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

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 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

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.

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.

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.

go away,
sleep just take me
well gosh dang it
i’m done,
gone,
****,
disappearing,
vanished,
out of here.
                  ( ***** you brain)
— sleep calls with overactive brains // a.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

i’ve stopped trying to
make my pain sweet,
just to please you.

sometimes i'm like the night,
mysterious, dark, never-ending.
sometimes you're like the stars,
illuminating, bright, ever-lasting.
and sometimes we made and meet
and kiss and dance and die
and sometimes i never see you and you see me
and sometimes we disappear from each other
and sometimes i drown myself in your light
and, and, sometimes i miss you too.

— let us bask in our nighttime adventures // a.

“i will make you immortal,“ he says as his lips touch your skin, leaving trails of ash behind. you do not think of his words.

"i will make you immortal” he coaxes into your ear as he beckons you closer, the wax dripping from your wings and burn your skin as he reaches out to kiss you. it’s not enough.

"i will make you immortal” he whispers as he watches you fall, feathers fluttering around you, looking too divine in the midst of your fall. he couldn’t look away.

"i will make you immortal” he cried out as he watches the saltwater sea swallow up your golden touched, sunburnt body.  

“i will make you immortal” he vows as you fade into a story about boys who fall in love with suns meant for the sea.

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

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

"come back” i whisper.
"come back” i say.
"come back” you hear.
"come back” i plead.
"please, come back”

whisper sweet nothings in the dark
with your hand
wrapped delicately around my throat

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

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

I used to sit around and wonder:
where did I lose myself?
where did I go?  


Now I look in the
mirror and realize,
I was never really there in the first place.

— the mirror keeps staring back at me // a.

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

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

every day is a new adventure with you,
voicing our thoughts
as the weight of the world closes in.

midnight talks and kitchen dance battles,
a hopeless type of gal,
red roses,
i loved you
and you’ll never know how much

we live as star-crossed lovers do,
patiently, seething, waiting,
wondering if we’re a tragedy
like boys to suns or
gods to mortals,
doomed to part only to die second
or worse, we live in the end.

you burned like a star
they whispered,
terror and awe laced in their words

you burned so suddenly, so bright
everyone but the sun had to look away
the sun stared down as
the burning boy fell underneath the water-
blue hands reaching up to catch him.

stars burn out too fast
they speak,
indifference and pity colour their words.

your shadow, i found,
was still clearer then your face.

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

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

with a heavy heart the sun watches the boy with broken wings fall further away from him.
“i loved him,” the sun says watching him fade underneath the waves.
“i loved him first” the sea answer back

You are touch starved
hunger pained,
steel-toed mess
of sun kissed hair and
poison kissed lips
you are my everything and
nothing


— for I love all these parts of you that others do not see // a.

i had so much to
say to you,
but the words die
on my lips.

i had so much to
give to you,
but there’s no more to
give away.

i had so much to
look forward with you,
but there’s only regrets
in my heart.

Your scent lingers on your shirts
and your words still taint my skin
your memory still eats away at me,
slowly but surely
i get rid of you
you become a ghost
i let you fade
until you’re nothing.  
                       ( just like you told me. )

— karma’s a ***** has so am i // a.

i sometimes imagine
boys with sunburnt skin falling
into saltwater seas
with laughter on their lips

the days seem colder without you,
i guess you’re a memory
that will never fade,
your touch hollows me out
and leaves me cold and sore

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

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.