i'm in love with words,
but afraid of voices.
silence is both beautiful
and terrifying,
because thoughts just
never seem to sleep.
no one seems
to really understand,
because although
these voices
never stop talking,
the words themselves
are often too
quiet to speak.

You asked me why I traced the lines on your face,
I couldn't bear to tell you that I wanted your skin to burn my fingertips until we met again.
I found myself staring while you were sleeping, memorizing your every feature.

I don’t want to forget even the tiniest freckle.
I could paint every square inch of your room with utmost detail.
I memorized it while you were dreaming of all the places you'd rather be, and I was awake from the horrors of the nightmare that is your departure.
Maybe if I don't forget the view from my side of the bed, I'll be able to close my eyes and still imagine things haven't changed.

I write this word empty.
Squeezed dry of any meaning.
Parched and
                    
                        crumbling,
doused in my ink and yearning
for your reaction.

                                 My night
turned to your morning,
pressed letters split your skin.

You have been written dry;
I fear you no longer.

Good mourning.

and finally, one day i found the courage
to tell him what i was doing to myself.
how i would etch his name into my skin
on those lonely nights i hadn't seen your face,
how i took up smoking to fill that gap in my heart
that my ex lover took with him last year,
and i told him about the things, deep dark inside
about how i barely ate anything this month
and how i wished to die.

and all he did was shake his head and sigh saying,
" but you're too happy to want to end your life".

I am a timeline of everything I've ever known.
It's copied onto thirty-five pieces of blank paper
and revealed to you in that mundane history course
that everyone naps through.

I can't deny
that among the black waves,
I've seen a sea star or two.
But I seem to be devoutly colorblind
to the silver linings that outline
what I've gone through.

You can't disguise your drowning,
nor can you swim to shore.
You just have to hope
that no one knows what to look for.

I asked Ana to help me,
be my best friend,
she said it would be hard
and once I start
there's no going back,
sometimes,
some people,
take it too far,
and can't stop.
She said there's no telling the outcome.
She's wrong in that sense,
I know the outcome,
the outcome is beautiful.
It doesn't matter if I'm a corpse,
I swear if this kills me
I'm going to be the skinniest corpse
you ever did see.

You are not in my bed
But you are still
In my sheets
I have tried to
Wash you out
By cleaning them
Repeatedly
But it just isn't
Working
There is not a
Laundry machine
In the world
That could rid you
From the fabric
Of where we used to lay
Together
Molded by the formation
Of our pressed bodies
Stained with sweat
Our ***,
A pathetic excuse
For intimacy
It was not love
But whatever it was
Is gone now
I have tried to
Erase you
From the pattern
Of the blanket
I sleep with
It is the only
Warmth I have left
We used to drift off
Wrapped up in
Each other's skin
Holding to shake
The fear from
Our bones
The inevitability
Of tomorrow
We were never
Made to last
You faded
Right before
My eyes
Everything your hands
Have ever touched
Of mine
Still has your prints
On it
The material
Can't let you go
And neither can I.