Between the burning and me
Between the sheets and me
Between the knife and me
Between the *** and me
Between the blood and me
It all burns
It all bleeds
It all screams
Were empty
Yet the cuts still aren't deep enough.

What puts me to sleep is the sound of a DVD player I never remember to turn off.

Sheets covered in blood, kept me warm in all your absence dad. I slit my wrists, went to sleep. Only to wake up dead again.

Scare crows sit at the fence of all my thoughts, picking out the dead things.

I puke on pillows, flip them to the good side and get a good nights rest.

I know were a lot of disfigured momentum, we colided. Yet I know when enough is enough. We've reached our destination and your not getting off. **** I keep throwing up.

It's the kind of puking that you don't recover from, when you're hunched over the trash can and you have enough time to side glance and admire your spine in the mirror you forgot to clean. * if I go over the lines one more time they'll blow out* I tattooed your abuse inside the medicine cabinet, where I go to meet Jesus every Tuesday night. When Friday seems to far away, and your fist so close. It's not just a memory this is a legacy. Trash can duets.

Captures hearts, with words from your lungs. Gasping captivating waves, as the tides come in and out. I look out to shore but don't see my....captain.

4:09 am and I'm not sleeping. Wide awake, wrists open but not quite bleeding. Mind ****** by man vs nature. A young child battles against wits & wagers. I fall in between, because neither of us are sleeping.

Sharp whips on soft skin,
Pores filled with pain,
*pleasure

You play hop scotch on tiled wall of bathrooms to houses you don't live in.
This fish bowl is empty, I'm moving in.

God did me *****,
When he put you there & me here,
And 13,000 miles between.

We died as I passed him the cancer stick, he glanced past his seat to my hand where i held it. Carassed between my fingers. He looked death straight on before we even knew we were dying.

I sneezed my backbone out,
It's okay you didn't have much of a spine anyway.

Cancers got her ***, they said

You wanted a butterfly
But only peeped in
On a mere caterpillar
Unsure on the process
  Of using wings
And when she did
You gazed upon her lovingly
Your butterfly lips ******* on her skin like mandarin oranges
Next spring you'll go away
To find another butterfly
In her cocoon is where she will **stay

Jesus Christ wipe the sadness from my cheeks.

I opened the curtains wide open today. The sun beat through on one side making it warm, while the cold breeze tumbled by anyway. You're still not here.

My phone turns the word **** into poem without thinking about it. If that doesn't scream beautiful then I don't know what does...

Jesus, you haven't sent a messiah through messages in ages.

I will pack up myself, into the card board box I started out in. I will roll away my emotions. Ship off my words, and say farewell to myself. P.S If I don't wake up tomorrow, you can keep my 7.96 cents & all of my Harry potter movies.

As you crinkle up your nose, the soft spot between your eyes crinkle up. My lips wrap around the last Tylenol Pm. The words, " I don't think you have depression." Tumble from your mouth.


I pack up back into myself. You speak, "therapy won't make your home life any better". I cradle my emotions,

God take my breath away, it's been a while since your words graced my lips.

Take me back to being a young girl,
When dancing down the streets of Jerusalem was an every Monday morning thing.

Take me back to your wonder of the world.

I traded in my bad habit for another.
Ciggerates between my lips, instead of forks & food. Either way, it still burns.

I've got those ******* child blue eyes,
That make all the bad boys fall in love.

linger, even when the snow melts.
when the tires tread normally,
stay with me until morning,
dont leave abruptly,
linger.

Men have you puking into trash cans,
With the thought of not being good enough, your life is on every back burner. Because sweet heart lets face it, this place is hell you're living in. Each tear is a knife to your face, a knife to the brain. Mental damage, but it's okay because he likes it this way.

As you jump back from me disgustedly,
My words can only bring empty soliloquy,
Stapled jaw lines, & open mouths,
Mumbling I'm sorry, through cracked lips,
You wonder why I sleep with my bedroom door locked,
Don't cry over split blood on tile floors,
The clean up is easy.

There's a first time, for every last time

I wonder what's under that skin?

In
The
**mood

I'd sink into melotonin masterpieces, but in scared I'll wake up and you won't be there.

She said, I'm sure he molested his daughter. I slept on the couch, and heard all the laughter. Cried as his hand slipped down my shirt. She said, I'm sure he protected his daughter. Sitting in therapy turning pages, praying for paper cuts. She said, I'm sure he couldn't save his daughter.

Weak voices & shakey legs.
Your breath aches, against my brain.
Were never starting stopping.
Wake me up with *** in the morning.

You tangled every curl that frames my face in your mind. I still can't comb the knots.

Aloneness; void of occupancy.

Am I suppose to be sad

Chain linked silver around my neck, a against my neck your hand. On my sides, Calvin Klein. Against my sides your hands. As you graffitied my back for the class to see, you defaced a worthless property. Molested, like a pre picked flower. In early January. Almost dead anyway, at least that's what she thought she heard that he had said. But it's hard to hear over the thundering laughs. The scribbes across her back, sunk beneath her skin. She tried to convince herself it Was about what you lacked. She's almost dead anyways, why not pick her too soon.

From time to time, I'll check my email. Sort through the spam & useless adds. Right to the old messages, of yours & mine.

Please highlight pertinent information as it applies to "Ideas of the Age" and "Literature of the Times".

She said, I don't know you from Adam. And that's when I knew he was cheating.

I fall for anyone with depth, because All i do is stay tripping.

Snot nosed pilgrimage, from the left to the outside of the bank. Spending New Years alone. Thanks

Jesus put me in a choke hold, it's okay if you only stand on tip toes.

I don't know how you can love someone you've never met, but I miss you everyday.

You're nothing more than a mix matched soap opera boxed cardigan, that I pull tightly around myself. The wind picked up again. Pick up the phone man. I'll button back our conversations, cut off all the threads from the loosely hung hat on the back of your ill tapered head. If I've said I'm sorry, I'll say it a thousand times. My closets empty. I'm out of rhymes.

You're the only boy I know, who puts ect. Between the apologies & goodbyes.

I've spent the last 8 weeks studying Taoism, trying to find the art in letting go. But I can't and the pains pant, inside. Because at the end of the day, you're just black lines, carried across a blank page.

And if I tied you down, would you stay?

I feel as if, I'll never have a wide enough desk. To lay out all the things, I need to go overbefore I die.