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10.2k · Dec 2017
i tried to kill someone once
kas Dec 2017
this is how it happens
it's the last day the temperature will be
above thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit
until February
you're not looking at the date
it's just the end of November
the middle of the night in the middle of a road
at the end of November
the hum of this small town hurts your ears
you're stuck in a dream where everything you see
turns into a weapon
this is how it happens
you knocked back sharp, amber liquid
to make this place feel a little more okay
and it only worked halfway
no matter how soft the edges are
you bruise your hips when you
run into them in the dark
you're ******* on your fourth cigarette when
a police officer pulls over and asks
how you're doing today
in the too-bright white of the headlights
the sick taste of Red Stag sticks to
the roof of your mouth
the mouth that you're moving into a smile
the mouth exhaling plumes of smoke at the ground
you're okay
"i'm okay."
you don't tell him what you're really doing
you're really taking all of your
thoughts about stopping your pulse for a walk
you don't tell him you've been
chasing ambulances all night long
please, officer don't leave me alone, you don't say
he tells you to have a good night and drives away
and this is how it happens
the moon smiles at you with every single one
of its tiny, sharp teeth
nobody but your cat finds you in that bathtub
nobody but your cat watches you rise from red water
watches it drip drip drip
from every chasm carved in your left arm
nobody but your cat saw the soft animal of your soul
shiver from the cold that day
it's the first day the temperature
dropped below
thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit inside your chest
based on true events
2.0k · Dec 2017
a love note
kas Dec 2017
every single time
you smile at me
something in my head
malfunctions
1.1k · Apr 2015
love letter
kas Apr 2015
It rained
on the day
I left a note
on your windshield.
928 · Apr 2015
Hannah Lynn
kas Apr 2015
And she said,
"You'll get over it,"
when I told her
I'd be sad
if she took her own life.

Well, here I am.
Another year older

and I'm not over it.
881 · Apr 2015
disconsolate
kas Apr 2015
The first time you saw her,
she had drifted into your apartment
on the tail end of a gust of winter wind.
She was just tagging along as a friend of a friend.
Her starry eyes and half smile
were what got to you,
and they were enough to keep you around.
You caught a glimpse of her
reckless nightmare
almost immediately.
She was stuck in the middle of a
downward spiral,
and she took you along for the ride.
You couldn’t seem to find a reason for it.
She was just sad.
Her body was made up of
howling heart attacks
and incandescent suicide notes.
She was bad dreams,
a fractured spine,
lips hemorrhaging secrets,
and ******* shoved to the back of a throat.
She was laughter at four in the morning
and daisies in a hurricane
with dark hair and darker eyes,
all wrapped up tight in a skeletal frame.
She was your bulletin board of best kept secrets
that you covered with love notes.
You were always trying
to glue her broken pieces back together,
but her edges sliced your skin to shreds.
She did not want to be saved.
860 · Dec 2017
a fantasy
kas Dec 2017
somewhere beyond the baseball fields
inside my mind
i see myself in a linden tree
toes grazing the grass
with the perfect knot of a noose
tight around my neck

the names of all the people
i've never met
and all the places
i've never been
fall from my mouth
and from my mother's eyes

i won't apologize
746 · Jun 2014
Coffin
kas Jun 2014
Thoughts of her fit like a coffin
In all the bad ways.
Midnight eyes with stars and galaxies gaze
Fixed
They never change
And the ending still remains
She fades
From memories
And the last twelve days
Turn to the last twelve months.
That was when I realized that nothing would ever last
And she sat at the end of my kitchen table
Yellow sun dress pooling
A beam of light in a lonely room full of people
My lungs collapsing
Tongue failing
Words half formed falling forth
Between us
And she smiled.
I was nervous.
She was stunning,
Sitting patiently under my camera lens as I took several more pictures
And now I can only see her in my dreams.
Dark hair and darker eyes
Tired and smiling
Voice singing sweet lullabies
To voices in my head that seem to never sleep
Next in line
Like pills you can't wait to take
Another false reality
And I'm wishing she'd leave my head
Because she fits my mind like a coffin
In all the bad ways
about a girl.
588 · Apr 2015
25 January 2015
kas Apr 2015
I started taking my coffee black
On the day that you died.
562 · Jan 2018
a lie
kas Jan 2018
"i bet death feels like emdless, dreamless sleep." this is the source of my near constant anxiety. I wish i knew God. i don't believe in anything. i didn't think about what that meant until after i tried to **** myself. endless, dreamless sleep. maybe there are dreams, few and far between. feels like nothing. imagine nothing. i exist, feel these things, take up space, die and feel nothing nothing nothing. but then the infrequent dreams become more. constant lucid dreams where the neon sky vibrates and the entire world does what i tell it to.

i am not afraid to die.
519 · Jun 2014
Wake Up
kas Jun 2014
I assess people from across the room
Like scanning barcodes to make sure
That I know what I'm getting myself into
Because I think I know what's good for me.
But sometimes
What I see is not what I get and I
Drown.
Nothing's what it seems
And I don't know what's happening
Like I'm dreaming
Because I won't see it coming
"I cut myself so I can feel something I know is not a lie."
It's how I know I haven't changed.

Sometimes I try to live my life,
Like "just passing by" and "only stopping in"
And underneath the surface
I just want to stay
So I fall through like the enemy
Peaking through skylights in black ski masks
It was never meant to be this way.
And how long has it been?
I can spit back the venom all I want
But it still stings
And I can't let them know
And I can't let it show
And they won't let me stay
So I guess I'll just go.

I check the sky before I leave my house
To check for any passing clouds
And it's always raining.
So I stand in a room
Four walls and one window
I tug back the blinds to let the light shine in
And I pull the window open
Air drifting through the gap
To see if I can breathe.
So empty.
There's still a chance that I'll make it outside today
But it just doesn't feel right.
When winter comes crashing through the front door,
I leave
Standing on the frozen creek
Hoping to fall through and hoping to make it out
All at the same time.
I can't win.

And one morning when the sky turned pink,
My eyes were red.
Red eyeliner to match my bloodshot eyes.
As the sun was rising, orange in the sky,
I was hit with cerulean waves
Drowning in shades and hues of blues
Like all the things I should have done.
The cavalry comes to invade the town
And there is no place I can hide
They raided houses all morning
And I'm angry with myself
Because I am awake.
"If we don't take medication,
we won't sleep for decades."

I didn't see you leaning in the doorway
Propped up on mahogany
Telling me hello.
In fact, the house was
Empty.
And I've been waiting for this day for years
So I turned back the way I came
Writing stories in italics to get my point across
Listening to the crickets from the night before.
I was swept away.
And I forgot where you lived
Until I stumbled upon your home,
Where you were leaning in the doorway
Propped up on mahogany
Telling me sorry
And all I did was
Walk away.

And now I have a bad habit of inhaling
Nothing.
Living solely on
Nothing.
Dreaming nights away with
Nothing
In my head but the Emptiness
And the weight of
Nothing
Sitting in my chest for days and days
Like blackbirds on telephone wires
Carrying
Nothing
But bad new
Words and phrases that mean
Nothing
To anybody anymore
And it's absolutely horrible when you think about
What it all used to mean
And how the meaning was stripped away
Piece by tiny piece
Until it hurt
Until it felt like a knife in my heart
The things that became Significant
Became harmful when they left
Became toxic when I couldn't see them anymore
And became horrible when everything was over.
The worst part was realizing that
Everything
Means
Nothing
Now.
Like towers that have fallen to dust
Right before my very eyes.

Taste the sound of the birds in the morning
Right in the sun,
A path made from beams,
A morning that should be mine
But I spent it inside
Because I couldn't bare to get out of bed that day.
"I'm not suicidal, I just can't get out of bed."
And would I trade my soul for Enthusiasm?
Would you trade your soul to know what I know?
So we walk along like this means anything
Fitting silence better and better each day.
This is wrong.
If living life is just a dream,
When do we wake up?
Questions that claw at my psyche before I can even down my Morning Cup
This *****.
My two cents on life, as a friend once said.
Is this temporary?
They say it doesn't hurt
And to not ask for help
"I can't be honest with even myself.
Did you ever wish you were somebody else?"
They label us with accomplishments
And rank us so high
That living up to the Standards isn't at the top of my list.
So I leave.

Listening for bad dreams
Like trains on the tracks.
The "ding ding"
The hum
Of the arms coming down to keep us
From hurting ourselves
While we attempt to cross
But I've always been bad at
Listening
And you've always been bad at staying still.
So we walk on the tracks,
The metal beneath our feet
Hot enough to melt our soles
But we can't care
Because we're Moving
And we don't care about the direction
Because why would we?
So we walk and we walk
Listening to the whistles in the distance
Until they're not whistles
And they're not in the distance
It's more like a howl
That greets us when we look up
Growing closer and closer
Until--

--I'm living in a house where four in the morning haunts us,
Staring down the ink on my fingers like they mean something
But it means nothing
And I've got to get out of this town.
So we fantasize of leaving this place.
Just get in your car and go
Because why not?
But we aren't even close
And I don't want to be trapped
And you don't want to stay here.
"Are we wasting time or is it wasting us?"
Two clocks ticking out of sync
That's what Emptiness feels like
So we fill it with silly things.
Chipped nail polish.
T-shirts
Leggings with boots
Albums that nobody has heard of
Places to be
Places we've been
Places to avoid
Books with sad endings
With dried flowers between the pages.
I disconnect
Like this is the end
Because it could be the end
But we can never agree.

I look up and see
That the paint on the wall is chipped in places
Like it is giving up
So I give up.
I wake up and leave my house
And everything about me says
"I give up on life."
And the thing is that
Nobody else cares one bit
And I am convinced
That they've all
Secretly
Given up on life as well.
We're all just kids in a line at Sunday school.
Looking proper until we think they aren't looking
Safety pins can hold our dresses in place,
But they can't hold our hearts together
And it's horrible
That we're all on the verge of
Breaking
And we're all on the verge of
Dying anyway.

Sitting on the concrete with a friend
A bottle of water in hand
And we talk
Like it will mean something in ten years.
Will it mean anything in ten years?
Will it mean anything tomorrow?
Because I'll watch everyone change
But I'll still feel the same
Empty.
So full of
Nothing.
Keeping track of
Nothing
In particular
Whilst crashing through the colors,
Lining my eyes,
Running from the feelings
And wishing,
Hoping,
Dying to wake up from this dream
Like it will take  me somewhere
But I know very well that I am not going
Anywhere
But
Nowhere
Fast
With stupid thoughts in my head
Of the end.
It's just "people leave"
And "Blood is thick"
But it's watered down sometimes
And I can't take this anymore.
I want to wake up.
I want to wake up.
I want to wake up.
about life.
written June 2013
518 · Apr 2015
stagger
kas Apr 2015
you wrote it down,
what he looked like in the
moonlight
on summer nights miles from home
you get inside
staggering,
foot slipping on wood floors
then bathroom linoleum
the porcelain tub is unrelenting
but you fall asleep there anyway.
droplets clinging to your jeans.
can you even feel it anymore?
you wake up in the morning
neck ache to match your headache
sunlight burns your eyes
and you can’t remember
if you wanted to take a bath
or if you couldn’t make it to bed.
minutes later,
you’ve filled the toilet with remnants
of last night’s party
and you’ve downed two aspirin
washing it down with water from a cup
that you saw as half empty.
you find the napkin from the bar,
absent pen marks turn to words.
you wanted to remember
what he looked like in the moonlight
silhouetted in the pale glow.
you were both sticky with humidity.
there was a lack of breeze
in the middle of all of those trees
as he walked you from the party to the bar.
tiny clouds were scattered across the sky
but not once
did they fall across the moon.
and between his words,
the crickets and the katydids,
there was never a moment of silence.
however,
like dreams,
just because you wrote it down
doesn’t mean that you remember.
so you clench your fist,
napkin crumpled
words wrinkled,
hidden.
phrases incomplete.
you still remember what color his eyes are
but you can’t seem to picture
how they shown under celestial lights
and you can hear his voice in your head
but you can’t recall
what he said to you,
or what you said to him.
or if he held your hand
or if he kissed your lips...
you lie in bed
like laying in graves
at the end of each day.
head sick from the gin
or maybe from him
because lately, it’s become harder to tell.
last night’s clothes lay on the floor
like a body.  
you’ve turned all the lights off
pulled the curtains closed,
but even in the dark,
your sobering mind can’t remember
what happened last night.
511 · Jan 2018
i want to wake up
kas Jan 2018
did i ever tell you about
the dream i had where
your name was on
every page of my phone book
and all the numbers were wrong
what about the one where
i'm in the hospital
and every doctor that
checks my pulse and takes my blood
has your face
or how about the one where
you're dying of cancer
and you can't stop yourself
from living life too fast?
and you swear the answer to
every question is a
significant something from your past
like
cigarette smoke and diet coke
and the weary tone of your grandfather's voice
as he spoke about the end of all things
and we had to remind you to stop
saying such sharp things as
words sliced your throat
and we all choked.
what about the one where
you roll your eyes at me
as we're flying through the windshield
your spine snapped as you
told me it was my fault
we crashed the car
i spit my heart up on the pavement
and watch it beat.
how about the one where
you keep sticking your fingers
in my hair to warm them up, and
every time you pull away
my mouth falls open and fills the room
with a thousand reasons to stay
or how about all the bad ones
where the only time your eyes hold
any color is when they aren't
locked with mine
the ones where the entire world
goes silent when you speak
and i can never quite catch
what you're saying.
485 · Dec 2017
nodus tollens
kas Dec 2017
i'm constantly stuck between
bones and blood and amphetamines
i keep thinking that
i can have it all if i just find the right scene
and i can see toxic thoughts like toxic waste
contaminating the oceans of my mind
a bitter aftertaste, a better nursery rhyme
the glowing eyes of my demons
reflecting off the blade of a knife
and the half smiling rings on the coffee table
are the only things keeping me
company at night
i never thought i'd ever describe pain as
"bright"
"vibrant"
"almost warm in the right light"
i'm stuck here, falling apart
a glass object breaking in slow motion
becoming bones before tomorrow starts
fissures turn to fractures, an explosion
kids these days call that abstract art
who i am hates who i used to be,
and who i was always wanted to be
this
a human typewriter who knows
how everyone's stories begin and end
a tree limb that never breaks, only bends
the back end of a horse
a street with a dead-end
a best friend a godsend
wind me up and watch me pretend
turning circles and spitting up my
heart on my bedroom floor.
"this is as good as it gets, my friend."
reckless
483 · Feb 2016
metaphor
kas Feb 2016
And my problem is that i don't know
where to start or how to end.
I live in ellipses,
commas, and dramatic pauses
and I pretend that I'm doing it on purpose.
When you saw through the blur in my head,
you told me all about my heart and
how out of sync it was with my mind.
And I was sitting right next to you when
I hid a letter in a box,
tucked it right between your running shoes,
but it's December,
and you don't run when there's snow on the ground.

I told you I was a baseball field,
empty at two in the morning,
dust settling, but I don't think you
knew what I meant.
So I told you that my bathroom sink
has swallowed more demons than gallons,
and that I lay on my kitchen floor
more often than I sit on my couch,
and that I am hemorrhaging indigo
and dry-heaving maroon late at night
when you are asleep,
and maybe you only pretended
to understand what I was talking about.

They're all sick of me
ending statements with "never mind,"
downplaying my madness to keep them calm.
I told my dad I loved him for the first time
in two years, and followed up by
stealing my grandfather's anxiety medication
to sedate the butterflies in my stomach.
I like to think I know what it feels like to be dead.
Like sleep, only colder. Darker.
Less and less until I only exist as
stains on people's brains.
I always liked the number zero.

I am the journal I threw out two nights ago
without checking the pages for things to keep.
I am three days awake, bloodshot eyes,
six cups of black coffee first thing in the morning,
and black-out curtains at three in the afternoon.
I am a suicide car and a pedestrian who never looks both ways.
I'm my own worst enemy.
Someday, I'll light a few candles to set the mood and
take a bath with my toaster.
I am an appendix; nobody needs me.
I'm full of **** and I need removing.

And I guess you should know that I am not sorry.
You're going to find that letter tucked between your shoes
come spring, written by someone who isn't red stains
on bathroom linolium. She was
rainbow streaks that the sun plastered to your livingroom walls
at eight in the morning.
At least, that's what you told me.
I don't think I knew what you meant.
432 · Dec 2017
a silent collision
kas Dec 2017
and suddenly time stops
after weeks and weeks of moving too fast
the stillness makes my head spin
or maybe you make my head spin
because there you are
a friend of a friend
standing in the living room
had it been my living room
i'd have asked you to leave
our history was crashing around
inside of my skull
a ricocheting bullet i didn't know how to stop
as it were
all i could do was stand there
statue still in the doorway
frozen in time
your silhouette blurred against
the afternoon sunlight streaming in
through the window
and i stared for moment after long moment
wanting
wishing
needing you to be someone else
and just like in all my bad dreams
when i scrounged up the courage to greet you
your face fell into an expressionless mask
our eyes barely met
your irises the same shade
as the coffee that holds my eyes open every morning
and nothing fell from your mouth
i tried hard not to feel anything
i know you were as terrified as me
429 · Jul 2014
gravity
kas Jul 2014
i learned the hard way that caffeine is not a substitute for sleep
and that i am addicted to the way you feel on my eardrums
and that i can't make myself disappear completely without dying.
you are a cold day in august with overcast skies
you are midnight and six in the morning and mid-afternoon.
you are the cracks in the ceiling and the stars in the sky
the smell before rain and thunder and lightning
electric and erratic and terrifying.
you are a blank slate and a new beginning
and i am screaming heart attacks and dry heaving suicide notes
at four in the morning.
i walk holes in my shoes daily like it’ll fix my insides
and knit every broken thing back together
while you saturate my mind with your intensity.
when we met, my veins were leaking loneliness
hemorrhaging bad ideas and harboring secrets.
hiding.
you were my safest place.
and rumor had it that drinking bleach would **** the thoughts in my head.
your words were amnesia.
my head forgot how to make me feel empty
when i wrote your name at the top of the next blank page in my journal.
i didn’t give a **** about gravity
until i fell into your orbit.
first draft. just a brainspill at this point.
405 · Oct 2014
History Books
kas Oct 2014
Lately
I’ve been looking for holes in our history books
The cause and effect that we missed
Like we missed each other
When we were sixteen and fighting.
The good news is that you’ve got big plans.
The bad news is that I can’t decide
What songs I want played at my funeral.
Take me back in time
To where we used to wait
With arms wide open
So I can try to convince myself
That you aren’t my favorite thing
I’ve got better things to do
Than remember everything about you
388 · Mar 2015
it gets dark around here
kas Mar 2015
I hitched a ride on the tail end
of every bad habit that followed you around
as you walked with rocks in your shoes,
shuffling through,
making holes in your soles
to match the holes in your soul.
You typed your suicide note in italics
to get your point across,
but I couldn't let you go.
383 · Jun 2014
Drift.
kas Jun 2014
Do you remember asking yourself

“Why don’t they know me?”

Because you thought it was obvious

But you were too good at hiding.

People only see what they know,

And they don’t know you

So what do they see?

So what do you see?

Popular peers drifting away

Like helium balloons without anchors

While your heavy heart keeps you grounded

In this fragile, paper town.

You’re just like a spider

Trapped in between the glass and the screen

With nowhere to hide

But inside its own mind.

And human eyes just sit and stare

As the spider spins its web

Like a poet writes his lonely lines.

So what do you see?

Fractured eyes under halogen lights

Gazes dropped from the highest places,

From the fingertips they thought they could trust.

And sundered souls learned their lessons

When electric wires sliced their veins

Bleeding bright currents until nothing was left.

Until they were so light that they drifted away

Like helium balloons without anchors
written in 2012
369 · Jun 2014
Spiral Bound
kas Jun 2014
Well she's drawn to you,
She's held to you
With impressive words and rubber bands
But there's still a veil in between
Still a need to keep things clean,
And you know this, too.

"I've got pages," she says
"They hold the words that get no sound.
A second mind that's spiral bound.
Growing fuller as the sun sets,
This is as easy as it gets."

She tells you the small things,
But keeps what matters
Left behind, they're frayed and tattered
Broken fragments hanging by strings,
Keeping steady as the choir sings:

"Spit back the venom
And let this light shine in
Eyes to the horizon and watch a new day begin.
Put the pen to paper as the phrases come,
But this time, darling, you're not allowed to run."
kas Jul 2018
for every pierced ear on
every ******* planet earth,
i can count another reason why
i am not like them.
they say i just haven't found my place yet,
but they don't know
i've had the map backwards my whole life
i'm lost the way a shoe on the side of the highway is lost
i'm the crack in the wall
that your mother covered with a painting
i'm the bulb in a string of lights
that burned too bright and flickered and died
i've been sitting on my emotions for so long
they're only pins and needles now
nobody screamed when
i asked the world to forget about me
like when you say something in a crowded room
and nobody even looks at you
all i have to do is ask myself  for
a way out; look myself in the eye
and say, "it doesn't have to be this way,"
i think about last november
that day i lost blood in the bathtub
as the water got colder
and i keep my mouth shut
but i think that i am cursed
to walk through life with glass
in my eyes, and i'll get my
ride in a hearse before i
am twenty-five.
there's shrapnel and
pieces of old photographs inside
every scar on my left arm.
dirt and grime
from the last five places i've lived reside
inside every canyon carved.
all i want is for somebody to
look into the hollow sockets of my head and
see me
but i don't think i need a heart to
sleep next to the hole in my
chest, i just need to put
this thing to rest
342 · Jun 2014
S.A.D.
kas Jun 2014
How am I supposed to get this out when I can’t think straight?
I can’t think and I can't breathe and I can’t see what’s right in front of me.
Bright sides don’t cure anything, they only distract.
Don’t tell me to think happy thoughts.
Because you don’t understand.
Sickness that pills can’t cure
Sadness that best friends can’t take away
But take it away, this pressing weight, pressing in on my thoughts
Like anchors
Steal my caution so I can stare out at the sunset
Like the cat on the windowsill
Without feeling like it’s the end
I learned the hard way that caffeine isn’t a substitute for sleep.
written June 7th, 2013
312 · Jun 2014
Untitled
kas Jun 2014
Love is not
A solution
But an equation.
303 · Feb 2016
bulletproof blue
kas Feb 2016
Everyone around me wants to die and
I'm beginning to think that I am
The Catalyst
And I am a surrealist.
Their souls catch fire and fall apart
They can't even put up a fight.
Blood spills, pills ****
Bitter tastes on the mouths of all my friends
call it love at first sight,
finding meaning at the end.
They look the big, bad wolf
right in the eye
and they don't even scream when he
takes the first bite.
Their hearts still in the morning light.
293 · Feb 2016
toxic
kas Feb 2016
Bad days were written into my code.
Cold wind blows and cut through my coat
and slices my throat
like a surgeon with deadly precision.
I had a decision to make.
I froze.
You've been told
To treat me like an emergency room
When I did what I said I woudn't do
Say it out loud or decompose
and it was urgency and maroon
sliding down my chest and from your nose
as we drove down the avenue
and you took sharp turns
down familiar roads.
I listened as you spoke.
A composer with no composure,
but i think that was just the coke.
an "i love you" long overdue,
that last bit of closure,
and the promise i broke.
Your words wrapped tight around my throat,
I let it stop my pulse.
I suppose i am toxic.
Talk sick, cut quick with a razor
words stick, proceed calmly out the door
it can't be fixed.
i wrote it down for you
all those years ago.
291 · Jun 2014
something deeper
kas Jun 2014
Dearest dove keeper,
You've shot down the sleeper.
Messed us up beyond repair,
Not so simple, something deeper.
I'm just a street-walker,
Another sweet-talker,
She smiles even wider,
A giver and taker.
It's hard to be afraid,
Now that you've made yourself
Crystaline clear,
I just can't refrain.
I just can't be made
To lay low like this.
Try hiding sometime
And tell me how hard it is.
Because we're all in love,
You just don't know it yet.
And I'm so in love,
That I'm blinded by it.
But she can never see,
Just what she does to me,
We smile wide and run and hide.
But it just can't be
November 2010
85 · Nov 2020
erotophobia
kas Nov 2020
I am a long list of synonyms
For the word “terrified.”
Most days, I couldn’t even tell you
Why it is that
Kissing you feels like
A twenty story free-fall;
A swan dive into a slab of concrete
Like swerving into oncoming traffic
Sometimes the butterflies in my stomach
Turn into a hornets nest
And I am unsure of how to handle it
When your heart falls asleep
Next to the hole in my chest
I keep thinking that you’re only here
Until you get sick of me,
But you never say anything about
My cold smile
Or my ice cube teeth.
I think you’re trying to melt me
I didn't kiss my first boy until i was 25 and it was really scary.

— The End —