How could
shiny silver studs
forced through my skin
make me feel so good?
“The power of rebellion,”
I’ve read,
can overthrow a government,
but more importantly
can overthrow one’s mind.
Am I going crazy
over the need to rebel?
I have nothing to rebel against
but I feel like I’m
breaking boundaries
guarding nothing
but my own insecurity.
So maybe
shiny silver studs
forced through my skin
pierce my heart as well
letting free all the demons
I’m keeping locked
inside.

No matter where I run,
It seems to find me once again
As if I have targets on my hips
And lasers streaming from my cheeks,
With satellites detecting my bones
Drawing them out from beneath my skin,
Convulsing my body as I leave the stratosphere,
Leaving me stranded out in space, where I long to be.
Weightless, a particle of nothing,
Floating in zero-gravity,
Free-falling above and beyond the cosmos.

Who do you think you are?

You can’t just inject yourself
straight into my heart,
then rip out the iv,
and act like you didn’t
cause any of my pain.

You can’t blame me
for feeling attached
when you locked
my heart to yours
and threw away the key.

I can’t think of a time
when you
weren’t there
but now
you’re gone
and i don’t know how to
get you
out of
my mind.

I don’t understand the phrase
moving on

Because how do I forget
the sincerity of my smile,
when you look at me
with the same one?

And how do I fill in
the nooks and crannies
on my body, where yours
fits perfectly?

And how come the sky
hasn’t changed colors?
As long as the sky is blue,
I’ll never not be in love with you.

Lately I’ve been finding it hard to write
You’re in my brain
You’re in my heart
You’re in my hands

Please get out
Please get out
Please get out
I don’t want you here anymore.

Two winters ago, all I wanted to do was run:
run away from myself,
run away from my skin,
run away from my world,
leaving my body and my troubles
behind,
losing every last pound to the wind,
and fortifying my fight to the golden finish line,
my ultimate goal.

One winter ago, all I wanted to do was sleep:
forget about myself,
forget about my skin,
forget about my world,
escaping reality in a self-inflicted
coma,
writing suicide notes on the hour,
and planning my route to a white bed of clouds,
my ultimate goal.

Now it’s winter again,
and I don’t know what I want,
and I’m
scared.