Wreaths made of bones
and my blood spilt.
There was an air of
unspoken...
knowing,
where everyone knew
that today was the day
of holiday joys and
Christmas cheer,
but the red of the blood
that covered
the hands of us
seemed to have blocked out
the green and the white
of the trees and snow.
We were not meant
to mourn over the loss
of our spirits on this one day.
Christmas;
where the blood spilt
becomes an extra accessory
to the hanging lights.

I'll be impolite
and take your organs
to replace my broken ones.
I'll take your eyes
for mine can only see
the dark vastness of the ocean.
I'll take your hands
because mine can only
feel the shallow depths
of your mind.
I'll take your mouth
and press it against my arms
so that I'll know what its like
to feel loved even
when I am still healing
from the stitches from
which I was made.
I'll take your stomach
twist every ungrateful
word that came out of my own.
I'll only take and take
what I can't have,
and soon, there will be nothing
left of you.

It rains heavily
on those who do not
wonder,
even in the slightest bit,
on how the sky cries
when it is up so high.

There will be nothing left
of the clouds once the sky
finally realizes that the illusion
of the horizon is its only hope
of kissing the earth.

Its only way of reaching
the beloved
is the way that it cries
when there is no hope
left in the scarlet pinks
of the sunrise.

The Earth will continue
to grow in the sadness
of the sky,
and he will continue to
weep and moan
in the way that thunder
roars and shouts.

The sky rains.
The sky will reign.

In the heat of the moment,
when we are intertwined
by a single thread,
or by a thick rope,
I will ask you
to rip apart my ribs.

Now when I ask you
to do this,
I do not want you
to ponder the
metaphorical meaning
of what this could possibly mean.
I want you to make me
breathe so heavily
that my ribs will
be ripped apart by
the heaving of my lungs.

I want you to take each bone,
and use it in any way you want.
I want you to make more use
of my body than I will ever have.
I want my lungs to be filled
with blood and the idea
of your hands running through
my ******* hair.

There will be nothing left of me
when you are done.
I am fine with this.
But please promise me,
that when I ask you to,
that you will definitely
Rip Apart My Ribs.

There will come a day
where I am finally rejoined
with the ground from which I came.
When this day comes,
no one will weep.
I don't want anyone
to cry or be upset
because of the fact that
they have not spent enough time
with my earthly body.
No one will think
such selfish thoughts
on the day of my death.
Instead, I will have you all
remember the good things
that came from knowing
who I was.
Your tears will come from
the fondest memories,
and from it will grow
trees and flowers
of your soul.
No one will cry
because I am gone.

You will always
fall in love
at the wrong time
and in the wrong body.
I give you my word.

I had a dream where
we stood on a meadow,
staring into the night sky,
forcing the stars to appear
in their full eternal glory.
As the stars slowly
began to reveal themselves,
splashes of orange and yellows,
blues and greens,
reds and pinks,
were orbiting around us.
The planets have come out
to dance their dance
and to sing their songs.
We looked up,
and there was a sense of
total completion.
You reached into my mouth
and pulled out a planet
created purely by being pressed
and pressed by the heat of my organs.
You pulled it out
and threw it to the sky.

"I lost myself that day. . ." I thought.
I woke up.