1 page out of 365 more.
A blank page I dragged the ink across with an idea in mind but now my jagged lines are a permanent prologue to another tragedy.
One that ends with the blade of a razor painted crimson with haste.
Blood drops on the floor that seem to spell out the words, "I didn't mean to."
I didn't mean to be the antagonist in your story line. I never meant to be a main character, or to even make an appearance.
I'm sorry you read my lines and got attached to me. I print these letters on a typewriter with no backspace button for my mistakes. This is the mess I have made.
1 shiny sliver of metal.
A blank wrist I dragged the edge across with desire in my heart but now plum-colored scars are a permanent epilogue to another tragedy.

-k.d.

With shaking hands and an unsure pen, she writes her definition of "I'm fine" as syllables in lines, repeated rhymes, with titles.
Someday when somebody finally asked her, "If that's what fine is, what is broken?"
She said, "Broken is the laughter at jokes that all your friends think are hilarious but you don't quite understand what's funny. Broken is dressing for November in the middle of June because you're afraid someone will see that you're not as perfect as everybody thinks. Broken is the brightest smile."
Despite the deluge of encouragement from a loving fiancé, the mirror still screams "ugly" when she looks at it. Her wrists whisper things like, "give up" and "you're not strong enough." She tells herself not to entertain these thoughts like guests in a welcoming home, because if she does, they might stay.

Well, she did. And so they did.

Like an overwhelming wave, a tsunami of pain. It crashed into her like the faltering smile that stung straight to the core. A selfish menace craving more and more. She couldn't quite place her finger on the map to point out where she had gone wrong but she knew she must have because the nights were so long; oh, how cold and unforgiving they were. She was alone. And lonely she felt. When the searing heartache became too much to bear, still she screamed but of course, no one was around to hear her. So she traced her paths with unsteady fingertips, recollecting the familiarity of stolen kisses from chapped lips.

She's tried to forget.

But closed eyes can't disguise the disgust she feels at the memory of her thighs under your palms. I was the puppet in your theatrical games, taking orders. Enter stage right, the light descending as I feel I might fall. I am not your doll. Pink cheeks of blush the shade of the roses you crushed in your selfish, malicious hands. I won't memorize your demands, highlighting them and reading them to myself over and
over
and over

again.

Center stage, I clear my throat to speak my monologue.

My eyes graze the script I carefully printed on paper with as many wrinkles and rips that you left on my heart the night you told me I wasn't good enough. I counted the times you've said that you couldn't love and it took a long time to decifer that what you really meant, was that you couldn't love me.

87 times.

87 times I said I was sorry. Maybe I meant it or maybe I was desperate for some kind of sign that I wasn't as worthless as you implied. Maybe I was hopeful that when you said you would leave, you lied. I thought of all the nights I layed awake and cried for you. With so much at stake I risked my dignity to lay down my pride. I braved the storm when I had the option to hide. And although I can't recall who was to blame for that fight, I remember I was the one who said "I love you" and you were the one who took flight.

Left me for dead with two broken wings, singing the words that you said until they became a melody of all the terrible things with a harmony to sugarcoat them and make it sound sweet. They say don't play with fire but I was intrigued by the spark, until the heat burned my soul out and left me cold in the dark. A tragedy not three pages long, now ends on the bitter refrain of the song.

She's tried to forget.

Her jaw creaks as it tightens in remorse. With silence as her monologue; the recoil from the dialogue of two lovers then friends, this story ends in act one scene one.
The beginning, the finale, she exits stage left and you'll see the crowd gasp in awe.
And where there should be an epilogue, the curtains will draw.

-k.d.

I remember when I didn't like your boyfriend and you said that I couldn't tell him I hated him anymore because he was important to you.

You were never apparent enough because you never told me that I wasn't.

The days always dragged on and we would commiserate on the lack of family.
We were never a family.
But it was always my fault, wasn't it?
Solitary nights, I found myself accompanied by the ticking of an alarm clock made of metal that wasn't quite as cold as your heart.
I spent those nights alone brainstorming efficacious ways to **** the pain but I never got too long of a list. Mainly it consisted of picking up a blade.
You never noticed the pencil sharpeners suddenly missing. You never noticed that I only wore long sleeves, even during the summer. Now that I think of it, you never really noticed anything. But I can't really blame you when you were never home to see it.
I remember wondering why you loved him so much. The scent of alcohol constant on his breathe, quick with his words like sharpened scissors. Your sword turned into a shield made of paper. Fire and fire, but I was the one who got burned. I never understood why he loved you either.
I remember when I came home from school and the boxes were stacked to the ceiling with his name printed neatly on the sides. I thought maybe you two had another fight, but it wasn't that at all. It was me.
"I can't deal with that for another four years!" he shouted.
It was ME...
But even when he left nothing changed. In fact, I think it got worse.
I remember screaming at you that you made me want to **** myself. I remember it because I was shaking, tears rolling down my cheeks. It was the first time I had ever verbalized something like that. And with such anger and pain, but mostly fear.
You didn't hit me though. You didn't pull my hair like I thought you might. Instead you grabbed your car keys and you didn't come home for awhile.
I remember sinking to the floor, back against the wall. I cried for a bit and held myself. Mostly because I knew you wouldn't. You never did. I never wanted much, but maybe I asked for more than you could give.
Every day in that house, I felt unwanted. Alone.
Unimportant. Unappreciated. Unloved.

You were never a parent enough because you never told me that I wasn't.

-k.d.

I'm sorry if I'm not attentive
when you tell me about your day.
I laid awake last night thinking about
the color of your eyes.
I know that sounds kinda lame
and maybe it is.
But I don't mind -
As long as it lets you know
the magnitude of your beauty,
your loveliness,
your grace.
You are porcelain, I am metal.
I don't want to see you to break.
But if you do and you pierce me with sharp edges, know that I will be okay.
You are Belle's rose. And I am the beast that feels honored to hold you.
Though there are thorns to protect you, I won't break them off. I'll encase you in glass to protect you more than those thorns ever could.
You are the melody of the ocarina, soft and sweet; a heavenly lullaby of sad tones.
If you knew of my desire to drain you of your tears, they'd fall into tranquil waves that we could sail over with ease.
Laughing as the breeze kisses our shoulders.
I'll tell you everything will be okay.
I'll make the most idealistic promises, and keep every single one of them.
You know all these adjectives that should never be used to describe you, yet you accept them,
when I can't find a word in the dictionary exquisite enough to correlate with you.
So if you wake up one morning
and don't like your reflection,
let me be your mirror.
And I will tell you of the beauty I see.

-k.d.

Her favorite color is blue and lately I've been thinking that's my favorite color too because the color of her eyes have me swimming in an ocean that I was too afraid to dip my toes in before.
She loves sad songs because they're so beautiful but they're not as beautiful as her.
Her smile is the moon and I'm just one ordinary star that's lucky enough to shine next to her.
Her hair falls gently like the colored leaves in autumn but she is winter when the snow coats the world because she can make anything look ten times as lovely.
Including me.
Even with cracks in my heart and chapped lips tainted by the taste of desire and pain.
She can make me look like I've never been miserable simply by the way she laughs when she's around me
and makes my cheeks hurt because I'm smiling too much to comprehend the fact that maybe I'm a little bit broken inside.
But I've been thinking lately that maybe she could be the glue.
If only she knew.
I truly believe I'm beginning to fall in love with her shade of blue.

-k.d.

If the train leaves the station at the same time as another and they collide at a certain speed, how great is the disaster?
Well if two bodies collide at a certain place and time with a designated amount of passion, does the same disaster occur?
Does the ticking time bomb begin the moment you unclasp her bra as you whisper that you love her?
Breath defrosting her trembling ribcage as your arms slide up the sheets, and where two eyes meet, a spark lights the fuse. And you have everything to gain but both of you will lose.
Two "I love you"s meet at a school building, in a courtyard in December but only one will remember what it feels like to feel everything you've ever known slip from your grasp and leave you on your own. One will see the moment for what it truly is, a heartwarming moment, one innocent kiss. But when these opposing lips touch and the tear drips from her cheeks, he'll reach to wipe them and she'll turn her face despite his efforts to save her that she never really asked for. She was lucky to meet him now she's lucky to have met him.
Someday soon he'll disappear and every night when the moon gleams through her window she'll see him. It seems she never will forget all of her mistakes, all her regrets. And to think it all started with one head on collision where love met lust and promises were too early to meet trust.

-k.d.

I thought this was supposed to be all about love. I remember you said I'd be happy. I'd fall asleep in your arms every night and never worry about a thing. You said you would protect me.
You forgot to mention the insomnia and the scabs beneath my sleeves.
Or how alone I would feel even as you fall asleep on my lap.
The demons in my head still paralyze my heart and I'm starting to think I'll never remember what it's like to truly smile.
I miss the way we used to be.
When you wrapped the cast around my broken bones and signed them, "get well soon." Because you swore I would get well soon.
But lately, I don't even believe in me.
The flicker in your eyes has turned into hell's flame, burning brightly as anger tightly suffocates me.
I laughed when you said I break everything I touch but as I brush my fingers across your cheek, I realize you were right.

-k.d.

If you knew anything about her
you'd wouldn't have bought her flowers.
You'd know that she hates them except for when they die
because everything looks more beautiful when it's asleep.
If you had the slightest clue
as to who she is
you'd have played her Zelda's lullaby instead
on the instrument you've probably never even heard of.
You'd know that you could never understand her unless you learned to read her eyes.
You'd learn that even the grayest clouds have a silver lining
but you could never appreciate the beauty
of the way she looks as she reads a letter
or the way she walks away.
You could never admire her
a fraction of the way that I do
because I care so much about her that
this poem was already written on my heart
the day I first saw her.

-k.d.

Black tears do leave the darkest stains on the sleeves of her sweaters and the pillowcases she rests her burning mind on.
"I'll be right back," her dad shouts as the door closes behind him.
Motionless she lay until without thought, she'll sit up.
And she'll fold all her clothes, and she'll make her bed.
And she'll dust off her dressers and straighten the painting hanging on the wall.
That way, they can see a room as perfect as she tried to appear on the outside.
Then she'll go in her father's room before he returns home and she'll grab the gun and sit in front of her mirror.
And after reflecting on life and things like love, she'll think the very thought that pulls the trigger: she couldn't save you, and now you won't save her.
And she'll taint the white walls with the crimson sadness she locked inside her head.

-k.d

Here's another poem about you and the way you anchored my butterfly soul.
Tearing fragile wings with edges you sharpened just for me.
Well I guess you're just a jealous mess and I don't really give a ****.
I'm tired of hoarding memories like a chain link by link binding me by the rusty metal I once saw as sterling silver.
I either lost sleep for you or because of you but tonight, I'll keep my eyes shut tight.
You'll never admit that you were wrong and maybe that's what hurts. Thinking that maybe you could be right.
Well maybe you're delusional, stuck on illusions of a dissipated romance. But when it comes to my plans, you're not in them anymore.
I put the stars in your backyard for you and you slammed the door in my face. You'd rather stare at the moon from your window, the one thing that was slightly out of my reach.
You teased me with the idea that maybe I could be the one. Well maybe I should have ran when I was presented the chance.
I wish I knew you'd leave me on Mount Everest, waiting for the avalanche.
Tell me what was I supposed to do when you wouldn't answer my calls? Did you expect me to keep trying when you said "leave me the **** alone"?
I broke my fingers trying to convince you to stay. But I guess I couldn't type enough and you wouldn't talk about it to my face. Was it the way that I looked at you when you weren't looking at me?
I'm sorry, was I supposed to write you a longer love note? Or sing you a song on the guitar with my fingers on strings that you wish burn the fingertips you once craved on your skin!
Darling, you're gonna die this way, miserable and gray, like the clouds hanging above your head on a dreary autumn day. Your favorite kind of weather, you never wanted the sun to stay. I'm done being your Cinderella. I won't pick up the mess you made, waiting on you to come rescue me.
You can pack up your laptop filled with sad sonnets. Take your drums with you too. You've battered my heart enough to the beat of a cadence you composed to destroy me.
I'm tired of your eyes that had me drowning in a sea of green sorrow.
Stay purple in your own asylum, decorated with black walls and windows tinted so dark that the sunlight can never shine. It's your mind that you've found comfort in and my affection wasn't enough to even crack a smile.
**** your misery. **** your choreographed pain. **** your angry poetry aimed directly at me. **** your bitter words. **** your apathy. **** your sadistic indulgences. **** your arrogance and *******, *******, *******!
I won't be missing you anymore.

-k.d.

The stars look down upon the layers of raindrops that lay across the pavement.
The moon is wide awake tonight, keeping me company as the stillness of a sleeping world takes over.
Pathetic dreams mixed with nostalgic misery poison the oxygen I breathe in, and the haunting thoughts that plague my mind at midnight keep me from seeing the back of my eyelids.
What becomes of the repressions that fade to the back of my memory?
Another senseless worry.
I lay awake with this troubled mind that knows no release but the words that only pour so easily through ink and not through my vocal chords.
They say beauty is pain, but I say that pain is beauty.
You see these paintings that form to my flesh, once created with crimson paint on a clean canvas.
I took shame in the presentation but failed to read into the plot.
The stories that art portray, are such a beautiful thing.
I'll read you my stories, written legibly on my skin, in hopes that your eyes are open to the morals.
I shift my eyes to the light and try to muster up a smile, but I can't shake the image of you from my head.
The rain has come down hard, and a storm is brewing.
But even with the thunder, it is still a sound to lull you to sleep.
To induce subtle dreams of everything that tomorrow can be.
The skies will clear as they do after every downpour, and darling I'll be your umbrella until the sun shines again.
Just keep breathing.
Let me lift the weight from your shoulders, please.
I would be honored to take the chains that ensnare you, binding you at your feet.
I want to see you run free.
My soul doesn't break easily any longer, and can withstand so much more than it used to when I had encased it in ice, leaving it vulnerable to snapping at the simplest tap.
But loneliness can still draw a tear from these tired eyes.
I buried my heart some time last December, when the world became a shadow.
And sometimes I miss it.
Because on my quietest night, even the moon is leaving me now.
And as I watch this painful night turn into a pink sky, another hopeful sunrise, I wonder what this new day will bring.

-k.d.

The color of those sadistic green eyes still burns in the back of my mind.
The soft texture of your cheeks molded into a frown still lingers on my fingertips.
And I could never forget the smile that held steady as I fell for you.
Do you remember when you told me that if you were stuck on Mount Everest and could only call one person, you'd call me?
I remember. Because you said you'd guarentee that you wouldn't even be there without me.
These memories pierce through the cast on my heart and I'm forced to face the fact that my heart isn't healing as fast as I thought it would.
My tongue tastes of morphine from the many nights of trying to forget you.
More so, trying to forget that you're doing okay without me.
Do you ever reminisce or has the ink in your pen forgotten my name?
A toxic love, part depression part anger, a poisonous concoction, somehow so addictive.
You left traces of sorrow on my skin that sinks deep to my bones and flows through my bloodstream.
A bitterness so strong it shakes every muscle in my body.
I could never forget the way you controlled every fiber of my being.
I remember the butterflies that once danced in my stomach, but they've been replaced by a tornado.
An unforgiving whirlwind of reasons why I will never be good enough for you to show remorse.
I will never be worth the apology that you could never admit I deserve.
You taught me how to soar, gave me wings so I could fly.
Feathers made of clouds until they dampened with the tears of a solitary night.
You were never sorry.
Indifferent to the scars on my flesh that screamed your name, caused by the pain you brought me.
You can't erase the wounds by telling me to be sorry.
Seeking repentance for the blood you sought after.
You found delight in my pain, a serpent attracted to my weakness.
I could never forget the smile that you held steady as I fell down Mount Everest.

-k.d

Nine months since your departure
and the winds are only getting stronger
but he says warm blood from frozen veins on marble flesh will only make the pain last longer.
I guess we must agree to disagree.
The wounds remind me that I'm closer to you than I think.
The breathtaking reality of death settles in
and I realize that at any moment
I could see you again.
So I'll take the icy roads home tonight driving twenty over the speed limit.

I'll make my way back to you.

-k.d.

Don't ask me why I haven't texted you good morning in a week and three days and don't ask me why I open your messages but never reply.
Don't ask me why I stopped sending you inspirational quotes or cute pictures of cats
but please don't ask me why I stopped writing about you
because I haven't been able to.
I simply stopped sending them to you with a piece of my heart attached
because I don't think you'd care to read my most honest 3am thoughts
about how I love the ineffably perfect things
like how much you love your fuzzy socks
or how you wish you could sing.
Don't ask me why I don't text you good night anymore
at exactly 9:00
because all I would be able to say is

"I wanted you to notice me and it seems you only noticed when I do nothing
and sadly those two are the same exact thing."


-k.d.

I thought of you today. And the normal pain that follows did not occur but instead a sudden remorse began to stir and I had a rapid change of heart.
I remembered the anger and I remembered the disdain but all in all I couldn't replicate the pain. I couldn't take all that I stood for and let it fall apart.
I know I should be fair to myself and most people would be bitter. But I've always tried to be a sweetheart behind these walls and I will never be a quitter. I can't let my heart turn into a tornado again.
Bound together but not tied. Like paper clips, we united. Easily, we bent until the damage could never be requited. But if we were ever stronger than that, I can't remember when.

-k.d.

A passing breeze freezes me to the bone and I can see my breath float aimlessly like the dreams I once held onto as a child.
Leaves fall to the grass in various shades of sunset colors, reminding me all too well of a moment we shared.
I remember when you cared.
I remember when the caramel stars in your eyes shot across the night sky just to reach me. Now they are stationary.
I hope the clouds still remind you of the marshmallows we counted in cups of hot chocolate, your laughter thawing my heart faster than the fireplace.
And when the snow starts to fall this December, I hope you remember how your icy words numbed me into a slumber I wish to never wake up from.

- k.d.

Yes I'm still playing guitar and yes I still write poetry. But lavander is no longer my favorite flower, it tends to leave a bitter aroma in the air. And now black is my favorite color, like the color of my bedroom all the nights I lay awake searching for stars on my ceiling. I still think of you from time to time but the romance my mind told me to feel has disappeared. I can't say I'm much happier but that's because I've been damaged. It's not entirely your fault, but you're not faultless. I can honestly say that I've stopped missing your hands. I don't love you.
It's 2:31 in the morning and I still have trouble sleeping. But I'm no longer laying on a pillow drenched in tears. I'm laying next to someone who loves me more than you ever could.

-k.d.

The blood boils inside my veins, heating every road in my bloodstreams corrupting my nervous system until there's an earthquake.
How can I save myself when rescuing myself means dying?
Surviving
that's all we try to do.
But when living is so hard and dying is so easy it makes me wonder,
why are we still breathing when a knife, a safety pin, a pencil sharpener blade can take it all away?
It seems we're addicted to pain.
Whether in the form of trying to escape or trying to get by
and I can't figure out which is worse.

-k.d.

Darling have I told you, I love the way your eyes fall on me like autumn leaves.
Vivid shades of passion, floating gently in the crisp, clear sky.
The butterflies that swarm throughout my body tickling every one of my aching bones.
The cracks in my ribcage from a previous implosion, now healing by your whispered touch.
Your lips tenderly brush mine like my lips are made of glass and you're afraid you'll break them.
I love the flickering of your eyelashes when you're getting sleepy but you don't want to say goodnight, and the steady grip you hold on my hips when you finally drift off.
It seems the world is so much more quiet when your fingertips are dancing down my spine, gliding softly against my skin.
The moon is silent and the pain in my chest is hushed by the breath entering and exiting your lungs.
The rising and falling of your chest, a speaker playing the sound of my favorite song- your heartbeat, on maximum volume.
The warmth of your sighs excite every nerve in my flesh.
I feel myself come alive as your eyes stare into mine as if they can see more than the haunting fear of losing you, although I know you can never leave because our hearts are tethered.

-k.d.

there's a hole in the wall
and i think that's a representation of my life
because i've had to build my own foundation
and make myself a house
but i can't admire the architecture
because there's a gaping hole where something should be

there's a hole in the wall
i've built around my heart
a flaw, a weak spot
i wake up in the morning
and i don't understand why
or how i'm still here
because my heart is failing
every day

there's a hole in the wall
i've been meaning to fix
for some time now
six years
and eight months
but i still can't gather the energy
to admit that the hole in the wall
molds to my fist

-k.d.

A sheet of ice lay serene in the pavement.
But it isn't enough to chill my boiling blood.
A thousand second chances, now a few stolen glances.
One spiteful memory, two bitter hearts.
I guess this is proof that when fire fights fire, though the sparks may grow brighter, they will soon burn out.
The sadist and the *******.
A painful passion that never could have lasted.
You were the flame, unforgiving and raging.
But you blamed it all on me, the gasoline, the catalyst for mass destruction.

-k.d.

I should be sleeping but lately 3am feels like sunset. This isn't fun anymore.
It's been awhile since I've had writer's block but it seems now that I hesitate every time I pick up a pen.
I'm losing myself again and the scariest part of this realization is remembering that I see myself when I look into your eyes.
This shouldn't bother me as much as it does but the butterflies in my stomach are turning into moths and I just want to down enough alcohol to make them all drown.
But even water tastes like your lips.

-k.d.

Yesterday. The idea of the past. The belief that what we do can become what we have done; what we say, what we have said; who we love, who we have loved. To have the audacity to believe that our shadows can no longer follow us once we step away from them. Growing up, we've all heard the saying at least once. "Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me." But they do. And they leave the deepest scars that we hide deep in our heart, locked up like a child that wants to go outside and play but his mother doesn't want him to come home with a scraped knee. But that's all it is. A minuscule wound that can be healed with time, and maybe a little Neosporin. By no means does that mean we should hide from the pavement because we fell off of our bike one day. We must remember that yesterday was once tomorrow, and tomorrow will soon become yesterday.

-k.d.