I screamed at the moon, just sat there and slang miscellaneous profanities its way. I cursed its eerie presence; its predisposition to somehow manage to burn me. It has always held me liable for its slow deterioration. But it is so **** beautiful and poetic that it just shhhh'd me, ever so politely. I used to breathe alongside the night in my sleep, and now I find it strenuous to doze off. I once found solace in the craters of the moon, but I cannot forgive it.

I became accustomed to screams and bruises. I got used to the crazed look in my father's eyes and the way his hands would shake, causing his cigarette to fall to the dirt ridden floor. I fell in love with the way he would smile as he reached for the bottle. I didn't understand. I cowered in my room at night as I heard the splitting sounds of bats, shovels, and irons hitting various surfaces and body parts. I listened to Alanis Morisette to drown out the grunts and moans that arrived when the fights ended, and they 'loved' each other again.

I'm going to fill my body with soil and snake venom, the way it should be. I'm going to run into the ground as hell's unbreakable grasp ***** me under like a leech. I will go willingly and proud, with a dazzling smirk and thorns around my ankles.

I am the tremble in your voice as you let the first tear fall. I am the vacancy in your state when the voices won't leave you be. I am the lurid marks beneath your eyes, formed by sleep deprivation. I am the heavy pant that escapes your lungs when your shirt is drenched in salt. You are the sliver of light that slips through the cracks of my body. You are the ecstasy that I feel while singing songs of you. You are the slight comfort that comes when I drift into slumber. You are the pigment in my tortured eyes. The best parts of me belong to you, but I am the worst part of you. I am still baffled by how I managed to corrupt you, you shouldn't have let me in.

What am I? I am just a body made up of various parts. I have eyes, a nose, and a mouth like the majority of us. I have two legs for kicking and two arms for holding. When I take the time to dissect the universe, I realize just how small and irrelevant I am. The tree have a purpose, as does the water. Even the ******* bees have a purpose. Do I have a purpose? If so, what is my purpose? To please others? To love someone with all that I have? Well I don't have a **** thing and everything that crosses my path somehow, metaphorically, turns to dirt. I cannot fulfill my 'purpose'. So, I'll ask once more. What am I? I am a carcass with a heartbeat. In the scheme of the universe, I am completely useless. And that, that means that I am nothing. Nothing at all.

Take over my mind and caress my body, make me question what I know. Run your hands through my hair and pull, take my breath away. Wrap your hands around my throat. Let your fingers trace and explore the atlas that is my body. Grasp my hands and hold them above my head, shove me against the wall. Hold me there with your tongue and hips. Bite my lip, kiss my neck with everything you have. Don't stop until I'm begging. Enter my body and make me quiver and shake. I want to feel every inch of your skin on mine. I want you to make me feel something again.

"And the heart is hard to translate"

I rush every sunset in its pit of blood
I hold your absence with my bear hands
As the center of the silence I can give to myself
Some impressions of my thoughts of you
Uncertainties embodied by swords
Are roaming the streets in my place
The mirrors chased me away
They refuse to deepen the light
Refuse the clarity of a day
When I am a simple woman
When you are a simple man
I have to prepare my escape routes
Since your fingers smell of apples
The air is full of chemicals
And I stare at the intoxicating hope
My curses explode in hourglasses
There must be a misunderstanding
why did I promise to myself
my heart,
your hell,
our dance,
the resurrection
of naivety
in this body?

perhaps there is no doubt:
I can only love you
       or
I can love only you


and no
yet
but
(shh, oh, my foolish heart!)