The curse isn't worth the blessing.

I am a writer.
Sometimes I write words with a pen.
Ink spilling over a page in a mess of black and white, lapping up all senses of understanding in pools of inky darkness.
Sometimes I write words with paint.
Colors and colors coming together to make beautiful pictures, some as ugly as me.
Sometimes I write words with kisses.
Kisses on your cheek show my appreciation and kisses on your neck show my pleasure and kisses on your scarred hands show my loyalty.
Sometimes I write words with tears.
Tears that trace lines down my cheeks, glistening in pain and hurt. My tears have no voice, they are silent.
Sometimes I write words with screams.
I scream and scream and scream and scream and scream and scream and scream. Sometimes that is all I can do.
I write words with my voice.
Singing to you or to myself or to the heavens or to no one at all. My voice echoes off the walls that I put up around myself.
I write words with my fingertips.
Gliding them across your arms, your chest, your lips. Trying to draw you closer to me and getting nowhere because I haven’t been touching you at all.
I write words with my mind.
They don’t get read, and they don’t get seen.
But I write them.
I write words. I write words. I write words.
I am a writer.

4 letters.
one word.
a lifelong impact.
we’ve heard this poem before,
but for some reason we all have to write it
because it binds us to a person for all of time.
it shows my connection to you
from the moment we met
until death do we part.
because of a 4 letter word.
you came into my life and showed me emotions I had never felt before,
feelings I had never even heard of.
did you know that you were doing that to me?
making me think of you every single day
for the past 3 years?
there isn’t a moment that passes where I don’t think of you and that 4 letter word.
I came to you as a babe,
shiny and new and unused.
but now that you found me,
I’m broken in, softer, a little more pliable.
but I can’t be with anyone without thinking of you.
maybe thats a good thing.
see that 4 letter word messed me up a little bit,
handcuffing me to your wrist.
maybe that’s why I can’t hold someone’s hand without feeling your rough palm against mine.
I was drunk in that 4 letter word,
expecting to sober up the next morning.
but now I’m wasted, smashed, and completely ****** up.
all because of a little 4 letter word that you brought into my vocabulary.
a 4 letter word that’s anything but temporary.
a 4 letter word that left me in solitary.
a 4 letter word that threw me into a world that could only possibly be imaginary.
a 4 letter word that goes down in my lifetime’s obituary.
a 4 letter word that you copy and pasted into my personal dictionary.
a 4 letter word with meaning tied to it that is so intense, its scary.
4 letters.
one word.
a lifelong impact.
****.

Lie down with me.
We can sleep together.
For I have made this bed.
This bed of pillow and feather.
This castle of comforters with the towers of pillows and the throne of blankets and the crown of bliss.
It is easy to escape the stress and the work of the real world.
This bed is soft and cozy, always warmer than the air surrounding it.
Lie down with me.
Lie down in this bed and turn your life inside out.
I use this bed to leave behind everything I probably need to worry about.
A tickle in my back.
I cover my eyes with the sheets to get away from the fear.
The fear of you moving on and me staying here.
The fear of falling behind.
But this bed is comforting and calming and I don’t mind to fall behind, to fall into bed.
The tickle in my back grows stronger so I flip my pillow over to the cold side and bury my body in the soft, rolling hills of my comforter.
This bed is helpful to me.
You don’t see it yet but that is because you haven’t felt it.
I have slept in the bed of the gods and I know I will never leave.
The stars left their spots in the sky and they’re under the sheets listening to me grieve.
The moon tucked me in and promised never to deceive.
If you just listen you’ll start to believe.
The tickle in my back begins to sharpen.
This bed dulls the pain.
This bed.
This bed.
I love this bed and it loves me.
This bed is soft blues and softer pinks.
This bed is happy yellows and calming lavenders.
I wish you could see the sheets from underneath.
The tickle in my back has become a very sharp pain, and it’s stinging me over and over again.
But this bed will protect me.
Won’t it?
This bed was made for me to sleep in.
I lift my sheets and crawl completely under, happy to be protected and warm.
The stings in my back hurt.
Oh God, they hurt.
I rub at them because even with my body wrapped up completely in the sheets of my bed, they hurt.
My hand comes back ******.
I turn over to look at my bed and I see that what you told me is true.
I see why the only person who didn’t crawl into this bed is you.
I see why your heart has hurt, and my back has hurt, too.
I see what it is now that drove me off the rails.
I see why my ears only hear sobs and wails.
I see why the pain in my life always prevails.
I see that this bed I have made is a bed of nails.
I have fallen from grace, the slowest in the race.
This bed I use is just a brace, a brace to fill the empty space.
This realization I have to face, I have no pain I have embraced.
So I let this pillow case become a hiding place.
But this bed is wrong.
This bed is deceiving.
This bed.
This bed.
The nails grow longer and longer, into my back.
They push themselves into my spine and forward into my heart and lungs and stomach.
This bed has me trapped, unable to move.
The nails have grown through me, binding me to this bed for all eternity.
This bed is pain.
This bed is suffering.
I try to cry out to you for help but I’m buried under the sheets.
What once was comforting is smothering me now.
Wake me up.
What once was welcoming is poisonous now.
Please.
Wake me up.
What once was my bed is now my coffin.
I’m begging you to please wake me up.
This bed.
Oh, this bed.
This bed is evil.

I thought kisses were supposed to give you butterflies
but our love is a nuclear fallout.
and when you ripped my heart from my chest,
I saw the worst insects crawl out.
you told me I was great in bed,
but when you left,
you caused a meltdown in my head.
you put your atoms in my reactor,
expecting them to grow, but all they did was consume and glow.
they became radioactive,
and so did I.
your love burst right through me,
but I’m yet to die.
instead, I’m here
watching the people around me burn and suffer
and telling them them that its not my fault.
its my ex-lover.
I look around
and see their skin bubble.
I try to help
but I’m buried under your rubble.
the debris that you left when you made me explode
you’ve yet to pick up, to lift the load.
I knew that falling for you was a bad idea
and I’m feeling it now, I’m reaping what I sowed.
I disobeyed my rules of human preservation,
giving in to you was breaking my own moral code
and when I tried to block you out,
you took a side road.
you put it in gear
and drove into my heart.
but the pain I felt
wasn’t the worst part.
because when you put it in reverse,
you had become my foundation and I fell apart.
now I’m in pieces on the ground
scattered around, unbound,
thinking that you should regret it
but its the other way around.
because I still love you and your stupid eyes
the way they light up the skies
I forgave you of your sins
you’ve been baptized
but I advise you to stay close to your allies
and make sure they hear your cries
because I’m a bomb wearing a human disguise,
and when my anger does arise,
you’ll meet your demise.
you made me what I am,
a battering ram
with enough force to break hoover dam.
you used to be the lion but now you’re the lamb.
because here I come with the grand slam.
please ask me if I give a ****.

how many times have I compared you to a wonderful piece of art?
your veins, your angles, your eyes, they all lead to your heart.
your face is worthy of a cathedral’s ceiling,
but I can’t compare it to what I’m feeling.
I scream to the heavens that they need to close the gate.
what’s the point of waiting in line when heaven is your touch, and it feels so great.
your eyes are the Monet that was never hung up.
the way they blend together from far away, but up close I get so strung up,
trying to figure out how they blend together,
browns and golds and greens and yellows, I give up, whatever.
your smile is my favorite Van Gogh,
how your dimples glisten and your teeth glow.
I love when your lips twitch at the sight of something that makes you happy,
it can make even my worst days feel a bit less ******.
but there’s a bit of Frida Kahlo that you can’t contain
because in those Monet eyes of yours I also see pain.
and I hate when I see it but I also see your Sylvia Plath,
because when that smile disappears all I can see is wrath.
and after you laugh I hear your Emily Dickinson,
the silence that follows is your eternity prison.
but don’t get me wrong.
you aren’t just the primaries; red, yellow, and blue.
the gallery dedicated to you is long overdue.
because what I see in those eyes of yours
is that pain isn’t something you’ve yet to give in to.
and I know the world in itself is a huge piece of art.
but the only painting I’m looking at is you.

Ever since you found him, brought him up, tried to make him someone you wanted him to be, he has always found a way to go against you. He's always thrown stones at the stained glass you carefully pieced together to form such a beautiful boy. He's always spray painted the walls of the cathedral you built to honor such a beautiful boy. He's always soiled the canvas you were painting on when you made such a beautiful boy.
There is no more beautiful boy.
Your golden boy is gone.
I'm so sorry that he cut off his own fingers just to keep from holding your hand. I'm so sorry that he broke his own nose just to keep from smelling the flowers you brought him. I'm so sorry that he knocked his own teeth out just to keep from saying he loved you.

why is someone always screaming at me?
I dont hear the screaming but rather it pours out of my mouth. I've realized the screaming is me. My mouth is shut but the screams are pouring out.
Why am I screaming?
What was it that made me scream?
When will I stop screaming?
shrieks
cries
repeating
endlessly
and
mindlessly
I've always been screaming. My throat is cracked and my heart is broken and my lungs are deflated but my screams continue.
I want them to stop.
Help me make them stop.

the earth and the trees are groaning with laughter and heartache and throwing up and trying not to lose themselves or maybe that's just me. How am I supposed to know the misty from the clear when am I free of the void which is void which is void which is a repeating record which is void which is void. The morning is new and the day is new but they are gone. They've left but their minds are still with me in my mind and our colors are the same. My color is red and gold and deep sea green and lilac.

drinks as empty as our eyes,
we walked together to the skies.
following someone who wasn't there
trying our best not to care.
but our hearts are full
with something so un-cool.
because you're ugly
and I'm ugly.

I'm holding your hand
thinking that life is bland.
so I do the things that you don't
hoping that you always won't.
I like you when you're innocent
you like me when I'm in a sin.
because you're ugly
and I'm ugly.

I'm screaming in my head and in my ears and in my closed mouth because as I drive to work you lay shriveling on your living room floor. Your voice is speaking to me softly but all I can hear are screams coming from one or maybe both of us. I'm scared to forget the feeling of your fingers on the back of my neck, the incense of your house, the gold dripping from your every pore. The idea of you, helpless and alone, drives me mad. Those horrible words she spoke to comfort me just made me want to throw my screams around the world. But where are you now? Would you even hear them? Or have they sealed you shut never to speak or see or smell or hear again? Death is never natural. It's never the right time. It's never going to be okay.

I would have expected a stronger grip from someone who has shaken hands with the devil.

Let's paint on the ceilings of our house to let the world know that we live in the cathedral of tainted saints. Let's kiss the backs of each other's ringed fingers to let the world know that we are the crowned fools. We are the youth of the world that is slowly becoming the elder society such as the one before us. Let's not think about our splotchy eyes and our bruised skin but instead wonder why it is that our fingertips match up so perfectly. You and I together are the new age of the old world. You and I together are the living dead. You and I together are the magnet poetry on the refrigerator that somehow made the most beautiful poem ever written out of a language we can't understand. So let's learn the new language of the world and listen to it and learn it and speak it. Let's become the paintings on the ceilings. Let's become the rings on our fingers. Let's be something that no one understands, not even you and I. Let's be ourselves while being no one at all. Let's be the tainted saints and the crowned fools. Let's be the contradiction that no one expected.

you say you've got power
and you think you have control
but how far along do we have to get
before our lives turn into a burning mess?
everything I touch catches flame
and you're no exception.
my eyes like a match
to your gasoline rage.
anything I say makes you flare up
in heat and soot and smoke.
I'm tired of the smoke stains.
I'm tired of the burn marks.
I just want for it all to end
before we both go down in ashes.

The note now lies in the drawer of my bedside table.
Before then it was on the bed, drenched in tears.
The pain written on it means nothing compared to the actual pain I felt in that moment.
None of the pain was physical, I don't remember the sting of the razor.
All I remember was the music and the blood.
Both were dripping all around me.
Both were bright red.
Both were death.
The music was screaming at me while my life silently rolled down my wrist.
"Punk-rock." They said when they saw that I had done it the right way.
The right way.
The way to get it done.
I guess I knew this one was different because I couldn't see a bottom to the red chasm.
"I think I cut too deep." I said to no one.
"Did I mean to do that?" I said to myself.
"I think I need stitches." I said to my parents.
"You cut really deep." He said to no one.
"Did you mean to do that?" He said to me.
"He's gonna need stitches." He said to my parents.
"Why were the cuts so deep?" They said to me.
"Did you mean to do that?" They said to me.
"How many stitches did you need?" They said to me.
I said to them it was all an accident.
Nothing I do is accidental.
Everything has a reason.
I cut myself for a reason.
I cut too deep for a reason.
I left a note for a reason.
I went to my parents' room for a reason.
I told them I wouldn't do it again for a reason.
I always answer with "I'm doing better." for a reason.
Nothing I do is accidental.
Everything has a reason.

You were my oxygen and I was your carbon dioxide.

Mama said
"The sky is bright but the clouds are dark."
Papa said
"Your face is bright but your eyes are dark."
Sister said
"The world is bright but the people are dark."
Brother said
"You are bright but yet all you see is the dark."
I am the light, I am the dark.
We blend together, marbled in epiphanies of color and emptiness.
The strings that play the music also hold my wrists and ankles and make me dance to a tune I can't sing along to.
Untie me and see that when free, I fall.
So don't let me go but always hold me back.
I showed them more of me.
Mama said
"You're different."
Papa said
"When did this happen?"
Sister said
"Why did you let it consume you?"
Brother said
"You're completely gone."
Believe me, I've lost my bearings.
Help me, I'm so gone.
Save me, I want to come home.
I've missed everything, I miss it all.
I know I've left your side and I can't find my way back.
Don't leave me where I am even when I beg and plead.
I showed them all.
Mama said
"Where did you go?"
Papa said
"Come back."
Sister said
"We miss you."
Brother said
"You don't have to be alone.
But I already am.
I am so alone.
In the largest gatherings of the ones I love, I'm the most alone that I could be.
The surface of the water is bright but what swims underneath is so dark.

You're the dry ice to my flame,
      the cold to my desperate heat.
I'm unstable
      and you're deadly.
We're the perfect match
      and the perfect downfall.
Ask me about my attitude
      and receive no answers.
Ask me about my heart
      and all you'll get is a ****** mystery.

If you were a candle, I'd burn myself.
If you were a knife, I'd cut myself.
If you were a noose, I'd hang myself.
If you were the eighth deadly sin,
      I'd spend eternity in flame.
Instead, you're a human being.
      And I've never felt more pain.

I'm (totally) making you fall for me.
      Because I broke your legs.

I'm (totally) going to ruin you.
      Because of this thing called love.

I'm (totally) where you'll least expect it from.
      Because I worked my way into your heart.

I'm (totally) tearing you apart from the inside.
      Because it's what I've always done.

I'm (totally) so done with you.
      Because now you're just a corpse.

Your breath was cheap *****
      and long words.
Your hair was fine threads
      and intimate moments.
Your body was warm muscles
      and tight skin.
And for once, I was alive
      with you.

Thinking
that you could love me, want me
was blind.

Knowing
that your lips snarl when you see me
is sight.

And I wish I had no eyes.

Notice the way I change when you enter the room.
Notice the way you make my lips curl into a smile when you speak to me.
Notice the way your face reflects so handsomely in my brown eyes.
Notice the way my body shudders beneath your touch.
Notice the way I taste on your lips, lust and desire.
Notice the way that I can’t live without you.

Notice the way I change when you leave.
Notice the way I have no smiles left, only frowns.
Notice the way you can’t see a thing through my glassy eyes.
Notice the way that my hip bones poke through my tee shirt.
Notice the way my lips chap and bleed when you kiss me.
Notice the way that I’m dying without you.

Did you know what you were doing,
When you took from me something I can’t replace?
You cursed me to a life of categories and labels.

You were doing something so wrong,
And never thought to ask what it meant to me.
You cursed me to a life of ****** mysteries and no bedtime stories.

At first I wanted to play along,
The innocent child who only wanted to tease.
You cursed me to a life of immortal desire.

Who put the thought in your head,
That you could poke and **** me, finding my insecurities?
You cursed me to a life of lab tables.

Now all I see when I want to see love,
Is a form of your face, your body, your image.
You cursed me to a life of repetition and similarities.

You said it showed your love for me,
That it was what I needed to be sure of what I felt.
You cursed me to a life of no chance at love.

Will you still love me when
I start to fall apart?
Will you still kiss me when
My lips fall off of my face?
Will you still hold my hand when
My fingers cling to my decomposing frame?
Will you still sing me to sleep when
I can no longer hear your voice?
Will you still try to make me laugh when
My mouth can no longer form a smile?
Will you still pinch my cheeks when
There’s nothing left but bone?
Will you still stand by me when
My knees break?
Will you still wake me up
When I shy from the light?
Will you still compliment my eyes when
They’ve fallen out of their sockets?
Will you still caress my skin when
It’s covered in blood?
Will you still run your fingers through my hair when
I’ve ripped it all out?
Will you still love the idea of me when
I’ve fallen to pieces?

When we fell asleep together,
I knew it was too soon, too unreal.
You don't deserve my early morning hair.

When you yelled at me,
I knew it was true passion, true love.
You don't deserve my raw, bleeding throat.

When you broke the skin,
I knew it wouldn't be the last time, the last night.
You don't deserve my battle wounds.

When you shared your cigarette,
I knew the feeling of a false love, false worth.
You don't deserve my smoky whispers.

When we talked about our future,
I knew you wouldn't stay, wouldn't tell me.
You don't deserve my limited time.

When you finally slammed the door,
I knew it was going to hurt, to be the end.
You don't deserve my happiness.

When I made the first cut,
I knew it would **** me, bleed me out.
I don't deserve to live without you.

Let me kiss your lips,
then I'll knock your teeth out.
Let me trace your veins with my fingertips,
then I'll dig my nails into your flesh.

Show me your favorite music,
so I can break your stereo.
Show me what you love,
so I can curse it and curse you.

Make me the bad guy in your head,
and I'll become the truest villain.
Make me out to be a hero,
and I'll only fall short.

Let me show you true bliss,
then you'll never know happiness again.
Let me give you the ultimate show,
then the curtain can fall around you.

Show me your skin,
so I can rip it from your skeleton.
Show me the wound,
so I can give you my venom.

Make me want to live my life with you,
and I'll end it now while I'm alone.
Make me want to love you,
and I'll show you the cavity in my chest.

No longer can you walk me around town.
(no more golden leashes)
You can't find my weaknesses.
(no more voodoo dolls)
Touching in the dark has ended.
(no more party favors)
I won't be yours for any longer.
(no more attraction)
You can't make me feel anything.
(no more me and you)
When were you going to stop?
(no more me and you)
When was I going to realize?
(no more me and you)

Sometimes I think about walking with you.
(no more guiding hands)
You've found all my weaknesses.
(no more blissful numbness)
I often find myself in the dark.
(no more midnight memories)
Your name repeats in my head.
(no more hard feelings)
But I made you feel something.
(no more me and you)
Now I know you'll never stop.
(no more me and you)
I've realized I need you.
(but now there's no more me and you)

Is it bad that I like the way your fingertips shock my bare skin like a strike from some unearthly lightning cloud? I can't help but think with the clouds accenting your rock face that you would be the perfect cliff to jump off of forever. Is it the eighth deadly sin to crave all of your strung-out imperfections to the point that I bite off my own ten fingers while crying your name? Tell me, is it bad?