hidden fragments
so far buried beneath my skin
I wanna go back to the when...
the day I met my sin
I wish I could rid you from my skin
you're imprinted deeper than any ink
a tattoo I can't remove without losing limbs
the memories block me from everything
I wish I could win against them
I wish I could find a way to face them
and bury them somewhere else...
I keep trying to bury them in art
and it just keeps getting darker
distance from those years
makes it even colder still
drowning in shades of purples and blues
pretty like a bruise

When I was young, my bedroom was butterfly themed. My mom painted white butterflies on my lilac colored walls. The color matched so well with my mesh butterfly lamp, butterfly picture frames, and butterfly bedspread full of colors of greens, yellow, purples & pinks. My dad has always said it's like I'm chasing butterflies in my head. Having been diagnosed ADD some time ago, this makes a little bit of comical sense. And although I have grown out of, or into, many things from my childhood, I'm definitely still chasing butterflies, same as always.

cracking cold achy knuckles
always happens when I'm nervous
**** your tenderness

**** your expectations & entitlement
to my tenderness & vulnerability
to desire does not mean you will receive
you already made the choice to leave
the first ******* two, three times...
I’m no longer on the other line.
hang the **** up
don’t try a twelfth, thirteenth time
I’m doing just fine

Pandemic levels of confusion
I wanna go back to when it made sense

you are making roots in my chest
that burst through my brain
you drive me insane

there's solace from everything
in blasting nostalgic melodies on a solo drive
these endless connecting grids have helped me survive
time and time again
I continue to run away...
and I always picture the same road whenever I hear this song
I wonder what you're doing
I still wonder what really went wrong
turn up the volume, this road is long...
to no surprise
you were right ******* there
and you always ******* are
nostalgia floods me of that same road in my old car
and I don't even remember the sound of your voice anymore
sometimes I really wish I did
sometimes I really miss it when you were my friend
sometimes I really miss you as my lover too
but things will continue on to their death to re-bloom
and I will too.
because time has passed & I've forgotten the feel of you  
and that's more than okay
what the **** does missing do anyway?
cuts me open again
and with my spills I finger paint
a little dark and ***** is how I still play
waiting for lightning in the pouring rain
gotta stay entertained through the misery someway...
it feels like ecstasy on my skin
purge, pour out, and soak in