Saw him in my sleep last night
Held me close, kissed my eyes
Honey, you're used up
broken and bleeding, staining these streets
Darlin', you're dreaming
wake yourself up now, before I leave
Devil's skin with Angel's smile
Wished for him, just like a child
Kissed my scars, made me weak
Don't make a sound
as I pull these teeth
This is not going to be easy. It is not a small thing. It is going to hurt, and, in all truth, it will ******* up.
Your life is going to change, and while it's not going to change for the better, you will make the most you can with this giant mess you were given. This giant mess of ****. This sadness.
You will be numb for so long, you will begin to open your skin with ***** serrated points, looking inside to try and find your mind.
You'll **** people you can't even remember *******, can't even remember the names of, people you pray you'll never see again.
When you can't take the sadness any longer, you'll develop a taste for speed, and the little orange pills will be the only way you are able to have movement and speech and a fake smile. It will destroy your body.
All of it.
But you will get through it. You'll claw your way out of the hole in the ground you once buried yourself in. It is worth it. Don't give up. Feel this pain, because it's going to be with you for the rest of our lives.
And we'll be okay.
tomorrow is when all the things i write come true.
we'll wake up
smiling, and you'll say it's happening
and i'll say yes,
tomorrow there will be stains and spills
in the bed,
in our bed, because we won't care
because we never ever have
i will touch your skin
and it won't feel so dangerous. tomorrow
the sun will come and
we'll know it's
hasn't come yet but sometimes it feels like it's already
hasn't come yet
and we can't say that it certainly
there were many long hard nights
you had to remind yourself to breathe
but there were one thousand more nightmares
telling you to hold your breath
She once believed
like a sunburn.
She once carried
her eyes widen
at her door.
There are men waiting for me. Waiting to chain my ankles and hang me from the ceiling of the tunnel. They have knives, they run them up and down my legs. It's cold and sharp but the blades don't pierce my skin. It feels like a game.
I am on a table and it seems like surgery, but instead of using tools they use their fingertips. They go in and pull out every bad memory. I can feel the memories leave, I can feel myself growing warmer and happier with each strand of bad that is taken away. I am crying. I am crying in my sleep.
Men again, but more like boys. They're younger. There's a group of them outside on the porch. That screen door is not going to stop them. They pick up bats and force themselves into the house. I run into the woods to hide, but I can see. They drown my mother in a tub, they **** my sister with a bat. They get my cat and rip her apart by her limbs. When the sun comes up, I run inside and see my mother's body. I try to drown myself in the tub, too, but then I wake up too soon.
is a song he plays with closed eyes,
heartbreaking and angry,
volumes of many shameful pasts
singing through her chest.
is a book he reads with open hands,
her stories scrawled into skin,
like a braille
only he can speak.
is the box in which he keeps his heart,
****** and beating
trusting that it's safe.