i've been harboring pain for years on end, served up dishes in various ways, having to mask the disgust I feel when it arrives in droves
people make food to try and heal your despair, and lately all they can seem to make is hurt and so my heart knows nothing but the taste of it
mouth full of anguish and blood and when it opens all that comes out is garbled pleas yet no one can hear
"how are you?" but if I told you you wouldn't know what to do, how to fix it, my suffering makes you uncomfortable and yet
if i died, what would you say?
i could nail the door shut,
you'd only find a window
i could seal those windows,
you'd only dig your way out
i could fill your hole with my tears,
you'd push the roof out of place
my begging could stretch like webs across the ceiling
and still you'd find some way to steal my heart and leave
I make breakfast for my loneliness, unflinching as it sits down in it's chair, grunting at me. The pain throbs in my head and my body at the feel of it's presence, and suddenly I am not in my body.
I am thinking of times when I slept in twin beds with friends, sure that one of us would fall off in the night but waking up to our bodies entwined. I remember car rides with the windows down and the sound of radios blaring but our voices louder, singing along.
I yearn for times when friends and I would take pictures, freezing moments in time so that we'd never forget that moment, and how with technology, all I had to do was press a button for them to dissipate into nothing.
I am crying over the stove and I can hear my loneliness grinning and chuckling behind me, reminding me that the inside of this prison is where I will stay forever.
He used to feed you a bowl full of glass promises. You’d smile at him cautiously and chew them carefully because seeing you pretend that you weren’t hurt made him happy. Later you’d walk into the bathroom and stare at the shards coating the cave of your mouth like paintings.
He used to hand you promises that would stain. It was worth it, to see his face light up as you pretended not to notice the growth covering your palms and fingers. You’d wipe your hands on your clothes. You stopped wearing anything light enough to hold the stain.
He used to fill your head with promises that lit your brain on fire. You’d tell him your head hurt and his smile would fly away. You’d stomach the pain because you didn’t think you had a choice. You let the flames consume the last of your sanity.
He used to be so careless with your heart you were sure you couldn’t use it again. But even the deepest wounds heal.
she recounts her life with the lovers she's had,
reliving adoration as she counts them off on her fingers
she showcases their best qualities
I cannot upstage her
I recount my life with prescription bottles
plastic and pharmacies
the time I swallowed all I had because I wanted to be happy
while she recounts, I relapse
but does not love taste like alcohol,
burning it's way down, creating a fire in your stomach
coming back up when you least expect it
you heave once, twice,
and it's all out of you and you are a stranger to the buzzing
the buzzing that is infatuation
you fill yourself with enough of it and surely it will **** you
masses flock back to what they desire, that sweet rush and burning
but this too, shall pass
Rotting from the inside out
Oxygen cannot fix the damage
I am on display, but you won't choose me,
I am bruised and beaten
You see me and I am shown disgust
You pick another and leave
I am thrown out and forgotten