you've kept me up most nights
nights, bleed into day and day's end back again.
you've kept me,
surrendering into the nothingness of sleep
wrists and ankles bound to dreams
like you did to me.
she taught me to nod a yes instead of screaming no
instead of- help me, help me please.
i try so hard to remember anything, but you see
with a mind like mine the body is the brain.
i scream out only to realize
my lips have not even parted.
and that song, it sounds like the color of her house
forgotten love from lust only the love is a child and
she's crying out and nodding yes.
when i am broken and
there is nothing left of me to
touch
to hurt
to choke in your fists
maybe then they'll all realize
im just a little girl,
with a thousand ways to
die.

Sometimes I wonder, no,
often I wonder,
imagine,
search all around me,
for the cause of mans belief
that he is superior to the
air he breathes,
the butterflies he captures.
Man thinks he owns the wind
that hurls itself through the trees,
he owns the stars in all of their vastness,
the midnight murk that surrounds the soulful moon.
He owns the whole galaxy,
which he clamps in his fists
like the fish that he has caught
in the stream that is his,
watching it wriggle and gasp for air.
Watching death itself.
That is the pride and joy man carries,
his golden trophy.
Man cannot wrap his arms around
the Milky Way and make it his.
Man cannot control the slowing
beat of his heart,
thickening of his blood,
the fading of his thoughts,
the incompetence,
the suffering that comes with age.
Man cannot evade Death.
Man cannot evade Life.
And of all,
Man's deepest flaw,
he cannot evade himself.

once i read in a book of the time
a girl was hurt
not in the way where one can say
here have a bandaid,
or stop the bleeding
or numb the Pain.
he held her to the ground
as the rocks dug into her back
tugged on her hair in the way which
men do when they use
someone.
and as he held her, pushed her towards the
dirt
she did absolutely nothing.
i believe, her heart stopped.
it stopped because it couldn't keep
a steady rhythm,
as he did.
pushing and grabbing,
owning and groaning.
i imagine her,
staring at the sky and thinking
this is how i come undone.
this is the time, the moment,
the very seconds in which the
corpse becomes a corpse,
the face becomes a moment frozen in
between what could happen and what
never did.
and as i sit here
devouring the Pain
suckling on the hurt and fear
i feel it too.
that it's tearing me apart
"all i want is to *******"
and all i want is to die.

but i can't do it
because what a life i would take
what a soul i would un-soul
and do i even believe in me?
as i sit in this perfection of Pain.
this metamorphosis of suffering
i feel it too.
i feel it so deep in my bones
that it makes me sick.
but alas, i know
ill up and face another day
another day to destroy it.
destroy her.
destroy him.
destroy myself and the sky with me.

i know ill up and face another day.

i feel like a body pulled out of the sea,
skin broken and bloated with liquid salt.
picture me floating, out in the blue,
as the sun slowly breaks into my soul.
who has left me here, alone, amongst the sullen blue whales?
their song leaves me shaking for beauty
and grief.
who has left me here to witness the oil soaked birds?
their cries are met only with my sympathy,
for the sea is relentless,
but humanity more.

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.

the door is shut again, locked
the stench of chlorine and blood
my own.
he's hurt me again
there is a fire between my legs
i don't know if he will ever stop

where is my sister?
what if he's hurt her too?



...i hope he kills me.

sometimes when i think of
living with depression
i think of my aunt
who is living with a dog
that jumps on the bed
and children who never stop barking
its kind of the same
depression is a bit like a fly
that's been in my house for as long as i
can remember
buzzing and humming and
right out of my reach
and when i try to swat it,
i end up hitting everything other
than the **** fly.
i spilled things, i broke things, i smashed things
and destroyed things and i tore
apart my house but i didn't
ever manage to get it
but never did it occur to me
that eventually
flies die.

They said that life, itself, was all one big miracle,
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
When I walk the black of the manhattan alleys,
Or dart my eyes over the roofs bowing to pedestrians,
With the windows that frame the solitude of a lone cat,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Stretching their tired arms towards the sky,
A same routine of eternal awakeness to souls drifting by,
Standing at the ready for the open fire of the harsh winter,
And the soft song of spring,
Or sitting at the dinner table with the rest,
Or talk by day with anyone I love,
Or sleep by night in bed with anyone I love,
Or wade with naked feet along the break of sand and sea,
To me the sea is an infinite miracle,
With life just under cusp of blue and swirls of green,
So much life that of which we cannot see,
With men in ships and shells in sand,
And salt that stings the eye,
What stranger miracles there are than these?

I sit in front of her
and she sits across from me
hand cradling her cheek
as she listens to my words

I say
you don't know
how badly I want to
destroy myself
you don't know how this
pain
Hangs like chains from
my bones
you don't know how
it is to feel like the space
you take up is too much
but at the same time you
are not enough
you don't know

she sits across from me
I sit in front of her
as she says
I don't need to

im young i said, you turned your head
and snatched it up anyways.

i have met again my match
this dangerous optimism
acoupled with a cockeyed rage
which tears about in my blood
like some hell-bent rabid beast.
and i hope and say my prayers that
shes just an exit wound.

lay your greedy hands on me
sew your wings upon my back
your voice of ecstasy disguised as reason
this is euphoria
a high where ledges don't exist.

look at me
the fiend
the pessimist run askew
this newfound joy might break me

and alas, i realize, i am not predator
but prey
and this hunt is mine alone.

time again i lay here
near death and suffer-spent
a ginger beer in hand and half a heart
to hold.
as happiness, the *****, laughs in my face,
and the silver cheeks of grief are pressed
against my own, waiting for the fall
for me to fold in my own
existence.

for this joy does leave
the rage does stay
and there is little left to
say.

she's here again.
loud, loud enough that
i cannot hear the woman tumbling
from my '98 Crosley,
that voice like liquid silver.
she's here again.
come to hurt me, bad.
i thought i closed my door.
i thought i closed my door.
leave me alone
i say.
loud, loud enough this
time that maybe she will go.
and i can sit here,
without her hands on my bones.
and i can sit here with the cat,
who is soft, and silent.
and i might be able to hear
that voice that cracks like lightning.
i thought i closed my door.
i thought i closed my door.
help me.
break out of this glass prison
where there is hardly room to breath
only to see in.

this could end
me
from the inside out
but it doesn't feel like that

i am oh so powerful
and this hunger is my
sword

i shall climb these mountains
unscathed
and 10 pounds lighter

i will collects the heads
of monsters along the way
with their rearing jaws

they bite into me
they roar
and shriek
for me to eat
but i won't let them win.

not me.

i carry them
like trophies
and at my journeys
end
is my prize

death greets me with open hands
he says
it has taken years,
my friend
yet i was always here
waiting.

and you've finally found me.

the end.

i used to focus on all the things that hurt
knowing that's what most people do
i felt more justified
i used to jump out into a sea among
all the children who had more than enough to eat
and a bed big enough for their egos
to rest alongside them
they seemed to fear those kids who
lived on food stamps and played on
imperfect lawns
but somehow hated those kids who had bigger beds
bigger houses
bigger egos
they told me i was lucky to have two homes
even if my mom didn't love my dad anymore
even if no one is there?
they told me i was lucky to be that skinny
cuz they would die to look that way
and aren't i hungry?
they told me i should be thankful
that my daddy's rich and at least i don't
look black,
how awful it must be not to be able to
wear your skin like a trophy
they said who cares if you were scared
you're lucky you have someone who wanted
You.
who couldn't keep their
hands of you.
Are you even listening?
Don't you know how lucky you are?

and you
you think you see snow
over those ridges
but its really government factories
churning out the next shiny thing
but no, my friend
how blind can you be
not a single planet
not a single moon
not a single stare moves for you
you see,
perhaps you don't
that we are just rats in the ever
changing churn of a system
a system that clamps down
on our will
that thing inside you that no
matter how hard you search and
scramble,
you might never find.
it clamps down and never lets go
it chews through your soul
right to your core
right to the bone.
and you,
my friend,
there, chasing the whitecaps
braving the wave
the great, unbearable
crushing wave
i think one thing:
there is beauty,
collateral beauty in you,
your ignorance
your bliss.
and you,
you think they'll help you
you think they'll stay.
and i have just one thing to say.
they never, ever
stay.

i have rules for these things
as these memories over take me
as the sun creeps up, talons ablaze
and my sleep breaks and my heart along with it
again and again and again
and i open, laboriously,
an eye to meet him.
what a gift it is to
wake in the face of fear.

i have rules for these things 
and memories to forget.
but grief will always be there
swinging its blind head
towards the terror-stricken faces.

its what happens in that second
larger than hell or heaven
than the laws of motion
like the spiders in this basement
simply crawling backwards
not really knowing.
not really growing or spinning
like me. like me just sitting here
amongst the webs 
a decimated, unexonerated
corpse.

its funny how they all crowd around
the most intimate of pieces
like that blue pair of *******
stained with blood but they
like I
know not whose.
nights turn to day and day to
dusk
and i am still in his basement.

i have rules for these things.
these ******* and that bra 
those ***** sheets and tumultuous dreams.
is that what they are?
in one i am chained at the ankles
in another intertwined with him,
as if I wanted it, you can practically
hear my cries.
you decide from what.

I have rules for these things.
and this stays shut.

the truth about life is that
there is no truth
truth is just reality
of which there are 8 billion
possible perceptions
conceptions, deceptions
8 billion possible ways and misperceptions
to live and love and hate
the truth about life
is that the humans are always
living, loving, dying
hating and creating
fighting back
biting back
moving forward and left and right
but never backwards
predisposing, decomposing lives of
salt
the truth about reality
is that we take comfort in
the niceties of bright cities
in the shouts of 7 million men
because we cannot stand the sound of
our own voice
the truth about reality is the
commonality between brutality and love.
the truth is a girl who is berated by the blacklist
just because she kissed her
that Love is not allowed
her fear becomes a cloud
as she walks into a crowd she knows can ****
the truth is the black man who is handed a gun
told by the cowars who never see the sun
end it all to get the job done
Handed the best key to death and told to have fun
"places like that are for people like you"
society works in one mind
Blind to scripted history
Back of the bus was so 1960's
lets have em go to hell.
Color created the hate people think they need
to win
the black man could live in a house of gold
but it only matters the color of his skin.
the girl could find a cure for cancer
but she doesn't get the chance her
mind is sick.
The truth about reality is the commonality
between brutality and love.

that way i can't hear what they all say about me and how **** i was at poetry. that was my thing, my need to be more brilliant and tortured than my neighbor.
all men want to run fast.
but not all men want to
fly.

come to meet me, friend
in this sunken place.
the time is now.
like the spider on his thread
hanging from an erroneous web
creeping his way
to freedom.
he knew these things
because he knew everything
he knew the empty bottles of ginger beer
to stave away the sickness that comes
from simply being
******* alive.
he knew the smell of ***** and
the sight of bruises.
he knew the sound of sobs
and the audible chorus of a heart.
he knew the pain so well
he could trace the cracks in its palms
with his eyes closed and
no hands at all.
the pain which has so dutifully begun
the hibernation
and deliberation inside
the wrong body.
and now i know
just as he knew
that death is simply a door
and i have found the key.

these creatures in my vision
they dance around a skeletal me
with cries, they leap in their
animal ways and they then count to three.
to three they get and all their cries
come forward into the night
what skies hold fast their darkened hues
shall set forth all their light.
I call to them, please help me
take this sorrow out my veins
release me from this downward hole
from this everlasting pain.
these creatures in my vision
they toss the marrow-bone
from claw to paw, they sing.
come back to us, our queen.

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.

when empty, boneless fingers claw
in haste at my shy-away face
and the waves of pain lap silently at my
ears,
when my sordid mind believes
in part that all is lost...

i remember,
i am what i am and
i am what i am.

when the cage of ribs achieves not
a flight, however stalled
and aching teeth gnaw with fever upon
remnants of joy.
when the seeing eyes depart so intentionally
out from their sockets,
and blindness ensues in its grateful yet laborious
way...

when i slink as a stranger around the chains that
hold me down, a prisoner,
i rejoice,
and the scent of victory floods as quickly away
as it came to be.

i rejoice,

when talons of grief grip hard at the hands
i used to pray
when the walls become more
than the grooves and dips which my fingers
have created
when the hurt settles in the permanent
crater of my face..
when the pain is undervourable,

alas,
when the euphoria surrenders its hands
at my feet,
glowing like two capable hearths,
i rejoice a final time,
await the cycle as it rests,
and kiss each knuckle
abrasion, bruise
and find my place among the sinews
of purest joy.

i remember,
i am what i am,

i am what i am.

he takes my wrists
into his fists

and sets me on fire.

he takes my clothes
its me he chose

he never seems to tire.

i think about yelling
i think about telling

but only whisper no.

my clothes are gone
my mind is done

i really want to go.

my confessions come in cups
filled to the brim

my quiet rage is not so quiet
anymore

my grief runs through my torn up veins
so i can see it pour

out into a muddy street
where passerby will shake from fear

of this feeling, all consuming

god help me now to climb this
hill  

with weathered, cut up feet
so i can summit my own

destiny

i am just a puppet
strutting ceaselessly about in
this mortal flesh.
hanging by a thread.
there's peace in the sadness.
but my time is running out.

see something
say something
that's the plastic sign
the bumper sticker
the hurried whisper
the fingers, wishing and taking
my time is running out.

incubate the sadness
pacify the pain
live another day
live another life away from
him.
I've sinned an ocean and
my time is running out.

I sit and write these words
they come fast, abetting me
my hands shake from what
rage?
dissolution?
and I think,
aloud

have I become the cavity I feared?

i wish i had a grave to visit
i wish it was my own.
he grabs me from behind
hands trace my hips, sunken bones
you don't want to go where
i have been.
without relief, i am resigned
breathless, helpless, close to death
eyes wide shut and hypnotized
waits patient, for the ending breath
you don't want to go where
i have been.
those words are caught inside the dark
they fuss and whine between my lips
i try and try to let them out
and between my teeth, loosen my grip.
you don't want to go where
i have been.
and just as they begin to fly,
your hands are around me again
wrapped around my throat like vines
and now I know, this is my end.
you don't want to go where
i have been.
running down the riverbank,
chasing, screaming, the quiet frown
hands move under the willow tree,
1, 2 ,3, waiting to drown.
you don't want to go where
i have been.
he's giving up, i've given up
today is not the day to win.
my heart beats faster than he can hurt,
his fingers lift my chin.
you don't want to go where
i have been.
you don't want to go where
i have been.

when everything gets lonely
when all stains from life have
finally molded to the walls of my mind
i want to live in a house with windows
big enough protect me from the world
yet still let me watch it.
i want to be able to see my whales
out of those big windows
bellowing and leaping among the
pure blue.
and when everything gets lonely
i want walk out of this door,
and never look back.

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.

i need to be let go,
like icarus near the sun,
my wings will break,
and i will not make it,
alas, the man has won.
like a trojan horse, he comes for me,
in my dreams, my mind
but there is nothing left.
and to this he is blind.
a man of God, or God, he fell astray.
and he looks down upon
me and you.
or perhaps, away.
what was your favorite color? red.
and the purple flush of my face
as your hands cradled my throat, squeezed hard
with the warmth of Death’s embrace.  
now, i find myself lost, where the dark seeks
to be,
a monster on an upside-down throne.
i must be cured of this disease,
to know the light where Icarus had flown.
and so i sit, an animal
chained to what i know so well
amid the cries, my own and yours
aflame in some forgotten hell.

she takes my arm and sips the blood i bled
shuts my eyes and says,
i cannot bear for you
to see what lies ahead.
this hurt siphons down
like the tears on my chin
and i cannot seem to reckon
with each and every sin.
and what's to stop this time
marching on in fury, enraged
like it cannot seem to fit enough
of the pain in every day.

sorrow is like a smog
sometimes it is thick
sometimes less apparent
but day in and day out
i am breathing it in.

these bindings hold me fast and tight
I remember, in this bed of blood
my friends dance around me in a jest of rage
but only I can see them.
there is screaming, my own
and that of my feathered king.
there is fear and a music like a plea
for me to run, and hard, to leave.
what shrill beggings may echo in the dark
and little joy shall they reap
instead, they are met with the same harsh reality
and from this, many memories they will keep.

i cannot stand the
mundane atrocity of this life.
no more shall i toss and wake
at every injustice done.
nor shall my fervent dreams
confront every soul that takes
the stand as inadequate.
and my sorrows, deep
beneath the flowers,
which make their advances
towards the night sky,
from forgotten buds,
shall cease to bloom.
only to do so upon recognition
of society, how willful.
and only once my petals have
settled on the moon,
should i rise.

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.

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.

today i am running
i think i can fly...
but, once more, once again
i am stuck with who i am.
mens rea
a guilty mind
and once again
i think i can fly
but for now
i am stuck with who i am
and to these thoughts
in the bone arena of my skull
i bid no second glance
for they are what gave me
such false wings.

there's music running up the walls
and glass beneath my feet
I write bad poems into the darkness
and hope my words may meet,
someone who hears me loud and clear
whom upon meeting I shall kneel,
to discover that there's been a wound
from which I cannot heal.
this painful madness creates a cage
the swallow settles into rest
begging with a heavy beak
for a bullet in her breast.
I was once a baby, awaiting death
so they put me in a box
and little did they know about
the ticking of the clocks.
the passing time of being stuck
silent begging to escape
get these tubes and needles out
so that I may be *****.
so I may be drugged and hurt and starved
of any love or joy
so I may drink the gift of life
that we all so enjoy.
from her cage, the swallow has now flown
free to soar at last
catch the wind inside her wings
but still prisoner to her past.
and I was put inside that box
with artificial life
the will from a father, let me live
and a mother with a knife.
she used to cut me slow and deep
and never let me rest
from all the other pain I've felt
and this sorrow in my chest.
this laughter echoes from my lips
but my eyes are red from crying
and no one knows that I smile
because I know I'm dying.
I'm dying from a lack of space
and air to ******* breathe
I'm dying from my own devices
and other's sunken teeth.
I'm dying from my mother's rage
my father's hopeful grin
and now I may take comfort
in all my countless sins.
3 years ago I swallowed pills
enough to try to die and then
I settled on the bathroom floor
and waited for my end.
but life betrayed me, as it does
my body fought for air
as I choked on my own *****
and shook until I met the stare,
of a brother who was pale as snow
and my mother with her knife
she said, this is what you get you see
as he began to cry.
I pulled through as the doctor said
you haven't got a clue
how lucky you are to be alive
from all that you've been through.
I remember the kind nurse
who held me as I cried
I remember my mother
invisible then, still wielding her knife.
It seems that I simply won't die
until I'm truly meant to,
and with that, I'm sentenced to my life
and I must see it through.
there's music running up the walls,
and glass beneath my feet,
and I write whatever I want
so that my words may meet,
someone who's kind and listens well
despite all of my flaws
and when I meet them I shall rise,
and take life by its jaws.

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.

I cannot stand the mundane atrocity of this life
my feathered arms know not how to fly in
the midst of this cold darkness
I am ever so bored by its marchings
dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn
sunset to sunrise and back again
my mortal mind is chained to a mortal heart
which beats with everlasting harmony
to the thickening of my blood
and the rotting of my soul
what many masks lie beneath
that sorrow-stricken face of mine
only to surface when the need truly arises
which is always
in this inept society full of wandering mask-wearers and
kindred dying hearts.
what can one do without a mask?
not much,
not much at all...

there isn't any space
for more than one or two
i hope this is enough mom
enough blood for you.
i don't know what it is
about tearing through my skin
all i know is that it feels
as good as ******* sin.  
there is no cure for wanting
there is no cure for lust
but there is a cure for torn up wrists
bandaids hidden in the dust.  
this desire to destroy myself
strong like ***** on your breath.
i hope its okay with you mom
that I'm cutting up the rest.

this could end
me
from the inside out
but it doesn't feel like that

i am oh so powerful
and this hunger is my
sword

i shall climb these mountains
unscathed
and 10 pounds lighter

i will collects the heads
of monsters along the way
with their rearing jaws

they bite into me
they roar
and shriek
for me to eat
but i won't let them win.

not me.

i carry them
like trophies
and at my journeys
end
is my prize

death greets me with open hands
he says
it has taken years,
my friend
yet i was always here
waiting.

and you've finally

found me.

i write too much
probably
but its the only way i know
how to speak.
my words don't come out
properly
in normal conversation
i say mean things
i try to get a rise out of them
but i don't ever mean what i say

its hard to cry in front of people
but that's all i ever do
and leave feeling like maybe
i'm too much
and not enough
at the same time
like maybe i've overwhelmed them
with all this pain
and now they have more than
they ever signed up for


its hard, these things....

I remember these long
drives
down the African coastline
all our belongings shoved
in the back
with the smallest of us
I'd figured then
that she could not reach me
the sheer distance would
break this horrible bond
from that woman
I felt as though I was a fugitive
running, but chasing at the same time
chasing something that could
love me
right.
it was the first time then
that id realized
that.
that I was running.
along the African coastline
the open ocean collects
warm bodies and such
trash and all alike
I remember stepping on cigarettes
ash and butts
along the African coastline
we march and roll slow like
those cigarettes
I remember that beautiful ocean
not threatening at all
just powerful in its beauty
Somalia will love me
Somalia will cherish me
Somalia will not **** me
for I am among the others
now
but how I was wrong
even then, even there
she could still reach me...
for she was inside of me
anyways
buried deep in my mind
like a parasite
and I was her host
for this evil.

little girl
kitchen table is her
worst nightmare
she welcomes the
monster
under the bed
to sit with her and
endure.
this pain.
he says to her
little girl
you cannot run
like you used to with
you pigtails flying like small kites
you cannot shake
like you used to with
your wobbling knees.
you cannot cry
like you used to with
your red eyes and wet cheeks
you can only sit
and wait
for pain.
and when it comes
little girl
you must
devour
it.

i've got no way out
as i lay here on this bed
this pain will never leave me
like the voices in my head.
he comes again, larger this time
like a wolf at final hunt
i know this will be the end of me
"shut up you ******* ****."
theres nothing i can do
as he pushes into me
he sinks his teeth into my skin
and i count to three.
i could to ten and back again
i hope the voices know
I'm trying so hard to leave
but my body just won't go.
he's given me something
to make me tired and dead
tired enough to ignore
even the voices in my head.
they scream as he comes
YOU HAVE TO ******* FIGHT
I'm trying, i think to them
but its just another night.
i am his now, naked and numb
i feel no fear inside me
only him, and my own blood
and again i count to three.
theres only a couple seconds
apart from his hunger and need
what can i do to stop this?
or am i thinking in greed.
maybe i deserve this
all this fear and disarray
the shaking of my bones
and the sadistic foreplay.
i am numb inside my head
but i feel the most pain I've ever felt
like my skin is on fire
from these cards i've been dealt.
he's here with me now
my coal-black, feathered king
he stares me down with ruthless eyes
you deserve everything.  
he hits me again, ******* my cheek
pay attention *****, you're gonna die tonight
i listen hard, but i can't look into his eyes
only my crowned king, watching me fight.  
he can see my hope, pouring out
my blood and ***** on the sheets
he can see my life, all his own
he can see my pain retreat.
i am light now, a floating soul
above this bed, alone
yet finally free from all this pain
that's buried in my bones.
this will be my secret
only mine to keep
so no one knows the darkness
that nestles in my sleep.