Nighttime bones leave stars bound to the depths
My heart melts from cursed blood
The wolves bring wood to my ribs
Fear is a broken hand binding love
The moon promised to drop my mistakes
A lion roared at midnight
and dragon-fire bled it's last fortune
Brittle skin held constellations and ravens
My mind longs for the shore
But my soul's been pulled underneath
The Throne is the sky
Weighted with fading sorrow and bountiful lust
Those blue eyes drown with numb regrets
And my burning spine crawls along the lake
Eternally waiting for you to take a dip in betrayal
This bold reign blindly declares

*Forgive me not

“Session three;
Subject has loss of appetite.
Two days since Subject’s last meal.
Loss of weight; 16.234 kilograms
and counting.”

It’s two till midnight.
“It’s three forty-three in the morning.”
That doesn’t matter to her.
“Why?”
She said it’s all wasted the same.

sinner
“Did she come again?”
In and out of silver.
“Explain.”
She got into my blood,
“How?”
With those cloudless eyes.
“Why?”
There weren’t enough.
“Of what?”
Rubies.
“Why do you need rubies?”
Count every time we’ve fallen.
“Why?”
She regrets it.
“Who regrets it?”
Tasting the wolf.

Hauntless
“Why aren’t you eating?”
I miss him.
“Who?”
It makes me sick.
“What?”
I’ve wasted.
“What did you waste?”
Please.

You found weakness.
“Do you know what’s happening?”
Yes;
Atlas gave me his burden.
“You cannot carry that.”
She lets me.
“Who?”
Lily-scathed and lapis shelled.
“What?”
She was so pretty.
“Who was?”
Lavender in the cosmos.
“Lavender?”
Yes!
Basking in folding chambers.
“I don’t understand.”
She was my west.
“What do you mean?”
I followed her into the sun.


Why didn’t he keep me?
“Who is ‘he’?”
My north star.
“The north star?”
That little bird with her owlet wings.
“What?”
Moons with comfort.
“Moons?”
No one wants to fall alone.

Spiteful
Don’t be afraid.
“I’m not.”
You are.
“I’m not.”
I like the way you smoke in here.
“I don’t smoke.”
Quiet your heart.
“What?”
You’re afraid.
“I’m not.”
Don't lie anymore.

“I-
-
I am.”

Smile soft.

“Assessment end;
Subject has gotten to me.”

War Dog

I've tried to keep a close distance
But you left me behind.
Here I go
Walking down the street on my own
We are not the same.

Be true to me
Tell me I'm not alone
Prove to me
That you'll open the door
To let this war dog in
With his cut ears
Close up the hole
That tore through my skin
I'm a dog with a broken leg
Tendons too torn to mend.

"Trust me to take you home."

You'll put me to sleep.

I don't want to die alone.

You said you'd be there.




I won't fall in love with you this time.

...
"Take your crimes and medication."

Pill one.
I have come to loathe eating.
Countless days pass without a morsel of food,
typically weeks without a real full meal.
I find it remarkable, really;
that my sense of taste and hunger became living corpses
that linger within my mouth like something died on my tongue.
I have a few options at this point but here's my choice~~
~~leave the silverware clean, bare and cold---
it's purest when cold.
I don't even know why I am not hungry.
I never thought I'd see the day where I'd decline the offer on raspberries.
(They always will be my favorite...)
Now, my ribcage blooms like a garden~
~rib bones that beg to flower through
the soil that is my skin.
Skeletons don't sit at the dinning table because
starving is a special kind of beautiful.
Yet this is oddly okay to me.
And when I do dare to silence it,
the mild sting of hunger that pulls you like the moon;
It's regret that's delivered in a bullet or two.
Disgust crawls up my spine and drags nails along
the lining of my stomach.
Don't eat that, it's poison.
Rejection becomes my immediate releif.
Family and friends can't help but worry
Eyes flicker to the length of my waist,
voices question my weight when I'm lifted
the subtle stare at how my bones scream against snowy skin.
I don't blame them or the rumors;
I know I am skinny, and I know am empty.
I just don't want to eat anymore...
I am so sorry for that.
(Am I supposed to be sorry for that?)

Pill two.
Don't ask me if I got any sleep.
The answer will always be "no", or "not enough."
I was diagnosed two years ago with insomnia.
You don't know what suffering is until
you can't ******* sleep.
I didn't think it was that bad,
boy, I must've been related to ignorance.
It's torture watching the world never press pause.
My record is six nights and seven days, almost a full week
Caged myself in because my thoughts
were killers for freedom.
Why can't I sleep?
Here's the catch though;
I don't like sleep either.
No comfort calls your name,
not when you can remember every dream you've had since
the year 2009.
I don't have happy dreams, for those of you that do not know.
They call this disease hyper-realistic dreaming,
it's something my doctor hesitates to openly discuss.
(They don't have the answers to my mother's panicked questions or my father's accusing glare.)
They're terrified of the unknown too.
The concept of dreaming in such detail,
of every person place or thing
isn't exactly treatable
Fun fact:
I talk to the dead sometimes.
You know, people who have passed away.
They tell me it's the regrets that ******* you behind your back.
Hyper-realistic dreaming is absolute madness.
Pretty sure wonderland doesn't look any different than
the waking realm.
The word nightmare,
yeah, I don't like using it.
It visits whether I'm awake or not.
Doesn't make a ******* difference.
But the doctors only care about my insomnia.
Figures, I mean.
"It's just a sleeping sickness, strong medication should fix it."
Liar.
Rest has become a form of torture for me.
I'm sorry for whatever I did to deserve this.

Pill three.
Speaking of torture,
I own 19 scars that I never asked for.
My father is responsible for 18 of these scars.
Abuse is just a 5 letter word.
Funny how death sits lightly in 5 letters.
Pain is just a 4 letter word.
Oh look, so does life.
I've been waiting for salvation but I know I'm not worthy.
My father is the root of my depression.
I am his flawed design and greatest disappointment.
"YOU *******----"
hands crash into my lungs
nails engrave wounds like some sick reminder
you don't need to remind me
I already know what I've done wrong
please dad, don't hit me
Yet instantly I hit the floor harder than any stone does.
I cry quietly, forcing the sobs to talk the language of silence.
If he knows I'm suffering it'll only make it worse.
Praise is something that does not pass his lips.
"You're ******* worthless, you ugly girl."
Insults act like vultures that never quite leave our house.
"You stupid blonde *****, DO IT RIGHT."
My grades weren't high enough to please his highness.
(I had a 3.975 GPA this semester.)
"I can't wait to watch you fail."
A disgusting disgrace of a daughter that's never going to fill the shoes of "enough."
There are so many times where I have been punished for
my "crimes",
kicked, beaten, scratched, sliced, man-handled, hit, and bruised..
I don't think it's fair to name the rest.
It's all an act of order to obtain my obedience.
The secrets within these walls sneer at me~~
~~how unfortunate that our walls are white.
You see blood is a hard stain to remove and red likes
to leave the ghost of orange upon the white paint.
I don't think you understand,
that this has been happening ever since I was his little 7 year old.
Or, you know, maybe longer.
Oblivion flew south and reality crawled in long ago.
You can't just chase reality out,
she's a force of nature that takes the life out of all of us.
I have been a victim to my father for as long as I can remember.
An example of the cycle of abuse continues tonight;
Tonight my father told me,
"I wish you were dead."
That can be arranged, dad.
You don't know pathetic until you've seen me lying there
after the aftermath that was my most recent "mistake",
clutching the ground like maybe if I pretended enough
it would hold me.
They tell me it's just the alcohol talking.
That all of this was his own father's doing.
My dad had it "so much worse."
I'm sorry your father hurt you, dad
I'm sorry you feel like you have to hurt me.

Pill four.
My wounds make their homes beneath my heart,
six inches to left, furrowing downwards.
This is the nerve that throbs in death's long fingers.
False strength will save those who you love.
Good thing I "believed" I was strong.
It's a ******* joke.
I'm not strong.
I am a white angel dressed in lies.
Yet there I was;
Standing with perfect posture as the universe
and my friends stacked their troubles
up my trembling shoulders and back.
Nicknames spilled off their tongues,
I was proud of these titles that I don't actually deserve.
I am the psychiatrist.
The Healer.
The Caretaker.
The Mother
The Saint
The Kind Maiden
The Helper
The Keeper of the Dragons
The Poet of the Wolves
The Moon Warrior
The moonlight weeping through the willow branches;
The Person Who Fixes Everything
The Wise Guardian Angel.
How couldn't they notice I was nothing divine.
Plucking them from the coffins of depression and despair
that they laid themselves to rest in.
It is no easy task.
And sometimes this means their words are
the gashes to glide down my arms and sides,
blood making the puddles at my feet.
Physical pain is bearable when it's for them.
Again we revisit the word
"Abuse."
As they are humans and they practice this sin
upon me.
I accept the harm with no self-defense.
Because I was cursed to love them.
Even the ones,
that reek desolation upon my soul.
They have all gone for the **** before.
You can take it out on me,
I will balance your burdens.
"Let me help you..."
I'm sorry you're hurting, I'm here for you
I'm sorry I became like this?
(I definitely am not supposed to apologize for that.)

Pill Five.
I have a past lover, she is my Wolf Girl.
I have learned to love her like ambrosia in a bottle.
It doesn't matter that I am no longer her lover...
She is and always will be my best friend.
We once talked about our friendship like a legend.
One man that went off to war,
and how he left his loyal dog behind.
The loyal dog waited for his master until the man returned from service and suffering;
the dog's love never swayed.
For many years they remained apart and alone
paths refusing to entertwine,
but once reunited they picked their relationship up and continued like nothing had ever separated them to begin with.
We never decided who the dog or the man was.
But we both have always known.
I hold her responsible for saving me, and uncovering
the remains of a silver child.
She ripped my heart open to expose the stitches and raw emotion;
below my feet sung the wolves,
along my collarbone perched the stars.
The moon basked in my skin when she told me,
You are beautiful.
I knew she was lying but I still forced those words down my throat,
swallowing the growing flame of black lies.
To this day I will never forget,
even if she has forgotten.
I don't see a reason to hurt, I knew I was unworthy to begin with.
Sifting through a jar of ashes I found our memories,
the day we first met, first became best friends...
She was the wolf and wasn't afraid to bite the hand that fed her.
That was how she taught me to survive,
Trust me when I say I learned more than just survival.
Casting a glance at the past 5 years I recall
what the value of strength was.
She lent me her own,
~so I bargained my way to the heavens~
a prayer for the day I would become a goddess of divinity-------
---- I found out Naïve was my middle name.
The demons found me and I had no fangs to sharpen,
so they tied me to a willow tree.
There I was possessed, and hung by my wrists,
humiliation and weakling branded into my ankles.
"This is how we put dreamers in their place!"
Is what the shadows screamed in octaves of smoke.
And that was how my wolf girl found me,
hanging and half-alive in my favorite crying tree.
She....
She laughed with sunlight flashing in crystal teeth.
Before plunging vicious knives into my stomach.
Until the  words gouged at places hidden beneath tender poetic flesh...
My screams never reached another living soul.
Dragging open my belly to reveal what innocence I had left,
I watched as poison caught fire to her words;
I was annoying
I was clingy
I was loud, unaware, and
oblivious.
I loved the same she had loved
stolen the moon from her nightless sky without realization
and caused heartbreak and spread disease in her wake
she knew what the demons did~~~
"And yet you loved every second of it, didn't you Lycan?"
~~~~
I know, I know
all of that was so long ago, yet I cannot help myself.
I don't hang from trees anymore,
and I don't talk to wolves in sheep skins any longer.
That doesn't stop me though;
The questions slither into my palms and onto the page
where navy ink scratches letters
into rotten white paper;
Like snakes in the tomb of my heart.
"Why did you save me?"
"Why didn't you save me when I needed you most?"
"Oh wait, right, you never had to..."
"What love could you possibly harbor
for me?"
"Did you ever love me?"
"No, probably not."
"Will it ever be okay again?"
"Why didn't you let me in when you needed me?"
"Was it worth it?  Jack I mean...was he worth it?"
"Was it worth those seven months?"
"You're more than lust."
"Did your sins finally catch you, Lycan?"
Wolves find glory in preying upon the weaker species.
You knew I was weak from day one.
"Why didn't you **** me when you had the chance?"
I'm sorry I defiled you.
Apologies that you went to the trouble of teaching me the hard way.
And finally,
I'm sorry that I dared to love you, Allie.

Pill six.
Let me put it in simple terms;
I hate myself.
I have come back from the brink of death for the thousandth time,
and I'm so sick of it.
My mind is a battlefield of depression and
I am no match for the darkness that borderline feasts on my soul.
They never left after they hung me pretty in that tree.
Thoughts that take my life piece by piece like casualties in war.
No, you don't understand.
I am beyond saving.
I have been,
for a very long time.
No matter how long I look into a mirror
I cannot find a trace of beautiful.
The glass doesn't bother lying to me, not anymore...
That's how I know all of you are lying to me.
I have let the insanity slide a dagger into my spine
ripping a **** upwards to my neck.
This is where bone touches the air and I don't recover.
R e l l a p s e
I hate everything about myself,
what I have become,
wallowing in the pity because I am far too tired;
to swim, to try, to leave.
I descend into the black sea of ink that
I bathe myself in every hour to keep from feeling agony.
As a poet, it's the only title I hold onto with an ounce of pride.
Among the fields of grief I lay in my oaken coffin
pathetic words snaking into my mind
betrayal chewing at my insides,
memories play hide and seek between lost and broken treasures.
There is nothing left.
Not anymore.
And never again.
What more can I give when the nightfall erases me?
How much longer must I endure
my punishment for being human?
I was never mighty but
my how I've fallen.

"Are you okay?"
Don't think, just lie.
"How are you feeling?"
Lie faster.
"Oh my god, what happened?"
Lie for their sake.
"How are you?"
Whatever you do
"What's wrong?"
Just lie
"You seem kinda off today..."
If you tell them it's all over.
"Kira, are you alright?"
Lie until the truth becomes one.
"Seriously, you're...you're sure you're alright?"
You can't let that monster out, she'll destroy whatever you love left.
"Are you lying?"
"I'm so...so sorry everyone.
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
I'm......s--"

I forgot to mention I have pills to take now.
For my insomnia, way back up in pill two up there...
Special pills that play roulette with the grim reaper.


Instructios:
"Kira, take only one pill at a time.  Please make sure to count if you swallow several at once.  These pills are very dangerous, potentially deadly if not consumed correctly."
"Alright."
"Take one pill, and if you can't fall asleep in an hour wait til tomorrow night to take two.  If that doesn't work, then the next night take three, and then four.  Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Kira, please be cautious if you take five. I cannot stress enough how much I want you to be careful, it could damage your internal organs. It's like asking for a light coma, for 20 hours you'll be asleep."
"Okay."
"And Kira...whatever you do... NEVER take six pills.   You won't wake up after that.    Promise me you'll never take six...
"I promise Dr. Cline."
Well, I lied.  Shocker, right?
I am so terribly sorry that I cannot keep my promise...

One
Two
Three
Four
Five...
Only....Six
that's all it takes.





I'm sorry is the only signature I leave on my suicide note.
...

Today,
I feel like committing suicide.
I'm so tired of it all
Pretending to be someone I'm not.
Putting on a fake smile to please my family and friends, so that they don't worry.
I want them to think I'm happy, even though I'm so far from it.

Its not the new year that finally did it
The 'new year new me' thing.
I know who I am and there's no fixing it.
It's my abusive dad that pushed me over.
The fact that he can't be greatful for anything I do
And when he's asked me to do something I've already done
The job I did for it wasn't enough.
The fact that he yells at me because I ask for something at the store, whether it be socks or a candy bar.
"No you don't deserve that."

Maybe it's the fact that he puts me down so much
And every time I deny his words he gets even more angry
I don't know why I bother
I don't deny them for my own sake.
When I do he throws whatever is nearest
Plates, countless beer bottles, even a chair.
I lower myself to the floor, crying.
Maybe I get him so mad in hopes he'll finally throw something fatal.
A knife that just happens to hit my neck.
I've never had the courage to take my own life.
I am worthless

What ties me here?
It's the one I love.
He deserves so much better than me,
But he says he loves me for who I am.
I am broken.
He's a reason to go too.
The fact that I can't touch the one I love without being pushed away.
Being told no and stop.
I hear the same words my father says in my lovers actions.
"No you don't deserve that."
I know I don't.
I'm sorry for wanting something.

Maybe I want to leave because I have no one to turn to.
Because all of my friends already have their own problems, and I'm just another burden they shouldn't have to deal with.
And anytime I talk to them about my own problems
It becomes a competition
Suddenly we have to top each other on who has it worse.
"I would **** to be in your place, my father is so much worse."
Again.
I hear my father's words
"You don't deserve to complain."
I really don't.

Maybe it's the fact that I'm already dying.
As I write these words my heart tears at my ribs, desperate to get out.
Its like a panic attack within my chest
As if someone grabbed my heart and squeezed it so hard.
I don't want to feel pain anymore.
Please
Not another heart attack.

My little slice of heaven.
It's so far away.
So far.

Sitting with my lover
As he whispers words I haven't known much about.

"You're beautiful."
Who could see beauty in something so far gone.
So dead inside.

"I don't want anyone else."
Who would choose me?
I'm nothing grand.
I'm a dead reflection in a broken mirror.
Nothing to hang on the wall.

"I don't deserve you."
You don't.
I'm so sorry.
You deserve so much better.
Someone who can make jokes with you,
Be more patient than I.
Someone who can love you without dying at the same time.

What sickness lies within me.
I cannot stay here any longer.
My little piece of heaven is too far off.
"Just a few years.
Just a few years more."

I don't have the strength for that.
Not anymore.

I'm sorry.