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Fistfulls of dark hair in darker water
the expression is not beautiful
or ugly
just pure survival.
When hands do what they're meant to do
and you wanna tell him
"I just want to drown"
and you wanna tell him
"I just want to burn out" but
he manages to throw your cigarettes away
hide every sharp insrument in a drawer
flush the xanax down the toilet
he says blue is such a lonely color,
so he repaints your walls and you scream at him to stop
as the sun shines through mirrored curtains.
When you are broken you expect everything around you to  be broken.
White sheets replace black ones and he traces your footsteps back to the bathroom tiles,
smiles says;
"let the light in babe"
mistakes the fear in your eyes for sadness
you have no more room left for sadness
and he has no room left for empathy
running on caffeine and sympathy.
youll take what you can get so the nighttime doesnt have to be darker without him
hope he finds your notebook you place strategically ontop of a kitchen counter
because surely if he could read that he could understand
there are days darker than the ones when you chose to let the light in
it will shine on all your rotting parts
on your cracked canvases and too-full-dams
it will bring sight to the stink that is inside you
he will see
and if he cannot understand the terrror of that then he is not human
i don't know how else
to describe
the feeling
when i permit my thoughts
to dwell on you

you are an
utter mystery and terror
rampaging
through my mind

how much
is written on my face?
in my voice?
i fear the extent
of my foolishness
has yet to be revealed

and i feel like
i could follow you
  up a mountain
without uttering a word of distress
   though my body
be racked with exhaustion
   and terror of failure
       loomed great above me
who would complain
to be in step
with a creature like you?

i don't know
what this is
i'm afraid i know
what this is

and i cannot tell
if my feet are firm upon the ground

all i know
is perpetual summer
in your arms
Sweetheart, come to bed.
the demons that you hoard are bending the curves of your spin;
I can see them pulling at every muscle tucked beneath your skin.
You pop and you crack and it vibrates against the walls.
I shutter at the sound
the sickening, awful sound.

Sometimes I wonder if you believe in the miracles
that fall between my pelvis,
or the heavy breath I breathe between parted lips.
Are my bones strong enough to save you?

Sweetheart, come to bed.
Your cautious footsteps are creeping back and forth,
up and down,
heavy footed across the ragged carpet.
I hear them every night aching so unholy,
from underneath my bed sheets.
You swear you're next to me asleep.
I hear them though you swear you've been asleep.

Most times I want to believe in the miracles,
I have promised you between night and day
and the soft lipstick stains I've left lingering lightly on every inch of skin
you've left so vulnerable to my kiss.
I wonder if its saving that you need.
Sweetheart, come to bed.
poem from:
http://drunken-writing.tumblr.com/
How am I supposed to live this life?
I have lost the inspiration that kept me alive
The stars and the moon mourn for me

I cherish the starry nights
Laying down under their silver lights
Now, I only have dark and gloomy nights

Let no one know of my suffering- I said
That night I drove looking for comfort
I gazed at the firmament
What has become of me? – I asked
The world is cold and bitter
I can only feel the warmth of my tears.

— The End —