came from.

8. When I was fourteen, death
cut the cord that connected me
to my friend. There's still a
gaping hole
in my stomach.

Showing 8 out of 1000 results

The Calm After the Storm

Eliana Jan 2014

The Calm After the Storm

When the tempest has passed
I will wait for you
In the calm after the storm,
After the wind has died down
Leaving behind a bitingly cold stillness
A memory of lightning in the air.

Then, you will come to me
Speaking of broken trees
And newly green hillsides
Like the wispy stubble of a young man,
Inviting me to breathe in the icy-clean air,
Begging me to follow the weak winter sun.

The calm is all I had prayed for
In the dark, wild hours
As I cowered in my shelter
While the thunder pounded me underfoot,
The lightning burned its way through me
And my back was broken by the gale.

You will find your solace in its ending
And I will not have the heart to tell you
That I am not an adolescent hillside
Emerging renewed, having soaked up all the rain,
I am the broken tree
that could not weather the wind.

No wonder lies beside my fallen trunk
Only splinters and twisted bark
Mold and moss begin to claim me
And I shall let them tie me down
There is nothing left for me
Now even my roots are gone.

The past two weeks were four months long

Eliana Mar 2014

The past two weeks were four months long

Time, in general, seems
to behave oddly around you,
as hours of your company
span only minutes
while days can pass
in the brief interludes
between your text messages
and all I know
of time is that
I want to see you soon.

Written February 6, 2014
For SR

There is no time now

Eliana Jan 2014

There is no time now

There is no time now.
So many of my poems start
with "when", like a manual
prescribing actions or words or
emotions to situations, like a clock
to tick away the lines, all straight, all
parallel, in neat rows, like the answer
to a question I always ask but never
speak, what will happen to me now?

There is no time now.
Now, there is only me, even
my words have gone to play in
greener pastures as my ghosts desert
me to haunt someone less
picked-over, to find a carcass that still
has meat on its bones. I am
bone-dry. I lost the companionship
of my tears long ago.

There is no time now.
Though I know it is midnight, that
fact does not seem to matter as much
as facts should. The darkness is
simultaneously vast and stifling, I am
simultaneously too old and too young. There exists
a longing, I cannot be certain what for, I
know only that it is unrelenting and threatens to
pull me out of my skin. I might not mind.

The Sparrow and the Nightingale

Eliana Jan 2014

The Sparrow and the Nightingale

Your happiness is
a light,
a beautiful light,
but my eyes
are so accustomed
to the night,
to seeking out the darkness
that will mask my burning,
that your beautiful, gentle light
is blinding
and I crawl back
to the shadows.

I miss you when
you're just down the hall, and
I'm sitting here
alone, searching for my tears.

Things Fall Apart

Eliana May 2014

Things Fall Apart

And then you
start to
wish the distance was
physical.

#10w

Tired

Eliana Feb 2014

Tired

My head is heavy
My back aches
My eyes are burning
My hands shake

And yet there is no one to blame
For my own sorry plight
Except myself, it's all my fault
I should have slept last night.

to my friends

Eliana Dec 2013

to my friends

You want to know who I am?
Are you sure?
Are you sure you're not just asking the question to make me ask it of myself?
If you are, allow me to inform you - I already have.
If my answer scares you - good. Run like hell.

Who am I? I am insane.
Crazy, mad, lunatic
Frenzied, demented, deranged
Psychotic
Psychopathic

I am the best liar you will ever meet.
You will not observe my madness.

I was not always this way.
I have been broken into these jagged shards of reason,
disconnected from each other and reality.

I have felt human bones break under my hands, and I liked it.
I have felt human bones break under my hands, and now
that feeling is etched permanently in my brain by the nightmares.

Though I seek my refuge in silence and darkness,
I cannot sleep without screaming.
I am a creature of the night,
though night is the harbinger of my agony.

I am made of contradictions.
My identity shifts from second to second,
dancing to a frantic beat only I can hear.

I am incapable of controlling my own mind
so I have built a wall around it.
You are not allowed inside,
for there lies my macabre domain.
Dangerous
Deadly

My every action is a double-ended knife
piercing me as I stab another.

My only desire is to cause no more pain.
In this I will fail. I have failed. I am failing right now.
My failure slices into my flesh and that of any who approaches.

I wish I could prevent you from approaching.
I wish I wanted to.
But I am too weak to win this battle with myself.

I am insane.
I climb as high as I possibly can
before I prepare to launch myself from that height.
I do this because falling is my only chance of flying
until I hit the bottom and escape into oblivion.
Do not look for me.
I am already going to jump.
Do you want me to pull you down with me?

Written December 9, 2013.

train wrecks of thought (1)

Eliana May 2014

train wrecks of thought (1)

feeling broken is
looking at everything

you wish you could want
to do and realizing

you are not good
enough

#trainwrecksofthought

train wrecks of thought (2)

Eliana May 2014

train wrecks of thought (2)

No thank you,

I don't have time for an existential crisis
today. I recommend trying
tomorrow, perhaps

I may be more amenable, less
upright, more lonely,
less alive,

whatever you find convenient, I am
sure you will have it some
day, but for

now, goodbye.

Written May 18, 2014

#trainwrecksofthought

train wrecks of thought (3)

Eliana Jun 2014

train wrecks of thought (3)

darling, i'm
digging eggshells out
of my soles

with a knife
(it's not as sharp)

and shopping for hobnailed boots

darling, i
wish i was
sorry

#trainwrecksofthought

Vacillating

Eliana Dec 2013

Vacillating

Leave me alone.
Stay.
Go away.
Come back.
You don't exist.
Please don't be dead.
Get out of my head.
Live here forever.
Stop making me remember.
Don't let me forget.
Quit chasing me.
Run with me into the sunset.
Let go of me.
Hold me in your arms.
Go back to oblivion, where you belong.
Take me with you.

Pain makes hypocrites of us all.

Why

Eliana Jan 2014

Why

I ask you
why.
Wrapped within my question
is another.
Who am I to you
that is worthy
of your remaining?
I am the subject
of your poems.
A cursory glance
reveals pain
of sixteen persuasions.
I do not brighten your existence.
Far from it.
And yet
I am the subject
of your poems
as you
are the subject of mine
and perhaps
that can be enough.
It has to be.
We are just two people
who found each other
and so are luckier than most.

For R.A.

Withdrawal

Eliana Jan 2014

Withdrawal

And then one day
the sun came out,
just for one instant
insignificant
to any who did not
seek it desperately.

And in that moment
a warmth was felt,
not yet a heat
but a hint
a memory
of past summers.

And when it ended,
and the cold returned
to bite the hearts
that had let themselves thaw,
relinquishing the numbness,
winter gained another inch.

withdrawal - because your heat is my addiction, your fire my drug
I always did have a tendency towards pyromania.

You are

Eliana Feb 2014

You are

You are

the single flower petal left lying
in the wake of the wedding
train years later as I yearn to

see the splash of color against
the ground of gray and I
kneel to lift you and

breathe life into your lines,
clasp you in my arms,
call you mine, yet I stay

my reach and skim you
gently with my fingertips, not
daring to risk

a tear.

For YS

your love is a gunshot

Eliana Dec 2013

your love is a gunshot

I don't know
what I have left to say
anymore. I
have asked and
I have reasoned and I have
begged you to stay
away from me, keep
out of my head,
out of my place,
for it is mine
(though it is where I die)
and I have not granted you
permission to enter.
I am angry and I
desperate and I am
terrified. I am down
on my knees before you
(you, who never
wanted to see me this way
ever again) and
my hands are claws
grasping at you, frantically trying
to make you see
why I want you
far away from me and
I am throwing myself
down at your feet.
When I look up, I see you
as my enemy
and I scream
and I scramble up off the ground
as my teeth bare into a snarl, as
my hands curl into fists and rise
of their own volition.
In that moment, I fear
neither death
nor you.
In that moment, I fear
myself, for this
is what you
(you, who never wanted
to hurt me, who only ever wanted
for me to love myself
as you love me)
have made me -
a beast. I am
terrified and I
am desperate and
I am distraught. See
what you have done to me.
This is not love, this
is poison, this
is madness. And now
I will not make this mistake
again. The gate
will no longer open
for you, because I
cannot force you
to leave when I
need this place,
any place,
to call mine. You stand
here, above me, and
your eyes and your
shoulders and
your feet shout
"I love you" and
your love is a gunshot.
The bullet enters
my chest and I
crumple, unable
to fight against you
any longer. This
is the only way you
can be allowed to stay -
over my dead body.

For B.W.

Yours

Eliana Mar 2014

Yours

There's a green sort of light
falling through the treetops
alighting gently in your hair.

There's a green sort of light
shining from your fingertips
into my skin. I can't see it
but I know it's there.

And you say
there's a green sort of light
my eyes catch from the sun
spin it out in a web to ensnare
yours.

— The End —