You know we used to swim in your pool, but where did you go? I can't seem to comprehend how scraped knees can bleed for so many years. And how can a name taste so sour that your lips stayed puckered? I stomped on your glasses and left you searching, not that you deserved it but I thought i needed it.

relief, n;
1. a white car
stopping,
(the hasty introductions)
as you drove us home.
2. familiar conversation
in a language i speak,
a subject i am well-versed on.
3. finally being told
what
had
changed.

joy, n;
1. standing on the slick steps,
water spraying on our faces every few minutes:
we're disgusting, we said,
my single-self is gagging.
2. the woman at express
telling us
how cute we were
together.
3. together.

understanding, n;
1. your stiffening shoulders
when the song
began.
adj;
1. every time
i have cried in your arms.
2. i know now why you thought
i would be angry.

betrayal, n;
1. a year
is a long time
for
people
our
ages.
2. i would have married you.
3. i'm sorry.
4. i'm sorry.
5. i'm sorry.
6. hypothetically,

trust, n;*
1. we agreed,
and we broke the agreement
together, happily.
2. i know now why you thought
i would be angry.
3. we will always fall into
this, darling.

she's one of those girls with
painted eyes and
long sleeves in summer,
a vacant stare
and nowhere left to turn,
long red lines
slashed over years of cross hatched moon white scars.
she'll tell you dying is an art.

cigarette filter ringed with red lipstick,
she pursues her death in slow steps,
still hoping in some hidden secret place
for someone to kiss her wrists and tell her she did okay,
to fall in love with her beautiful tragedy.

and she is beautiful,
but not for the reasons she's assembled in her head.
there is nothing lovely or romantic
in her quest for self-destruction,
but there is beauty in her strength.
the glory is not in her pursuit of death,
but her ability to live.
she does not need you to save her,
and you cannot,
as much as she'll beg you to try.

kiss her lips instead of her scars.
love the breath in her lungs and the life in her veins.
treat her body like something too precious to destroy.
give her love to hold onto
while she learns to create her own.

it is up to you to love her,
should you choose.
it is up to her to decide
that death can wait.

I like to think each soul is a story.
I like to pretend that every person has a tale inside of them, waiting to be told.
I like to fantasize about what type of story each person contains.
I like to wonder what type of story I contain.
Is my story a sad tale of misery and sorrow?
Or is mine an exciting, action-packed manuscript?
Or is it an enthralling, romantic love novel?
Or is it a warning, for others out there like me?
I like to pretend that there are whole worlds swirling around
Inside each and every person around me, waiting to be set free.
But then, maybe I'm not pretending after all.

{alaska}

Her hands are shaking.
Trembling, trembling as the box moves closer to her reach.
Her heart is racing just as fast as she used to everyday after school when she ran from the school bullies.
Her heart is pumping blood just as her wrists do after she introduces them to a blade.
Her heart is slowly being mended just like the reconciliation of her relationship with her psychotic sister.
Her hands are shaking so bad she can't make out the outline of them in this dimly-lit room.
The candle light ricochets off the walls.
All she can think about is how he has stood beside her this whole time.
The room smells of cigarettes, which reminds her of the first time she met him.
That night at the corner liquor store where she went after her grandad died.
Trying to drown the pain by drowning herself in
pills and alcohol.
She was approached by a man who smelt of death who tried to steal her money, and if he got any further, her virginity.
Just as the man went to put his hands on her, the boy stepped up and protected her.
That trend continued for years as he protected not only her, but their love as well.
She knew she had finally found something worth loving truly for.
No more hiding who she truly was behind drugs, lies, and a noose hung ready in her closet.
She realized that he made her complete.
She'd walk to the end of the earth for him and he'd crawl with broken legs all the world around to see her.
But as the bills piled high and the eviction notices multiplied by the hundreds, they didn't know how to move on.
She turned back to the drugs and the pills as she knew she was drowning,
Drowning deeper and deeper.
Waiting to feel his hand plunge deep in the water to save her life.
And he'd do it every time.
She realized that he took her sky high with his love.
This would soon overcome all her addictions, leaving her only addicted to his love.
She could barely breathe as her hands touched the box.
By now she was surprised they hadn't fallen off from trembling,
Trembling so much.
As she opened the box, her breath rapidly started to leave her body.
She could feel herself going numb.
She couldn't speak.
As he pulled the ring from the box, her body shook more and more from excitement and shock.
He asked for her hand in marriage, and she started to cry with joy.
After they kissed he whispered, "You've always been my addiction."

love is like a poison
it courses through your veins
creates a daze that only a kiss can evaporate
the weakness in your knees makes you crumble
hoping they will catch you
as you fall in love with their smile
but when they leave
the poison reaches your heart
and it begins to slow
you seem to die inside
and eventually it leaves your system
you regain your strength
smile again
and laugh
the poison is gone
-c.a

if i had a gun
i would press it against my temple
and feel the pulse radiate through my shaky hands
my thoughts of guilt and doubt running through my mind
and i would consider placing it on the table
consider saving myself for one more day
but instead
i would pull the trigger
-c.a

just because i know everyone leaves
doesn't mean it's stopped hurting
when they do
every time.