i melt my skin into bath bombs fill the tub like water with all the parts i want to wash away i am trying to cleanse my pores become sweet like cinnamon air in a quaint bakery, all flowers and as the rain smeared, the lights bled like an oil painting in the reflection and i stopped to stare at myself in the window i am not a work of picasso i am a product of a loveless marriage i am a representation of how passion can become possession i retain memories within me that make my brain swell and i feel my heart beat in my glands i am trying to master sensitivity so i can be more thoughtful when i explain to you why i am the way that i am, so that i don’t upset you i don’t think there’s blood within me my organs are mechanic i am made of pure electricity and too much frequency rests in my palms, scattered like shattered glass and convulsing through me i am trying to cleanse my pores smell doughnuts at the seaside instead of rotting flesh nothing about this is luxurious i try to be elegant as held together as woven ivy i am more graveyard more derelict detachment i stare at a reflection in a quaint bakery window i hope one day i merge with the lights on the pathway and become all oil painting all flowersall sweet like cinnamon.
Do you ever feel, that you’re going through life, like a story in a book? You keep turning the pages, appearing to be empty, they’re filled to the brim. With not just words, but wishes, you just aren’t able, to read them.
The day is drawing near and every year it comes around every year the flashbacks saturate every dark corner of my mind I've written and written and written about that night so many times that I can't stand to anymore you know what happened in that room and so do I but now there's someone new someone who looks at me and doesn't see your hand prints on my skin who doesn't know that years later I still carry the weight of that night on my chest it sits there while I sleep counting my breaths permeating my dreams enveloping every empty thought with an unwelcomed thought of you I've got so many skeletons and I would love to say that they're all buried beneath the dirt of time but they aren't sometimes they slip out from the closet and sit right beside me sometimes they hold my hand and sometimes like today they crawl inside my skin and make themselves at home
I realized when I left that meant I was going to be alone for awhile for years maybe that it would be challenging to find someone who could put up with me love me for all my many quirks and sarcastic comments my attitude on my good and bad days I realized leaving meant many many lonely days and possibly even lonelier nights but that it could also mean many many filled moments of figuring myself out like never before and maybe, loneliness would teach me a thing or two about loving myself for the very first time when I have nothing left, I will have Me