there will always be a part of me
that sighs when I'm happy
and says I-told-you-so when I'm not
because I had the chance
and now it's gone
now I'm stuck
because 3 years ago
I dropped it in my nightstand drawer
and locked it away
with all my conviction
and all my courage
and promised myself never to look back
I open the drawer sometimes
hoping that maybe it came back
but there's a hole in the back of the dresser
and I fear that the three of them
snuck off in the night
looking for a new victim
with a bigger supply
of conviction and courage
and a steadier hand

my lungs burn
as I inhale your stench
a cigarette
the secondhand smoke
of a broken lover
breathing your cancer on me
watching my bones decay
and calling it
beautiful

I fell asleep beneath a cape
Of thick, porcelain mist-
And let my soul sink into the ground,
As darkness did persist.
I heard a demon cry to god,
Begging his precious grace
To wash away the rotten ash
Crucified upon his face.
The air was cloaked with righteousness,
It seeped into the pores
Of pagan trees and shrubbery:
Cast out of heaven's doors.
I curled my knees up to my chest,
And wrapped my arms round close,
As cold, damp air embraced my skin,
Invoking the Holy Ghost.
                                                                                   MB.

There was one.
A young man,
Smart, confident, eloquent.
Lost.
Popular, the leader of the pack
Yet courage doesn't always roar, and neither did he
Strong whispers echo with thunderous force
He is the humble king;
What he says goes.
But he did not mean it this way,
Did not ask.
Such responsibility is a heavy handed task.
He wanders amongst his squires and compatriots
The omniscient light in a realm of darkness,
Bringer of love, and peace and hope.
But inside of him these emotions have been abducted
By the predatory tenebrosity of his own mind.
An everlasting, ****** battle takes place
But who is to be deemed victor if he is fighting himself?

There was another
A young lady.
Smart, confident, eloquent.
Withdrawn.
Her desperate need to please others saw her relegated to the outskirts of society
Clingy and desperate, when it suited them,
Helpful and irreplaceable another day.
Until she'd had enough
And cast herself away in exile,
From anyone and everyone.
She sought to make herself invisible,
After all, you cannot plunge a sword into the heart of one you cannot see.
This she knew was her blessing and her curse
Her savior and her foe
And just like that she was back to square one
The girl they had pushed and pulled,
Until she was permanently subdued,
A mere ghost of the exuberant being she was before


Then one day
The wandering souls fused in spectacular fashion
His bright beam illuminating the corners to which she had receded
A meeting on extempore, of broken hearts, broken minds.
They looked deep into each others minds,
Their internal recesses open
Showing a continuous film of horrific abuse
Damaged products drawn together
And then

There were two.
A young man and woman,
Whose lives became intertwined like weeds in flower beds
Twisting and wrapping, suffocating and strangling
Choking with a vice like grip
Unable to breathe, having to fill each others lungs
Company was no longer a want, but a need
If they were to survive, it would be together.
This mangled and gnarled love was anything but smooth sailing
But it was worth the struggles and continuous setbacks for those few moments of bliss.
Moments when responsibilities and pain and direction were forgotten
Where being lost was okay, because neither of them knew were they were going
The pain would subside, the revolting stench disguised by the scent of love.
And happiness and hope were tangible.

Still there were two
Yet she knew not what to do
Thoughts raced through her mind in befuddling fashion
Like a horse who hears a gunshot
She panicked.
The distance, her safety blanket was long gone
But she had only just realised her guard was down
White flag waved
That her path took her into the firing range
Where he was behind the gun.
A vow came to mind
A self-promise that she would never hurt again
And if she were,
It would be by noone but her
So
She ran, knowing it would crush the life out of him
A mother leaving her child in the wicker basket
A father saying he would be right back,
And never returning.
She was all these things and more;
Thief or plunderer would be an accurate description.

And then there was
Well, there was not much
For when she left, she took most of him with her
His shell remained seated, waiting patiently for her return
Even after day three thousand, when he had become a brobdignagian mass of dirt, grime and hope.
That's all he had left; hope.
For nothing else but her reappearance.
Life; he had given up long ago.
But he never gave up on their reunion;
on the opportunity, if only briefly to return to the bliss, the joy,
The exhilaration of his eyes locked onto hers,
Both so broken they could only maintain for a few moments.
He never gave up
Until he too, was gone.

And then there were none.

Falling into the sink hole brimmed with pretty flowers,
to distract your naive eyes
from the aphotic subterrane
just past the things that sparkle.
We put pretty bows on vulnerability,
and call it 'love'
pretending that it will chase the monsters away,
when it really just creates them.

I fell into your calloused hands,
yearning for them to cleanse me
of my murky insecurities,
instead they scrutinized my character,
and I saw my confidence leave me
in pretty ribbons of melted gold.

I once saw the sunrise from the back of a Toyota pickup,
by a creek with cold water and sour memories,
but there was more light in my head then,
because that was long before I started to see my father in your scarred face,
and before you asphyxiated both me and my hopes in you.

I swallowed pain and brushed off distress,
through stale promises and pretty jewels.
You told me it's better to let things go,
and I'm still not sure
why I believed in you so ******* much.

You lived by the motto 'no worries'
and so you were reckless,
and stupid,
and all wrong for the girl
who wraps caution tape over every decision she ever makes.

Things fall apart,
and people fall apart,
and ideas of someone that have been built up in your head for five years
can crumble from just one sleep deprived night,
when you 'calmed me down'
the same way my father used to.

And with bitter content,
and finally no more regret,
I hope Hakuna Matata works out for you,
and I hope she never drinks as much of your poison as I did,
because stains on the heart,
do not come out from swallowing bleach.

your life hangs in a balance
a rotting see-saw
of deprivation
you listen to the chorus
of growling, pleading
from your internal organs
begging for sustenance
and you smile
are you proud of the pain you inflict on your body
or just yourself?
I'll watch you decompose
and tell you your decaying flesh is beautiful
because I know you're not looking for bones
or extra fabric on your jeans
but while your stomach cries
for yesterday's missing lunch
your mind weeps
for something to be proud of
and if the only thing you can do right
is your hipbones
then so be it