I'm snared in my own trap,
Caught off guard by the heartbreak
That has caught up with me.
As if I didn't part the jaws
And step on the pan.

I am my own prey,
Wrapped in the sticky web I spun.
Baited by thrill, drawn out of boredom,
I burry my fangs in my own flesh.

I followed my more capricious self
Into a lonely room,
Hoping she would fan my flames.
But she's backed me into a corner
And brought me to my knees.

I've lured myself close
With the shine of my knife.
I captured my fascination
And held the blade to my own throat.
"Speak," I dare myself.

I held my own hand.
With tenderness and trickery,
Distraction and hope,
I walked myself to the edge of a dizzying cliff
And said "you know what to do."

Now I'm not done letting myself suffer yet.
I will watch myself thrash in torment
Just a little longer.
I will keep biting
Until I'm bored of the taste.

I will tower over myself
And witness my own cowering.
The cold edge will stay pressed to my pulse
Until I've made my point.

I will not let myself turn away from the drop,
I will not cut a path back down the mountain.
I will wait and watch
Until I outgrow my fear of heights.

I will keep crying
Until my eyes dry up.
I will keep grieving
Until the memories stop hurting.
I will keep loving him,
Until my heart lets go.

Then I will be ready
To do it all again.

I roll up my skirt
And carve silence into my skin.
My foot on the gas,
I close my eyes
And let the noise trickle out of me.

Up on the hill,
I lay drunk among the headstones,
Crying into darkness
Until I fall asleep on a pillow of hyacinth.

I find comfort with the dead.
Here, my tears soak into the earth
That cradles their bones
And I imagine that the hurt they carry
Is laid to rest just the same.

The rows of past lovers, sisters, and friends
Emit a quiet understanding.
They remind me that this oscillating ache
Will one day return to the dirt.
My torment is just as temporary as my joy,
Which is as transient as all things.

Though the veil of suffering will lift,
It is only a matter of time before it falls again.
And knowing that respite will arrive
Does not bring it to me any sooner.

So I will scream and beg
For even a moment of solace.
My fists pound the grass
And I writhe in my agony,
Knowing that I look like a child.

But my fictional family
That lie six feet beneath me
Reach up their phantom arms
And embrace me with a kind of love
That can only be found in the delusions
That I fabricate to comfort myself.

Their grasp keeps me from joining them
In their graves
And lifts me to stumble home in the dark.

I have hurt my heart,
I have treated it cruelly.
But it made me feel like a fool,
Daydreaming of a different life
Where I am loved in return
The way that I have loved my heart.

I have wrung myself out for my heart,
Gave my heart shelter, cooked it dinner,
Gave it what little I possess
So that it may dig itself out of the hole its been in
And one day love me the way that I have loved it.

But my heart did not dig,
It settled into the home that I had given it
And blew me kisses from the bottom of its ditch.
And so I looked at my heart with anger and hurt,
Because I gave it every opportunity to reciprocate the love that I have given it,
And still my heart did not dig.

So, my heart, I need you to leave
Because I cannot keep throwing you rope
That you will not catch
And extending hands that you will not grasp.
I only have so much rope
And so many hands.

And I'm sorry that I have been callous,
But, my heart,
You have worn my affection paper-thin.
You have exploited my generosity,
Reached the bounds of my tenderness.

So now my heart sits alone
And so do I.
Alone together in the home we shared.
Soon, I will be alone
And without my heart,
Unsure of how to keep the empty walls
From closing in around me.

I separate myself
And go where no one can hear me,
Where I am permeated by silence.

Where the crisp water gallops over boulders,
Waving white flags as it bellows heartily,
I feel that I’ve had my fill of affection.

Sweet embraces and an excess of tender words
Are intrusions on my reticence
And my only desire is sanguine seclusion.

Taking care, I ponder how to slip away
From well-intentioned hands
That reach for my hips
And into my immaculate solitude.

Maybe I will step into the water
And evaporate into droplets
To be carried away through valleys,
Mile-wide rivers, and back
To the collective, boundless sea.

No one will miss me
And I will be as I was always meant,
A thoughtless drop in something larger,
And far more consequential than myself.

26 is 17
But only more alone.
This time your mom isn’t downstairs cooking,
Your dad isn’t just pulling into the driveway,
And your brother isn’t home for the summer.

26 is thinking that all the pain was worth it
Because it pushed you into his arms
Where you know you’re meant to stay forever.

26 is wishing that you learned your lesson
When you were 17,
When your mothers arms were only a staircase away
And she could have held you
While you found out who you were
And who you wanted to be.

26 is splitting up the record collection,
Asking him if he wants you to bring home boxes from work,
Wondering how you’re going to be able to look at the empty space where his guitars used to be
And continue to breathe.

26 is back to square one.
It’s 17 without the excuse of adolescence.
It’s 17 without a best friend to cry with.
It’s 17 in a lonely apartment that’s only getting lonelier.

The realization stings.
The recalling of my place in this world
Knocks me to the ground
And spits in my face.
It’s icy breath freezes me where I lay.

I remain still as they close in around me,
My friends.
My friends with strong arms,
Deep whispering voices,
Groping hands,
And free drinks.

They make me laugh,
They coax stories out of my mouth
To make room for themselves.
They bait my trust with jokes and gifts.
And once they capture my confidence,
They reach for my body.

But I swear my lips are bitter,
My hair is a thicket of thorns,
And my skin is made of broken glass.
Of course this is a lie.
A lie I wish I could squeeze reality out of.

And so I squeeze anyway
But the truth that flows with ease
Cuts me with joyous violence.
It fills me with poison
And drags my delirious body into its bed
Where it smacks me until my eyes light up with stars.
It strangles me until consciousness begins to slip away.

But ******* a dead girl isn’t as fun
As it sounds.
So he lets me breathe just enough
To let an apology form out of my bruised throat.

And when the truth is done
He’ll leave me out to bleed.
Out in the open for his friends to take a turn.

And they’ll do it again and again and again.
In the back of the art room in a middle school,
In the general admission section of a metal show,
In their twin bed,
In mine,
In the back of a car parked in a field,
At work,
In the bathroom at my friend’s house.

They’ll do it again and again and again

The external spills in.
A visage of the outside materializes on my reflective psyche.
And through the mirror,
The external reaches into me and forces me to tremble
And wail in unison with it.

Could I bend and manipulate the projected image?
Could I make it beautiful and weak
So that it cannot take hold of me and exploit this marionette body?
Or should I simply sever my strings?
So the impression cannot control me,
But only beg for my compliance.

And what if my will aligns with that of the terrible specter's?
I fear I may be too willing
To do the harm it bids me.