Wistful tears melt down my cheeks.
Nostalgic of our infinity together.
I kept myself intact, wholly yet new, and now without the pitiful distractions, I must reflect upon myself, alone.
Debilitating heartache
Bleakening one’s life.
Pining to relive and forget the past.
Everything still so crystal clear,
so picturesque in nature.
The smells, the sights, the feelings.
How could I have let it slip away?
Did he ever speak of me?
Ever talk about me?
Or did he just forget the joyous days we spent together under the heat of moment’s madness?
Am I the only one homesick for not my house, but for the person that broke me?
My lip twitches as sentimental recollections start to overflow and spill, creating a puddle of emptiness, longing, and heartbreak.
Debilitating heartache.

Once were two young maidens who both wore smiles,
but they were sadly separated.
Years later like fire to wool their relationship renewed in a spark, but life had shaped their names.
Anxiety and Trauma both very much alike.
Anxiety bit her nails and Trauma did as well.
Trauma rocked back and forth, and Anxiety did too.
Over time they both dropped subtle hints saying they were not okay.
Anxiety went to therapy, and so did Trauma.
Trauma had a breakdown, Anxiety also did.
The difference lays within their fears.

"I'm so very terrified of the future..." Anxiety began, "You must understand?"

Trauma shrugged, "I presume," she paused, "but it's the past that makes me break."

The two girls looked at each other, realizing they knew nothing about one another.

If I was supposed to
be defined by grades on
a paper, or by words in
a dictionary

I wouldn’t have
been born human.

If I was supposed to
be confined by margins
on an essay, or by stars
on a flag.

I wouldn’t have
the ability to create.

If I was supposed to
be defined by hatred
to my name or by my
disgraceful past.

I wouldn’t have
been born me.

control is a rich red hue,
control is warm, and deep.
it’s a destructive power,
and a stinging force.
a delicate line
between pain and serenity.

control is a rich red hue,
control tastes metallic.
like a cog in a machine,
and it comes around like clockwork.
a jagged dash
between insanity and knowledge

control is a rich red hue,
control melts like wax.
it evaporates within seconds,
and it dries within moments.
a recalcitrant scratch
between delusion and control

on the chessboard of life,
i am no more than a pawn.
a fruitless tree in an astoundingly vast orchid.
a candle that lacks a wick, a flame that never flickers.
a hypothetical being without a purpose or plan.
the hypocritical brute, who is fattened on self-grandeur and sick off narcissistic thoughts.
in the dictionary of life
i am no more than a punctuation mark,
a mere dot on a piece of paper,
trying to clarify the stew of words, flung together by an equally trifling author.

A tightness in my lungs pulls me under in a spell of forced muteness.
I slide my view up out of the rattling car.
The starry sky lighting up my irises and dazzling my brain.
Meanwhile the glops of tears forming in my eye drag the streetlights across my visible world.
Light torn away from its source
for only me.

As a slob, I see no reason to pick up my own messes.
I’d rather just sit amongst my problems
allowing them to marinate
in a puddle of negativity and self-hatred.
I’m such a pathetic slob.
A mess.
A disgusting freak just
bathing in my own
filth and *******.
Decaying along with
my grime and trash.

The boiling, bubbling, fizzling rage
That has learned to hold me tight
My face tingles with ignominy.
I’m embarrassed
Embarrassed I’m still attached to you.
From person to person you can’t look away.
Your eyes wander astray.
And as I catch you forgetting,
my hands begin to shake.  
If you missed me you wouldn’t forget,
those words I said to you.  
I’d know because of the way the grass blows in howling horror.
Yearning for you,
Yearning for you to love me.
But you can’t teach a rabbit to be loyal, that is just what you are.
From girl to girl,
shifting personalities.
Becoming what they want the most,
but little do you know.
Little do you know.
All I want from you
is the love you had for me

~
Shaking body
Cold acid boiling at my skin
Words branded into my horrid flesh
Putrid bile sloshing inside my stomach
Knife-like stings shooting through my fingertips
Icy cold numbness throughout my limbs
Pigment in my face turning ghostly pale
A hollow pit where my intestines should be
Rapid heartbeats, and quick breathing
Fatigue at the thought of living
Dizzy and disoriented
Lost
~

theres a pack rat in my stomach
grabbing reason to starve myself

counting calories and carbs
till I think I might pass out

though logic is no burden
that mouse if knows my routes

knows the miles, knows the steps
that I’ll take for a piece of chocolate

and every night I try to cough it out
to purge it from rotting gut

they say this rat is life threatening
and that I can finally see

because one day I’ll feel it
tearing through this wasting body

there’s a pack rat in my stomach
grabbing reasons to starve myself

Downing glasses of boiling hot milk.
That must be why they are passed out.
Ignore the yelling that sprints through my innocent ears.
Hug your stuffed rabbit,
and go to bed.
Let the words escape through your head.
Their shouts and screams
manifest in your dreams.
no monster in your closet,
so what claws at your heart?
who tears it all apart?
Leaving you with only
ragged blue bunny,
a stack of money,
and a plan to flee from this place.

If I try and let go of you
I'll get hurt in the progress
because without you
I feel like I'm worthless
completely worthless

searching for her truth.
forgotten facts emerged.
more questions arise.
.
lost in time and space.
will she ever know what’s true?
elizabeth zenk.

the tombstone.
the shallow marker of death.
a block of stone that calls itself meaningful.
a pitiful rock that lays above the corpses of the long forgotten.

I am a thorn.
A *****.
You’ve mistaken me for the beautiful rose, that spreds solar flare petals.
You’ve tried to pick the stupendous flower, but you’re fingers sink into the sharp thorns.
I taste your metallic blood, and watch as I hurt you.
I’m a thorn.

a redwood in our family tree
you yell at me to shed my leaves

and whittle down my cosmic grasp
and come down to Earth, perhaps.

but your leafy canopy once shielded me
and now that I've grown up differently.

my roots you tangle and choke.
unaware of how I broke.

want me to tell you how I'm evergreen
when there isn't another conifer to be seen?

you never told me how to grow
so I taught myself everything I know.

so when you see my towering grace
know that I was not misplaced

and all of it was your mistake
and my pride you'll never take.

out of all the beautiful, vibrant, vivid colors
i am a bland, dull, uninspired hue
between the words in a book,
withered, dehydration grass,
or the color of a summer hare.
however, i’ve been told that i was once creative,
rain twisted oil spilled on cement,
poppies in a mid-afternoon sun,
or the tone of a summer goldfinch.
i wonder if it was the sun’s rays that desaturated my existence

the drip drip drop
of my leaking love
the tune of emptying emotions.
the longing in my heart,
the lonely in my chest,
spilling into a solemn lake beneath me.
like gasoline, it sits cool,
nothing
seems to
happen,
but as soon as that puddle sparks
i can feel myself burning ablaze.
the drip drip drop
of my melting, burning love
the cackle of a lost battle.

i am truly sorry
i’m sorry I changed
i’m sorry i didn’t
i’m sorry i don’T always think
i’m sorry i’m dramatic
i’m sorry we never talk
i’m sorry foR complaining
i’m sorry for the time i wasted
i’m sorry I’m fake
i’m sorry i can’t shut up
i’m sorry i nevEr want to hang out
i’m sorry i scared away your friends
i’m sorry i try too hard
i’m sorry i Don’t try at all
i’m sorry

the cream-colored sky
mixing with tangerine essence
a circular fire flickers at the bottom of a darkening horizon
mellow gusts twirl the earth’s luscious fibers
the tang of serenity fills the heavens
whilst the shadowy darkness emerges, ready to swallow the land whole.

How shall I endure
the ineffable waves of dolor?
Can this apotheosis of hell be dreed?
Will the unquenchable flames of dread ever be conquered?
Whether by the hands of man
or by the temptation of sword against vein.

To bite your tongue
and choke down blood
is to live a selfless life.

Some aren't as lucky
and drown in their secrets
and they are called selfish

for not being able to do
what others don't have to.

Flaunting issues
Like a peacock in pain
An array of problem you fan out
Like you’ve got someone to impress

with a lead bullet dancing in my head
i’ll send the petals flying
onto the tombstone where which i lay
with shriveled lilacs dying.

dormant my figure shall wait
under the snows of winter’s rage
beneath the dirt i lay.

i will turn from flesh and bone into
daffodils and daisies.
the blooming of my corpse

i will be left forgotten.
down here within my coffin
i will be left
rotten.

A monotonous sky, coupled with scarce dainty raindrops.
The breeze that flicks my hair behind my shoulders with a grace I couldn’t replicate.
A singular sun stained leaf flutters to the ground.
It’s marigold hue stands brilliantly against the road below.
The Earth is now stained with the sweet reminder that everyone will either leave or die.

Our lives are like boats.
Everyone is crafted differently.
You can be built perfectly.
Have everything be in check.
And still be weighed down by anchors nobody can see.

Was all the agony worth this splash of interaction we get?
The lonely?
The anger?
The sadness?
Was it worth it?
The hours my eyes stared at a ticking clock whilst waiting for you too show up?
The terrible misery that burns in my fists?
Was it worth it?
I’ve waited a year just to see your face, and this is what I get?
Conflicting emotions that battle for hours?
Is it wrong that I’m mad at you?
Wrong that you wasted everything I have?
You still care about her more than you care about me?
Why?
Was it worth it?
•
Yes.

when the hands of a chosen,
gentle lover
are not the first you have felt.
you flinch at the signs of intimacy.

because we are animals
with broken bones
mended with welded thoughts
and who cower at the idea of fracture.

because we are flowers
with plucked petals
striking with jagged thorns
and whose blossoms are choked by thistles.

because we are butterflies
with shredded wings
hesitantly fluttering with fear
and who are bodied by the terrible wind.

and alas
we wander
we grow
and we fly.

no one tells her that those candy-colored pills are not chocolate
that no matter how many she stuffs she'll never be full,
nor will she be entirely empty.

though they taste so sweet
they will rot your teeth
and their effects shall be engraved in your skull

that candy apple cyanide
so hard to resist
so hard to not take a bite

no one tells the ugly girl with a mouth full of tombstones
that she gleefully presents for show and tell
that she too needs to eat, to keep it down

though the dissolving graves
withing her smile
tell a saddening tale

that candy apple cyanide
so hard to resist
so hard to not take a bite

no one tells her that her mind and mirror are distorting
morphing the person she truly is
into the person she hates to be

though her measurements are static
her body seems to inflate
like balloons at parties she avoided

that candy apple cyanide
so hard to resist
so hard to not that a bite

no one tells her that average isn't too heavy
that she can be loved and called beautiful at 120
and that she can love herself too

though she's grown accustomed
to the taste of acid and ice cream
and no sees no need for stopping

that candy apple cyanide
so hard to resist
so hard to not that a bite

no one tells the girl that she's wasting away her body
no one warned her of all the pain

no one warned her that her illnesses would always stay

The distant thrumming
the rhymic ticking
a sound I used to hold dear.
washing away
the squeaks
the squawks
of a home too broken too share.
The taps
The tocks
of an old analog clock
washing my life to sleep.

Trying to tread water in a tsunami.
Being swept under with the furious currents.
So deep down in a neverending trench.
I take a deep breath.
Inhaling the salty waters.
Letting it fill and
draw blood to my
lungs.
Drowning in my own pride, and hope.

The lukewarm wind licks my hair as I sit in my open windowsill.
The humid air clings to my neck as I stare at the field before me.
I take in a sharp breath and look at my dangling legs.
I begin a conversation.
One I knew I needed to have.
. . .
He's gone.
He doesn't think about you.
He's moved on.
You'll never see him again, so might as well stop praying he will appear.
You place squirming leeches upon your arm, so you don't feel so alone.
Each one draining more and more out of you, and sometimes I wonder if you can even remember how it felt to not be dependent on those who don't care about you.
Pallor infects your face.
You're feeling lightheaded.
You've become irrational.
You feast upon the corpse of blooming affection.
Still inhaling the aroma of wilted petals.
High off the fragrance of dead daffodils,
Seeds that never have the chance sprout.
It's over, you need to find more fertile land.
You are keeping those leeches there.
I know it's difficult.
But, in time I know you'll be able to pry this large blood-thirsty leech off your forearm.
When you regain enough strength to stand alone, you can look around and see there are green parts of every pasture. You just need to look.
. . .
The cirrostratus waves roll across the large gradient above me.
I see a doe and fawn searching for greener grass, just like me.
I look at my arms.
I'll try my best.

Romantic fuzz.
In the aching void that washes through my brain.
Incomprehensible feelings,
that mess with my mind.
***** with my relationships.
And drown out the clarity.
If only I could pull it all together,
and make out what the static buzzing is trying to tell me.

A lay in a soft, comfortable bed.
My navy irises look at my responsibilities.
I drift upon at my goals.
My motivation is a blooming flower. That changes with time.
Blooming and budding and retreating.
The magnificent petals would always arrive though. They’d beam with such splendor and grace.
Now, the carnations, pansies, and peonies have lost their shine.
They’ve become desaturated and plain.
A pile of decaying petals below a sickly stem.
My motivation is dead.
I’ll just sit here amongst the vile plants and weeds that remain and watch as people tend to their gardens of hope.

Impunity of reality

Thou that have been purified through
deafening and blindness,
shall perish under the weight of the world
when they’re senses are emancipated.

To ******* your spawn with the lies
of success and meaning
or to shield them from injustice
is as harmful as belt upon back.

Depressed?
No.
Sometimes,
I just get
really sad and
unmotivated for
days,
weeks,
or months.
You just never
seemed to notice,
so I kept quiet
thinking you
just didn’t
care
.

Why make goals of gold
and grandeur and fame.

When we all live to die in
flesh and bone.

sempiternal memories
flow like a river
the resting brume on misty waters
twisting into the distant offing
the mellifluous melody of the ethereal past

like thunder above songbirds,
the illusion dissipates into a weazening
idealistic falsehood, an optimistic masquerade
the thrash of lightning onto deciduous skeletons
awakens the truth beneath

as the roaring flames erupt
the leaves effloresce to ash
the halcyon lies are swelted
into no more than gentle dust
the endless turned ephemeral

-
In the dark lay creatures.
They are neither good nor bad.
They lie dormant for day, weeks, months, years just watching.
And that is how they will stay unless you dare to close your eyes.

They’ll drag you away,
gut you,
and hang your remains to dry.
They will gouge your eyes,
smash your skull,
and break your bones.
They get intoxicated by your screams of agony,
high off your pain,
and drunk on your anguish

In the dark lay creatures.
They are neither good nor bad.
-

if the sun chose not to rise,
would you blame the stars because they continue shining?