I am more interested in your demons at 2am,
Than I am of the person you pretend to be at 2pm.

and you left me so hollow,
like a mere slate of metal;
so much space
like it’s nearly a thousand light year,
the distance between
keeps stretching;
the way you softly rupture the very existence
of my eventual broken bones,
like a block of iron during the storm
left to corrode.

Hello hello you fool
Do you still remember me
Do you still recognize this face
The one you claimed
You'd never ever
Dare to leave...

Hello hello you fool
Take a good look at me
So this is me now
Not...
The same  naive woman
You had lived with  
A decade ago...
But this is the woman
Who has been given a chance
To breathe again...
She has risen from a deep fall...
She who has learnt to live again...

Thanks to you...
You fool ..

LOVELY Semiramis
Closes her slanting eyes:
Dead is she long ago.
From her fan, sliding slow,
Parrot-bright fire's feathers,
Gilded as June weathers,
Plumes bright and shrill as grass
Twinkle down; as they pass
Through the green glooms in Hell
Fruits with a tuneful smell,
Grapes like an emerald rain,
Where the full moon has lain,
Greengages bright as grass,
Melons as cold as glass,
Piled on each gilded booth,
Feel their cheeks growing smooth.
Apes in plumed head-dresses
Whence the bright heat hisses,--
Nubian faces, sly
Pursing mouth, slanting eye,
Feel the Arabian
Winds floating from the fan.

how do you stop yourself from becoming a living contradiction? what do you do when no one has taught you the proper way to respond to the pain sprouting through cracks and seams and overgrowing the gardens of your mind, suffocating the beautiful because there is simply not enough room, what do you do when you’re trying to swallow the panic bubbling up in your throat? where does that heat come from, that builds in the backs of your eyes like all the hurt you bundled up for safe-keeping because some fights aren’t worth having, even when you can feel your heart breaking, a little at a time? why is the emptiness and the darkness always so much bigger than anything else? when does it stop feeling like a form of torture to leave the house and when does everything stop representing him in small and insignificant ways, every hour, every minute, every second? how do you stop the deep pit from forming in that area of your chest every time you accidentally stumble on a song that holds echoes of him in it’s crevices? echoes that escape like whispers of smoke and riddle holes in you, relentlessly and eternally? how the hell is someone both everywhere and nowhere all at once? when do you stop waking up in cold sweats because you are so achingly alone? where is the pavilion of shelter? when does it stop feeling like a war that you’re only fighting with yourself?

-*k.c.