I’m pride and pesticide
Your cyanide
Cry out poison and reveal your black intents
When you cry them out till we hoist them when you lie of their sin
See me in the mirror
Spill your blood but not a tear
You keep in what you value

It’s on the tip of my tongue,
I know it I swear, the words aren’t missing,
they’re just not there, on the tip of my tongue,
I believe I know where,
I'll find them in the dark skies or in my blank stare.
Please send up a light or some kind of flare,
end this cycle of searching,
searching for what is rare.

Words that I’ll be searching for for a while,
Surprised that I’m locked in, like juvenile,

I’ll be Stuck in a constant rewind,
until we've left this topic behind.
Then I'll remember and say remember that time,

Eventually, Ill be able to speak effortlessly again
of course it'll happen after this conversation ends.

You were letters of a time away and floating on my air as rain pelted our windows and soaked my hair.

Cold with our own ambition and the sky swarmed by grey clouds ridden with my nightmares, dreams, essays that i turned in past the due date and wine you took from the back of your mothers liquor cabinet.

Your car sneezed and coughed cancer cells perpetuating when you turned the key. from the dents on the side and the tobacco scent on the seats i knew you took this from the junkyard on the south side of the boulevard.

You thought you were the problem but I was the one snacking on empty prescription bottles and then chewing glass for dessert blood running down my chin and giggling at the hopelessness that I felt in my soul.

I swallowed broken vases and cut up my esophagus as you spoon fed me unrequited love. i thought we were going to
make it but we only got to the gas station before the car broke down and i went home.

Funny little thing is she,
She laughs at lightning in the storm.
And what most would see as torture,
She inflicts with pride and is not scared.
Her skin is sharp like broken glass,
And through her lover’s skin she tore.

Through her safest home she tore.
Stupid little girl is she.
They try to mend her broken glass
But the edges cause destruction of a storm.
Please don’t run, don’t be scared,
Don’t be a part of her torture.

Running love is her only torture,
Not pain that through her heart tore.
Distance leaves her crying scared,
Unable to control the fear in her.
Maybe she is the rain in the storm,
Shattering passing window glass.

Maybe she doesn’t mind the glass,
She doesn’t think this is torture.
And maybe it’s not a storm,
But a hurricane she tore
Out of her skin. She
Is no longer scared.

The distance does not make her scared.
Her skin is no longer broken glass.
Alive little girl is she.
Nothing more will be her torture.
She doesn’t need the lover she tore.
No longer does she hide from the storm.

Not sunny skies, but no more storm.
Not yet calm, but at least not scared.
Not yet healed, but not torn.
Maybe cracked, but not broken glass.
Some discomfort, but it doesn’t feel like torture.
Strong little girl is she.

Screaming insanely she tore herself out of this storm.
No one will say “she’s gonna lose it”. Because she somehow she is not scared.
It’s a mystery how she fixed her glass, or how she can still tolerate the torture.

i'm scared of you. are you scared of me? my fear replaces your face in my dreams. does your body ripple up and down like acid is eating your bloodstream? the ribbons in my arteries ache as they're trembling. i wrap my ribbons slowly and sweetly and tightly and they're trembling. are you scared of you? i'm scared of me.