when you think you love someone it's like a slow burn.

the flame travels down the wick
at a pace less than a snail.
It meanders,
stops to catch it’s breath and enjoy the view,

the full smiles and eyes lost with wonder.

sparks flying out as little spats make themselves known
and it travels closer to the bottom of the glass,
the wax is melting,

only a couple of inches left now.

and as the light gets closer and closer to going out
you scramble for anything to hold to
because you aren’t ready to lose this,

but its time.

and then the light is gone and you’re left in the dark.
the realization that love wasn’t what that was

but **** was it something good.

I leak when I don't know what to do or feel.

Laying on my side, the gates behind my eyes open
and a slow flood meanders through.
Exiting my tear ducts and making a pool on my right cheek.
I sit and I leak
like a broken faucet.

Only in silence
because though I'm weary,
I do not creak like an old broken sink.

My skin absorbs the empty tears
so quick that they cannot make their way onto my pillow case.
No trace of the lack of feeling that took place.

How pitiful is that?

A girl who leaks
because she doesn't know how to not be an old broken sink.

She is a tsunami,
A giant tidal wave of pure destruction.
At first glance you don’t see much,
for her long dark hair cloaks her face
and she dresses
almost as if she doubts her own existence.
Keeping to herself.
But if she looks up,
one look into her eyes of grey stormy weather,
and you see her whole twisted past.
She draws you in,
with whispers of a deep sadness
that begs to be relieved.
And you crave to hold this broken angel,
to wipe her tears,
and soften her sobs of agony.
But she knows who she is,
what she is.
So that when you get close,
you are pushed away.
No matter how hard you cling to her back.
She is destruction
and she fears destroying you
so she destroys herself.

gyrating hips
and blood red lips
****** thoughts
drift across,
seeping into the silk sheets
beneath her heat.
fire set alight
at the sight
of the small porcelain frame
draped in the skin of an angel
with the devil singing her name.
“nothing is good anymore
this i am sure”
she says,
counting petals that fall to the floor.
mischievous grin
locked on lips of sin,
and she can’t help the need
to bound forth and see,
naked glass
shattered from the days of past
with sand spilling pages
into unknown cages
opening eyes
to all the cherry red lies.
blood flowing over head and underneath
the infidelity that lives in his sheets,
lost kisses and broken hearts
left to be made into art.

i cannot create today.
or at any other hour
though i scour each and every day
searching
for that special moment
where my brain finally produces
an idea.
a thought.
a way to express the things that
I cannot,
will not
feel.
but time passes
and grasses cover the pages
where my skin used to bleed creation
and now there is nothing.
nothing but green,
or thats what its supposed to be.
and now my muted tones
have seeped into the very soul
of livelihood.
greens to grays
no more living for them.
i ****** them all dry with
my dire need to please
no more fancy lip work from me
only blank stares at a blank screen.
fingers poised in a dance with only air
because words come from mouths and only hurt,
or at least that's what i was taught.
not that you or i can ever make a difference.
words?
who for?

She climbed out of the window to her bedroom and into the cool night sky. Dressed in black ripped jeans and a dark colored hoodie, so she dissolves into the darkness.
A case of Corona in her hand, she jumps the few feet to the ground. Her knees bend to soften the harsh landing. She stands back up to her full height, though it isn’t that tall.
Her hood, covers her face so that she is a mystery.
The night time accepts her with open arms, understanding that she needs to be unknown for the time being to be her true self.
She stalks away from her ‘home’. Her sharp, rushed movements standing out against the white walls. Then she breaks off into a run, wanting to get away as fast as she can, not being able to stand being close any longer. She runs to her night time escape, laying down in the middle of the field underneath the leafless tree.
She looks up at the stars, wondering who each one was.
What kind of souls turn into stars when their time on earth is up?
She lets the hope that she is one of those souls slip into her mind just this time. But for only a moment, before pushing it away.
Her experience with hope has shown her that it only brings pain and heartbreak.
She reaches over to the 6-pack and takes a bottle out, sitting up. It settles into her hand like it has been destined to since it’s creation, comfortable between her fingers. She takes the bottle opener out of her left pocket and brings it to the lips of the bottle. The top pops off in one fluid motion, the practice she’s had making it as easy as breathing. She brings the rim to her chapped angry red lips, then tilts it up quickly, taking a short sweet sip of the poison ambrosia.
It tickles as it slides smoothly down her throat. She lets a small content sigh slip out and be taken away in the breeze. At home, that is how she feels sitting underneath that tree.
The stars are her shelter and the field is her bed, soft and welcoming, the tree, an old friend. Here she lets the tears run freely down her face. The salt water mixing with the bitter taste of alcohol.
She’s screaming, wailing.
Asking the universe why she hates herself so much, why they don’t want her. Why can’t he love her the way she loves him? Why can’t she already be dead? Maybe then he would realize just how much she meant to him, how much he meant to her.
As she lets this fire slip from her throat, she doesn’t notice the boy dressed in blue on the other side of the field. She doesn’t realize she isn’t alone until he is sitting next to her with one hand grasping hers.
She startles when his skin comes in contact with hers. Then she looks at him, his blue eyes, blue face, blue heart, blue soul, unsure if he can be let into her secret home. He sees her hesitate, so he brings her hand to his lips and whispers his secrets into her skin.
The tenseness in her shoulders is released and she squeezes his hand tightly. They are both on a mission to escape the lives they live.
Both have minds burdened with memories and bodies littered with scars. Running from the demons in their homes.
She reaches over to the cardboard keeper of sins and plucks another bottle from its grasp. She takes the opener and rips the top from the bottle’s lips, handing it to the Blue Boy.
He takes it with the hand not wrapped in hers and brings it to his lips quickly. Tilting it back, he downs the whole bottle. He sets the empty bottle back into the cardboard as its poison takes effect.
Then he’s stumbling to his feet and dragging her with him, towards the forest standing menacingly behind them.
She runs after him, feet not quite touching the ground and laughter hanging in their air. Engulfed in darkness under the canopy, they giggle and whisper secrets of death.
Without the stars to see by, they fall into a rabbit hole. Spiraling down to their private Wonderland, where there is no home for them and the Mad Hatter is their friend.
They can run through clouds and save each other from the demons under their beds.
Their bruises scream, convicting the guilty and their memories wail in relief from them.
But Alice couldn’t stay in her Wonderland, so neither can they. Waking from their dream, back underneath the tree, weeping at the loss of the make believe and forced to go back to reality, where their demons have them in a choke hold and the guilty hide behind atrocious lies.