I have written
about you
more times than
i can count

and more times
than you will probably
ever
know.

Forgive me
you were beautiful
so kind
and so unattainable.

i'm no stranger
to bathtubs and sinks full of red water
to red-stained sleeves
to blood loss.
no stranger
to losing people,
no stranger
to wanting to go home.

a rat burrows through my flesh, into my stomach, hiding next to my liver.
they stitch me back up,
send me home with a bottle of placebos.

home alone,
deep into the night,
i feel him crawling and scratching around,
rearranging things,
misplacing my bones and lungs in the process.

i can't exist
without you.

you made your bed with
the quilt your grandmother made for you as a child,
     before she got sick.
you have it pulled across the mattress,
     severely taut,
just as she showed you.

it's late in the day,
yet summer sun still finds a way
to come in through the blinds.
     the slanted light draws lines across your arms

a distant hum -
the fan swivels back and forth
slowly shaking its head in disappointment,
     until you finally move,
reaching over to rip the plug from the wall;
silence

It hurt
when I fell
off my bike,
skinning my knees
against the asphalt.

I looked up in shock,
my mouth a perfect O.
It wasn't until I saw
the blood,
streaming down my shins,
that I began to wail.

Over the crest of the hill,
I saw my father,
running to me,
his face creased with worry.

Without hesitation,
he picked me up, held me
in his arms.
I clung to him, helpless
as I was, sobbing into his neck.

He assured me that it was fine
I was fine
He was there, and
Nothing would hurt me.

Later, once home, bandaged and clean,
he threw away his favorite,
now-bloodstained, sky blue shirt.


It hurts more now
when I fall off my bike.
When he's no longer there to help me
back up,
wipe away the blood,
and promise me that I'm safe.

i demand the thunderstorms to appear.
i come in waves of dust and flood.

i am a feared being,
one whom my followers know not to tempt.

the blood that you give flows
and i close my eyes, accepting your generous gift.

i believe that what defines the goodness in people
is the attention and love that they give me.

I.
there have always been two constants;
i am weak, and you are strong.
you are dark, predatory eyes,
watching and memorizing my every move.
i am the snow, pure and untouched,
before the blood fell and ruined everything.

II.
these fantasies taunt me constantly.
a glimmer of what i might accomplish
if only i wasn't created from stone.

III.
i ruined my own body in an attempt to prevent
others from doing the same.

IV.
i told you that i was a fountain.
you bandaged my arms, kissed me goodnight,
and sent me on my way to unravel,
alone.

V.
anger pours out in a spectrum of colors
i never knew existed.
god is disappointed by what i've become;
he makes sure to tell me so at every crossroads.

VI.
i exist only as a figment of your imagination.
all of my demons come forward
to show you each and every brush stroke
that has graced my porcelain skin.

VII.
prove that my existence has meaning,
and, once you've finished, make sure that it ends.
we both know, without a doubt,
that i don't deserve anything more.

VIII.
it's time to stop caring
about my lukewarm limbs
and get on with your own
miserable ******* life.

IX.
i whispered against your skin;
"when god will smite the ones that have hurt us?"
the look within your eyes answered more
than you would ever dare to say.

X.
i am the ghost that's been haunting you all this time.
i don't know what you are.