i want to be clean again.
i want to wash away my sins
like the tears of smudged mascara
after reveling in the familiar ache of
a hollowed out stomach,
which lingers,
long after the evidence is flushed away.

i am haunted by a ghost
who calls my name,
who whispers in the wind
and runs in my shadow.
i know her, i know her well.
she was everything i could’ve been,
and everything i lost

the months i lost my voice became a pattern of days filled with dreamless sleep and nights wishing for nicotine stained fingers and red lipstick kissed cups.

i held words on the tip of my tongue, fading into smoke the second they escaped the bitter confines of water drowned inked pages.

the months i lost my voice the nights seemed quiet, frozen in time as my eyes were blinded with the aching only poets can ache.

i held back words that came out in sounds and tears, screaming shouting, the sounds of glass breaking from inside a soundproofed room with only madness for company.

the months i lost my voice, my mind became a boat in an ocean of words, and the days gone in the blink of an eye.

i just want to be clean again-
to wash away the remaining traces of incommunicable words
that still stain my skin-
the softness that i once took for granted,
has turned hard and still holds on,
its fragile, oh so fragile-
i fear that becoming stone won’t hide the cracks
i’ve spent so long trying to hide

the scars on my skin bleed red;
the burn of my flesh
from scratches meant to
rip apart the pieces of my skin
stained from your touch.
i tore myself apart,
hoping,
praying,
you would still find me beautiful
even with my scars.

when i wanted to die
i wished my grief would swallow me whole
like a boat caught in a storm
and with a soft, tender kiss,
would bid me a soft goodnight

If i gave this empty feeling a name to
beckon, call, cry or scream
I would force myself to acknowledge it’s presence.
To acknowledge the crushing weight that clings to my neck like a noose.  
I would be forced to call this weight my own,
I would be forced to proclaim it mine and face it's tightening hold
The more I plunge myself into the depths of my emptiness.
I would fear i would come to fix it,
To acknowledge that i am not okay,
That my saran wrapped skin is on display for you,
For anyone to bear witness to my path of self-destruction
To watch me to put myself together again and
Fear who I can be without this empty feeling I've made a home in.