fragile is a matter of opinion.
lace is fragile, but so are bombs.
some fall silently to ruin when
destroyed, some take entire
cities down with them. press
your fingers against my lip,
and maybe i'll crumble. maybe
you won't survive long enough
to know the difference.

slowly
like falling
                  asleep
i fall out
of love
with
        you.

imsorryimsorryimsorry
this isn't what i mean
this is a strange dream
one of the ones where i
know i'm asleep and i
can't wake up i can't
wake - your light trips
too bright, takes my
breath away

but it hurts it hurts
it hurts like a room
full of thousands of
wings desperate for
escape it hurts like
too big limbs in too
small cage it hurts
like letting go it hurts
like wanting more it
hurts like why can't
i ever be happy

maps are for lost
fools, going in predictable
directions, too afraid
of the unknown.
they'll never step off
the concrete, never feel
the rub of untouched
brush against their skin
or the adrenaline of
where the **** am I?
they play by the rules,
in lust with their cookie
cutter by the book lives.

maps. charted journeys.
these things don't interest me.
i want scrapes up and
down my arms and legs
because i dared venture too
deep. i want bruises and
bleeding because i got lost,
too lost. i want to get lost.
i want to lose the map.
i want to lose my little
here dot, the one that
follows me, red and angry
because i don't stay on the
path to that cookie cutter
life.

i want off this route. this
one that leads only to
                                  y o u.

i am not sure what this
possession is, what
unholy demon has
taken hold of my skin,
my bones, my everything.

choking me, pushing me
out of my own body,
telling me how wrong it
is, how selfish that i won't
share such a vessel, that
i won't give it to those
who need it more.

she whispers in my mind,
she laces my blood with heavy
hatred and misdirected longing.
she tells me hope is a fallacy
and need is a crutch. she tells
me this life i live is a waste.
that i am waste and oh,
what a shame.

chains
tethers
the long
lines of
events
we call
fate  &
d e s t i n y.

here, there
is no fate.
no destiny.
only the foretold
ending of ruin.
i can pinpoint
every
little
dot
that got us here,
can see the lines
ahead.
we will never win.
not a single one of us.

push us together
                                  pull us apart

the storm of disconnect
    mine
        yours

hell and home
meet like
two              sides
of one sea,
split down
the mid      dle;
we're                  beautiful,
they say.
a natural
                           wonder.

the natural wonder of

s e p a r a t i o n ,

they fail to realize,
is night and day,
earth and water.

they don't feel the warmth
of your side, the cold of mine -
the nothingness of     white
and emptiness be t w ee n      u s.

and I can't help but wonder
what is so beautiful about two
hands that will never hold?