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.

If loneliness is a memory that tastes like
cigarette smoke and *** soaked ash
I have lived it a thousand times.
If the endless nothingness of being lonely swallows me again and again,
like waves on a beach,
Leaving me to drown again and again-
Leaving me gasping for breath in a moment of mercy.
If loneliness tastes like getting caught in a thunderstorm in an unfamiliar place
And there is no one to comfort you,
Then I have been left in the cold for what feels like an eternity

If my father could see me now
I hope that he would be disappointed in me.
It would be easier than knowing
I can make out a man underneath the smoke,
underneath the mountain of ash left on a burning man’s face.
It would be easier to hold water in my hands than accept
that his love would burn me to ash too

i saw a video on tiktok.
on a father wanting to spend time with his daughter-
something i couldn’t quite remember
the last time i heard the words fall from his mouth without meaning.
i saw my screen through half blurred eyes,
half burned with half shed tears
as he said i love you.
something i couldn’t remember
the last time i heard those words
without filled with a need to rip my skin new.

i hang my head over the cool white surface
gazing at last hours lunch.
my stomach hurts.

i hang my head over the cool white surface, washing away my pain
and remmenants i couldn’t flush away.
my teeth ache.  

i stare at my reflection:
short cropped hair,
almost beautifully defined cheekbones,
red eyes that feel hallowed.
my throat aches.

i turn to the cool white surface,
a colourful mosaic of food i can name
on all of my fingers
and notes from my daily logs.
i ache for the number on the scale
to drop once more.

my eyes burn with unshed tears
as i swallow the lump in my throat,
willing myself not to break down.
all because i heard your name in passing.

it's 3 am again;
and you're still not here.

the first time,
the last time,
i would like to sleep
in your arms again, darling

pray away my sins with your lips,
fingers intertwined with mine
and whisper gospels into my ear
as we explore our celestial altar's in worship-
in hopes that i may be purified once more

say my name like a prayer on your lips,
hands clasp in worship,
and kneel before my body-
to worship as your altar

write me a tragedy
and i'll write the tale of you and i-
i will build you cathedrals and palaces of words
and burning infernos of our love-
leave trails of ash onto each page
and give us a bittersweet end
so that you may realize the words i spill out will burn you-
that to love a poet- to love me-
i make my tragedy yours

do not waste your breath on me.
do not waste your words on me.
do not waste your hymns or prayers on me.
do not waste your time or energy on me.
leave me be, let me rest,
let me become forgotten- erased
buried in my garden of death.

leave me in the garden to die.
i will not let you save me-
leave me alone with the dead leaves of autumn,
with the coldness of winter settling in my bones.
i don't want to be saved-
leave me along the dead and decayed
and come back to bury me in the spring.
i have left to find death,
to pick it's flowers and to finally rest.

its a tragedy, you know.
that he looks at you as if he's the sun
and you still burn him,
sending him with wax coated wings
beneath the seas.

haunt me long
after you
fade from me

the silence is deafening
the silence is deafening
the silence is deafening
the silence is deafening
the silence is deafening
the silence is deafening
the silence is deafening
the silence is deafening
the silence is deafening
the silence is deafening

four things to know he's in love with you.
1.) he looks at you as if you're the sun.
2.) he will follow you anywhere.
3.) he will love you too much to let go.
4.) he will want you to be the last thing he see's before he goes to sleep

four things to know he's in love with you.
1.) he looks at you as if you're the sun- you're the centre of his universe and oh so beautiful.
2.) he will follow you everywhere- you wished he would stay away just this once
3.) he will love you too much to let go- you don't want him to let go.
4.) he will want you to the last thing he sees- you will be, before the water lulls him to sleep

"dying is easy" they said looking over at achilles standing over patrolcus' burning shroud, tears in his rage filled eyes.

"to live in this world- now that is harder." they said turning their eyes away as achilles piercing scream rang out.

"i’ll burn you," she said as their hands touched. she throws her head back and laughs, it's a cool, melodious sound, like summer rain on her skin.
"i expect nothing less," she says smiling. lips meeting flushed skin, hands leaving ash in their wake.

regrets are like stars;
too many to count,
too many to name,
too many to remember.

medusa stands proud.
happy and proud and peace filled.
sisters in arms held for worship,
sisters in arms disappeared from grasp.

medusa stands small.
hurt and small and shame filled.
maidenhood stolen and high priestess to athena no more,
maidenhood stolen and cursed with protection.

medusa stands weary.
cold and weary and anger filled.
isolation has become her paradise of silence and stone,
isolation has become her graveyard of silence.

medusa stands tired.
worn and tired and sorrow filled.
awaiting the blow to her neck by perseus' sword,
awaiting the blow to end her suffering.

i once wished i was made of
sharp hipbones and tainted glass,
that my wrists were tiny fragile things,
with fingers that looked like spider legs
covered in too large rings.

no one told me how much it hurt.

i once wished i was made of
cigarette smoke and black coffee.
that my body could look like a model in a magazine.

no one told me how much it hurt.

i once wished i was made of
sugar free jello and *****,
so that my body could be small and dainty-
with a hunger that could only be quenched
by photographs of unknown girls i envied.

no one told me how much it hurt.

i once wished i was made of
rotten flesh and bone,
if i couldn't be small-
i had no worth at all.

no one told me how much it hurt.

the morning after i killed myself,
everything was cold.
the air,
the bathtub i fell asleep in
and the cold tile.

the morning after i killed myself
i saw no beauty in the vibrant sunrise.
i didn't think the pink, orange, yellow-
the colors i once had fallen in love with
were suddenly dull.

the morning after i killed myself
i saw my mother hesitating to go into my room.
her face tired and worn, aging years in one night,
her grip loose as she opens the door tears filling her eyes-
the faint scent of me still lingering in the air.

the morning after i killed myself,
i saw my sister staring numbly at nothing.
her eyes red and regret on her face -
her thoughts on our arguing the night before.

the morning after i killed myself,
i saw my phone blowing up with messages.
my friends ignorant to what i did the night before,
but only one person knew.

the morning after i killed myself,
i saw myself dead.
my body cold to the touch, heartbeat still
and wondered if my mother could will me back to life.

the morning after i killed myself,
i ended up missing the warmth.
my silent screams echoing in the bathroom
as i tried to undo what i did.

the morning after i killed myself,
i decided i hated being dead.
and i found myself wishing
i didn't wait too late to save myself

if my body is a heavenly temple,
i pray that you kneel before me in worship

they say all lovers die twice;
once when they die separate,
the second when they'll forgotten-
and their story along with them.

you had a smile on your face
as you fell to your watery grave.
i wondered how it felt to bear witness to your lover-
to see Him,
to touch Him,
only to burn as you fell.

no one tells you when
loving someone becomes too much ;
it seethes.
it waits.
it blooms.
and sometimes it rages,
and sometimes it ends.

i can count the number of times
i felt like killing myself
on both my hands, feet,
on all of my bones with my eyes shut.
i could tell you details,
how, when, why,
but change my answer each time-
i could count those times on both hands.

i could tell you of the days i think of
fireflies in the summer
and snowfall in january,
how both disappear after time,
yet i can remember the images
so clearly, so vividly.
i could count those times on both hands.

if you asked me to share
the number of times i felt like killing myself
you’d be waiting for months, years even.
maybe sooner,
as you might be reading my note,
with them all included.

what happened to us?
the flicker of times gone by,
the brief glimpses of past adventures,
phone calls that go late into the night,
i look at you- eyes red and hair askew
what happened?
where did you go?
and i realized the door is open,
and the ground is cold.

the gentle hands that wrap around my throat,
the decorative jewels of bruises,
the pale flesh that inspired poetry,
kissed by the silver blade
as i kneel in the scaffold

sometimes i miss the touch of rain on my skin,
the water pouring down on my body,
soaking me to the bone.
sometimes i miss the feeling of calmness,
the racing thoughts in my mind
drowning into a peaceful quietness.
sometimes i miss the feeling of not knowing
where my tears begin and the rain stops,
basking in the sorrows i feel.
sometimes i miss being alright,
the depths of numbness,
the emptiness staring back quietly.
sometimes i miss the sun,
sometimes i miss the loud thoughts.
sometimes i miss the nights it rained for hours.
sometimes the soft sounds luring me back to sleep.
sometimes i miss the calmness i seek.

with your sin stained touch,
unholy scriptures,
and whispered prayers
falling from your wicked tongue,
sometimes i wonder if we’re
truly of the ******,
disgraced in the eyes of the lord,
or if the lord revels in our unholiness

maybe i miss the butterflies.
maybe i miss the warmth.
maybe i miss your hands in my hair
or the moment time stands still.
maybe i miss the fragility.
maybe i miss the late night talks.
maybe i miss your lips on mine
or the moments of peaceful silence.
maybe i miss the time.
maybe i miss the what if’s
or the what could’ve beens
or maybe i miss the idea of you.

love is a double edged sword
that speaks truths and lies,
aphrodite and ares, venus and mars,
love and war go hand in hand
as does death and beauty

if you asked me the moment
icarus felt like tragedy and poetry,
i would laugh and say he knew,
that boys who love suns are already tragedy,
but seas who love boys are poetry,
because love is a double edged sword
and the moment of clarity ends all too soon.

A faint moment of serenity,
kisses that stain hands in worship,
of feathers light bliss,
using sinful touch as words,
singing praises and gospels
almost missing your wicked smile

i remember the taste of metal in my mouth,
the warmth and the pain of
turning my fiery words
into mountains of ash
years of biting my tongue,
wanting to scream,
yet the smoke chokes my lungs

you’ve become nothing
but fire and wax and regrets.
you’ve become a cautionary tale,
a warning of loving too much too fast
you’ve become a memory
in a long list of lovers, of tragedies

you’ve become nothing
but ash and feathers and bone,
you’ve become a story,
a tale of boys who fell for suns
you’ve become a glimpse,
a moment of clarity that ends all too soon

death,
my friend,
comes for us all in the end.

i cannot take back the words i say
and swallow them up
as to make them sweet for your ears.
i cannot make my pain sweet.
i cannot take the blood and push it back into my body from which it has bled.
i cannot make the bitter taste disappear with lovely words that sound hallow.
i cannot hallow myself out,
make room for your words that push me aside.  
i cannot make room for you,
for your words are a knife to my body,
a scar i cannot heal,
a pain that will never go away.
i cannot write the sweet without the bitter,
i cannot be your poet with my lips sewn shut.

my body’s missing pieces,
and i don’t know
how to fix it,
or fill it
without your embrace.

light shrouded in darkness,
even you couldn’t help it
never once fitting in or sticking out,
always one with the light

always shining bright,
never frowning or ill at ease,
never letting me down,
and i never thanked you

darling,
anything for you i would
keep trying to make your shine known
out of all of us, i
toast to you as i raise my glass,
and you’ll be amazing