my ears still ring
from all these screams
still cooped up in that corner of my head
I look around
for that dark sound
I can't find it because I don't have a shred
of sane-ness left inside my mind
inside my mind and this mind of mine
has gone all but dead.
so trust me when I say
yes I would like to wake up but
all that I know is hanging by a thread
my life has met joy and
sorrow has met me
but not a single soul I've met has said
that I can live without
this dying part of me
that is begging to be bled.

arise, you waking monster,
and meet my swollen eyes.
from which my tears do fall,
from which I see your lies.
your rage is food to all the ones,
who wallow, watch, and wish.
you feed them every time you hurt
me and with every hurried kiss.
to Lust, you toss your rage like sweets,
a plumped belly you gave her.  
to Fear, you place it gently, down
around her your heart wavers.
and last and worst, to your king Grief,
you hesitate to feed.
for his appetite is all-consuming
and to him you rarely heed.
and by the time you finish
with all your empty friends
you've nothing left to give me
but a heart that beats in pen.
so i write your words into a poem
so that i may forget them,
and over time that ink does fade,
and your words, if i let them.
and now i write with open hands
and my heart is free to throw
these memories into a blue night
and these sorrows into prose.

kind hands cup ample *******
like they are gifts,
bestowed upon Man like the dirt of the earth
bestows such beauty, petals and all.

grieving hands prey upon brittle bones
and half-minds, pull apart those
pretty daisies nestled in a war of golden
hair.

beautiful hands stroke magic upon the
air like scars...heal the broken with black
honey and the gold in the break of dawn.

foolish hands know not their limits and thus
they run, like stunned deer upon a road which leads
all but nowhere and everywhere upon the hour,
they cease and recount their limits once more.

invisible hands, alas, all-knowing and soft,
corrupt the mind with the utmost fear.
for one cannot see for proof but can feel
for days on end,
without cease,
the sorrow of which these hands
have dealt.

you press your lips into mine
like whistling grass.
they taste like blood.
there is a white t-shirt on the floor
if only I could reach it.
to be myself again.
I promise myself to stay silent.
like I always do, trust me, it works.
and it's over before you know it.
my hands, so much smaller than yours
are pressed still behind my back
and little do you know
the plan they are hatching.
I pretend i am stronger than most,
maybe enough that I could **** you.
I know, in my heart, that it could never be.
your grief is so much that it's a wearable
coat, large enough to fit both of us.
I'm better now, stronger with each of your thrusts,
I am not the girl under the sheets
or the one in the bikini or the seven-year-old
huddled on the bathroom floor.
I am fresh-faced and venomous,
one bite and all this **** will cease
with the beating of my heart,
and the deafening orchestra of my
mind.

goodbye, world, and those who know.
I may not make it through,
this deep-set storm inside my mind
my death is overdue.
in my fervent dreams, I apologize
for the darkness that rests,
among the corners of my mind
or this cross seared on my breast.
for all the scars that litter my arms
and all that wait their turn,
I will never forget what they did
or the love I had to earn.

Dark!' chuckled I, 'Yes dark!'
Take thy monster from out my heart
Through which it came thick, black, and slow
with that silent begging start.
And upon this beast there lay some eyes
and the eyes said more to me
awaken, girl, from out this sleep,
break apart from your dream.
break out away, from this rift,
which has claws and fiery eyes
in this darkness you may wallow
in this midnight you may rise.
and as the moon touches low, the field
upon which you spun your grief
shall wake from deep rest full and flawed
and greet you.
Oh! Alas! it is you, my child!
my sweet soul only stained with purest love which we lie and name to be love
yet fool ourselves from the truth
this love is not love is not darkness...
Oh dark...
how you have freed me from a life of ever-fleeting joy.

I am down, in the hollows
of this hole again,
shame tiptoes her way past me
I told her to stay hidden
yet she disobeys, as always
wrapping her silk hands around
my throat,
to let me know that, yes, she's still here.
I dream of things, in this dark cavity
of perfect mirrors, forgotten fears
and things I'll never say.
I sit among the impossible black
waiting for my end to come
waiting this human life out.
wandering hands do not
dare venture in this black of mine
human touch is foreign and unwanted
yet it is a poison I want more than anything to
drink.
I feel everything at once
in this impossible black
it is as though I am
dead
yet painfully, blissfully,
disgustingly alive.