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May 2016 · 1.0k
rough draft //
cassiopeia miel May 2016
you don’t own me. you can rent my body for a night or three, but don’t knock on my heart’s door because there’s nobody home. you could try to break in but i’m circling you in the shadows with a can of gasoline and a box of matches, waiting to jump at the opportunity to ignite this night with a little more fun than the kind that can be promised with a bottle of gin and doing the horizontal shuffle against a boxspring.

you wanted to **** me, and that was fine with me, but then you got greedy and wanted to love me and darling this just won’t do; i don’t want it, i don’t want you. (you might be inside me, but you’ll never be able to find me)
plEasE... i want to hold you close, but you have been infected and when your body is near to mine, the bile tilts and drips into the perforations in my skin. i’ve already been worn thin and this acid hits deep to the exposed nerves strung together like broken piano strings and sparking frayed wire.

petulance is a small child with his index fingers in his ears and his eyes ******* shut, as if he can erase fact from factuality; "it didn’t happen. i can turn back time, i can restart this game. insert 4 coins.”

i’m not dancing anymore; my bones are cracked eggshells held together only by how still i can stay, tongue bitten raw with the focus placed on my concentration and concealing my previous reputation--man, i’m not lost, i’m just searching for the person i used to be.
--- i don’t accept who i was, so how could i accept who you are? you are tainted and i am rust and the primordial soup of stardust, decay, and dust.

i am one incapable of loving, i am ugly and there are no pretty words to dress up my hate; i’m dressed with rage, dressed to ****. i should play tennis, because love means absolutely nothing to me.

you are the kinda mistake i’ll learn nothing from.
this has been unfinished for months. i keep meaning to come back 'round to it, but i don't want to think about what inspired me to write this, even though it's already on my mind 24/7 and driving me mad.
Jan 2016 · 928
Growing Up/Growing Tough.
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
I remember being fifteen, fifteen and smoking huge amounts of green, ditching school to trip in the park, not really acting myself ’til it’s long after dark.
I remember being sixteen, sixteen and feeling mean, drinking rye whiskey and getting kinda tipsy. Shoving fingers down my throat and wishing I would choke.
I remember being seventeen, seventeen and unsure how to could handle myself; I didn’t want to ask for help. Pills in my body more than weeks in a year, life was the only thing that I feared.
I remember eighteen, eighteen, 100lbs. lean and living with a drunk man ’til I fought back, got choked and ran.
I remember nineteen, nineteen, new on the scene, now I’m dating Molly and she’s awfully kinda jolly but I’m ripping my wrists up and trying to pretend I’m not ****** up.
Twenty’s here and I’m s’posed to be responsible but I am terrible, all teeth and bile, remnants from when I was a ****** up child.
Twenty-one's just comin' up 'round the corner, I'm a little older and a lot bolder.
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
you said to be more like you so i became a ghost too but i have taken your place as the one breaking dishes, shattered glasses refracting the cold light of morning-afters and you are silence and silence and silence and no matter how much noise i make or how many times i scream out your name into the dark you’re nowhere to be found; you’ll never come back around. you’re dead and you left me here alone on my own. i can never forgive you for this.
you have been dead for 348 days.
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
mere letters away, you reached out to me through cyberspace and i amused your responses
you, on the periphery of my galaxy
i was blinded by the sun, mindlessly orbiting, drawn to the heat and the beauty and not realizing it was destroying me, i am uninhabitable, i am unloveable.

it wasn’t until two years later that i locked eyes on you across the rave
in the steel light of dawn, that was it. you had me hook, line, and sinker.

let’s play a game mimicking cat and mouse. but i am a leopard, stalking through the shadows, and you are the clumsy panda cub rolling in the grass.

unfortunately, i had tasted blood and the hunt was on.
i play with my food and you are the best thing i've ever had in my arms.
and i would keep you in my arms forever if i knew how
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
[ Six-feet deep; I'm at the edge of collapse and still losing sleep, with lapse in judgements, and promises I can't keep. I'm sorry to cause all this worry, but I'm in such a hurry to get somewhere I can bear; maybe I'm just self-centred, I mean, God knows I'm ill-tempered; I'm a bomb needing to be diffused; and I'm tired of being constantly refused. Pull out the pin and let me reveal the tiger within. Crush me underfoot, like dry autumn leaves; grace in their falling; beauty even in dying. I will not scream in protest as you crack my poor bones. (This is the warmest I've felt in years.) // You glossed me over in varnish, a sparkling veneer to fill my cracks and mend my chips. A second coast of kerosene, you toss the match and I'm up in flames; snap, crackle, pop my bones in the heat 'til nothing remains. I'm addicted to the concept of living, so it's too bad that my own existence is a lie. Leave me at your back door endlessly wishing, wanting, craving after you've kicked off your dancing shoes; this invitation was long overdue. Here's my RSVP to an illicit rendez-vous, party of two, just me and you. ]

[ Drag these razorblades over my arms, creating chasms across the landscape of my body; skin and sin. These canyons fill with red, rivers. Fireworks explode in my head like an epilepsy-inducing lightshow. An absence of pain in the face of a crimson rain; a stone-cold numbness. A cold breeze rolls in off the shore and I'm not sure what I'm livin' for anymore. ]

[ Was it this way all the time?

I'm a degenerate, a ***, filth-slicked scab.

Can't stop picking; let me see bone and muscle.


i want to ***** forever

exist??? why...


points of light and reason in an endless sea of black.

how do you job?

How do you house.

im sorry mom. i tried, i lost.

i tried. i lost.

i tried. i lost.

i tried. i lost. credit balance: empty. insert more tokens?

****, i'm all sharp broken edges; ripped old "fragile: glass" stickers

look, but dont touch, lest I sink into your pores and make you just as spiteful, bitter, broken like me.

go ahead, drop-kick me across the Milky Way. im misery personified contagious outrageous



you either die young and free, or you live long enough to just become another gear in the machine.

i'm so ****** tired. so ****** tired. (I feel you Atlas.)
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
[Perhaps I derive a sick satisfaction from this unrequited attraction; it gives me something for which to strive, something that keeps my fire burning and alive. // A red-hot coal buried within the heart of ash and fire ruin; I'm begging to be stoked--Please discover me soon.]

[ Caught in the throes of ecstasy just from having you next to me; this is precisely my kind of therapy, "Take as needed." prescription mistreated, you are constantly ruining through my veins and erasing all my pain. I'll let you take the reins. Please steer me to a place I've never known; take me to your home and please don't leave me alone. Keep me warm, shelter me from the storm, and I'll meet you in the middle, but I'll never play second fiddle. I'm not in the chorus, so put nothing else before us. Let's do the deed, you're what I need and my sin is greed. ]

[Background noise on static on a T.V. screen; I'm pressing myself to the glass, desirous to be held. 'DON'T YOU FORGET ABOUT ME,' screamed to deaf ears. You are etched into my psyche, Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel 2.0, this time painted under my eyelids; your own smoky eyes the color of the dusk sky, saying 'Good night,' from elsewhere under the same stars. You stripped away my shoddy bandaging to expose a ragged battlewound ****, and told me that to start the healing, I needed to cry. You departed in the morning, but left me the peroxide pain to remember you by. ]
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
Work of art I'm anxious to start, leave your stain on my lips, Mona Lisa under my finger-tips. I will permiss you to trespass my epidermis and hold fast, let's make this last--I'll carry you like dust on my eyelashes through all of my life's dark labyrinthine passages. We're slow-dancing in a burning room, painting the town red and spinning our poison onto life's loom. I'm just precocious, entirely too ferocious. Taking the bull by the horns, I won't back down, you have my solemn word; I won't settle for second place, nor third. You're too pretentious for this scene, and I'm just another grimy ruffian trying to get clean. Dancing under stars 'til the sun beats down from high in the sky; let there be love, let there be light; I'm ready to fight the good fight.
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
DXM-choke me down, restart again because your princess is in another castle and she's shacked up with some *******; a trailer-sailor with cheap beer on his breath and his roving hands groping for her chest. You've already folded before you check the hand you've been dealt because this is the worst pain you've ever felt and so you robotrip 'til you imagine you've sunk his ship. Hide behind these substances that you pretend give your life sustenance, but they don't and I see you clearly and hold you like a child to my chest dearly; please don't fear me. I'm not trying to flirt, I just want to soothe your hurt, but I'm too weak and too meek to assist, so I don't insist. Just pretend I don't exist; not a malignant tumor, but benign cyst, and what humor; a dark twist.
i'm best friends with your ex and she is nothing like the hatred you spewed about her. you were the liar. you were the *******. (still are.)
Jan 2016 · 773
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
god, remember that morning when i said i didn’t have an addictive personality, as your fingers struck a match to light our cigarettes, yours a last (i forgot how many last smokes you had) and mine just for something to occupy my shaking hands and provide my coffee company.

i was a liar, i am an addict, a user, and my obsession is destroying myself. every stroke of a razorblade across my wrist feels like how the gentle kiss of a lover should, every finger-wide line of ketamine like finally coming home from a long trip.

how odd it is to finally receive the love and understand you’ve been withheld your entire life, but immediately upon doing so, all you want to do is run or lash out in ways that make them regret ever thinking you were worth a second of their time; can’t you see i am bitter, twisted, broken?

what am i supposed to do with love? humans are impermanent and i know best with my unstable at best self-image and my propensity to fly the coop at the slightest sign of attachment. i don’t want affection. love doesn’t keep you full, love doesn’t keep you warm, love is unconditional, but so is hatred and she is a better mistress than anything with a heartbeat.
i gotta stop writing monologues
Jan 2016 · 6.1k
of scales and bulls and fish
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
chalk it up to previous trauma and learned experiences influencing my approach to new situations, but i’m wary of everyone now. my eyes are fixed on every exit and everything that can be used as a weapon when someone enters the room. if there was a pill to forget, I would take it. i can’t go back and change yesterday, no, but it still touches me.

it’s tiring living with borderline personality disorder and it’s tiring being in love with someone who's also living with borderline personality disorder.
you can never love someone more than they hate themselves at times; you can either never be good enough for them, or they’re not good enough for you.

we’re supposed to be constantly feeling things at an intensified level than neurotypicals; extreme rage, excitement, drowning waves of sadness that threaten to take you somewhere no one can ever reach you again; i’ve lived my life in violent reds and heart wrenching indigos of tear-soaked navy-colored silk and it’s dusk.

these poor legs just don’t run like they used to. i’m thinking of plaster-filled walls and my poor mother painting layers and layers of my childhood bedroom, concealing kneeholes and knife holes i made as i descended into the labyrinthine maze of madness like a caged animal; a minotaur.

i think i tired myself out too early, fighting that good fight against familial kidnapping and climbing over the top of gated communities and skipping school to buy a greyhound ticket and shack up with a strange boy.

i lay last night in your bed, listening to the whirr of the fan you always insisted on using to help lull you to sleep, white noise and blackness and your warmth radiating into my perpetually cold skin.
like it, i am numb.
Jan 2016 · 720
[3:09AM] Nov. 10/15
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
these words used to spill from my fingertips like individual flowers from a downturned bouquet
but now they tangle on the way out of my mouth, and form knots in my throat.
i heave and heave and feel them tighten more,
no way to explain myself
no way to speak
follow by example and shove your fingers down my throat (like i have so many times before) and thread the needle
i am full of poison and this is the only way to get it out.
i write a few lines every so often and then forget about it until i go to clear my 'notes' tab.
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
i'm addicted to destruction, i guess.

wait, let me start over-
i found your journal leaking semi-formed ideas and delirious rants
vaguely shaping your various existential crises
and i wanted to laugh at sharp word, misspelled for dramatic effect;
they never did sound as sweet spilling from your lips like a discordant tangle of noise and statick as they did in the black ink of your low scrawl,
wide valleys stretching between the peaks and lines of your letters like the invisible, insurmountable mountain ranges that kept you away from the rest of the world that your letters run parallel to.
you ran parallel, and we were tangent, meeting once before parting forever.
holding on ***** up the big picture, and boy oh boy, did we set fire to this forest.
the birds have left and the deer have gone; i don’t think anything can grow here again.

but i’m trying not to blame you for what you had to do to survive
but it’s difficult when you ******* tore me open, and that’s not a figure of speech.
it’s not easy to excuse a dragon when you can still feel their breath misting your neck, a fine peppering of acid directly from their mouth,
turning someone into art doesn’t erase your guilt.
yeah, i’m still a belligerent idiot, but you are still a ******.

by the way, a memo from my ******: you’re not seven inches.
you were there, i was there. then i ran and i was gone and then he found me and brought me home with him and now i am safe and you are alone
Jan 2016 · 551
cancer /// (old)
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016

he's not comin' back.

cancer. cancer. cancer. cirrohisis of my liver,

but i cant stop drinking you in. sweet poison.

sweet poison corrode me.

floating face down in a sea of bile.

he's never coming back.

(mr rogers says im not welcome in his neighborhood.)

***** x SPEW

bleed me out, skin me,

and stretch me out to dry.

i still smell your Players, a cigarette ghost clinging to the folds of my dress.

rewind it back to the night we met under fluorescents

ill turn tail and run for the hills before i feel your lips press against mine.

all the razorblades in the world, all the nooses, pills, and guns

pale in comparison to the exquisite pain of your teeth raking against my skin (close, but not close enough);

i wanna pull you in, a direct injection to my veins.

was i a cheap trick?




karma is a ***** and she rode me hard with no foreplay to ease entry.

my moms both have cancer and i was (i am) scared i do too.

i guess i do but not in the way i thought originally;

it's you.

are we star-crossed lovers? meeting briefly in the night sky for a fleeting union.

(even caligula would blush at the thoughts I have of you.)
cassiopeia miel Nov 2015
Skin-to-skin, you press yourself against me and I want to pull you in; if you bite to break the epidermis and allow my cells to permiss, you could taste me, all sugared rust and stardust; disguised slow corrosive, toxic explosive. You're the tick-tick to my boom-boom; a Romeo and Juliet revamped for the new ages, with candy (kandi?) and coke lines instead of bloodstains on the pages.

I don't love you in the slightest, no, at least not in the way you crave; that much is apparent in the way you behave. We're both two lost souls, sinking in a fish bowl, year-after-year. What have we found? Nothing sound. Resplendence in decadence, now we've become hedonistic heathens and have been pushed from the doorstep of heaven. A fall from grace and how do we get out of this place when we're both complacent with our undemanding mediocrity, but with mismatched minds yearning at near-terminal velocity? We have a conundrum and an unchecked addiction to contradictions. You want inside, but between the demons and the decay, there's no room to create a nest unless at best, a foundation of brittle bones could make you a fitting home, like nestling in an organic wicker basket made nightmarish and sicker with ash, decay, and liquor-filled fights, fists thrown and eyes that in the revealing light of the morn' still reflect the previous night's darkness.
cassiopeia miel Nov 2015
We're dancers on life's stage performing an intricate ballet; A step here, a twirl there; pirouette; a flourish of your arms and I sail headfirst into the crowd, head bowed even as I shout out loud, because here are the end of our days (or maybe just the end of our daze). Awaken the warrior inside; we bought the ticket, so let's take the ride; swing me over the threshold like your shotgun bride.

Call me Tom Cruise, this business is risky and if I lose, I'll slam back your cheap whiskey 'til I'm pretty, easy, dizzy; doing somersaults on the outer rings of Saturn while the backsides of my eyelids kaleidoscope; explode with starlight; supernova-blinding patterns so bright.

I was never in it for the money, but I was still trapped; sticky-sweet, like a fly caught in honey, I wait to die, because I've been letting life just pass me by because I'm too ****** chicken-**** to try and too proud to cry.

This town's tied me down and I can't cut the rope; I'm addicted to dope and I have given up hope; working at the gas station, my life's been like a long vacation; with my brain AWOL, I'm insane and suddenly on me it falls; I'm 38 and life was a party for which I was too late, yeah, I was tardy.
Nov 2015 · 587
i fucking hate you
cassiopeia miel Nov 2015
there’s that quote on the internet that goes, “every cell in the human body replaces itself after 7 years, one day i will have a body that you have never touched,”

and it is false. asides from the fact that many cells need ten years before they’re fully replaced, neurons in the cerebral cortex never do; even if some die, you keep the ones you were born with and my body is clean from your touch, but my mind was not as lucky to escape your poison and day-by-day i erode until i’m left shaking and sobbing, wishing i could rip my own skin off and crack through my skull to peel away layers of my stupid, stubborn, recalcitrant brain.

maybe it was my fault. i should’ve known better than to trust a demon in a man suit, but i was looking at the small flickering coals of you, a fire built at your birth and then forgotten along the way, so you had nearly died even as you lived, so i gently fed the fire and stoked the flames and in return you blazed up in one mighty inferno and scorched me and everything and everyone else around us and it was still i who was contrite, you turned this around on me and it was i who apologized and collapsed crying on the floor.

mom never told me not to play with fire, it’s my own ****** fault i got burned.
Nov 2015 · 1.0k
ain't no wifey
cassiopeia miel Nov 2015
Like a squiggle in your eye; blink,
because I am all lipstick smudges left under carefully-pressed lapels, or Sharpied innuendos scrawled on bathroom walls in dingy bars.
A souvenir from one ephemeral moment, a fleeting tryst of dispassion (from my side at least); before I am scrubbed bare and raw.

DON'T YOU TOUCH ME, for I am so tender.
Thrown into the wash;
you can clean me, but the stain remains.
The scent of sugar, sweat and shame.
cassiopeia miel Nov 2015
Let's start the game, a paint-by-numbers and I'll share the blame. I'll hypnotise you with a little dance, put you in a mild trance.

You're trying to pour salt on an already-festering wound, one made from more pressing worries than the likes of a swelling waistline and blossoming bingo wings. (I'll build ya up and hit ya right where it hurts, remove the specific pieces to make you topple, a Jenga game brought to reality and the duality between us is electricity to the thousandth volt degree. )
Dive-bomb into my veins and see if we do bleed the same, because all I taste is stardust and silvery moonbeams to your tempestuous fire and rust.

Mew mew; a sultry ***-kitten in the bedroom and a cat clawing at a scratch post on the battleground; you are sandpaper and you are silk and you rub me raw and I'll still beg for more, more, more.
This is assisted *******, a wholly strange relation(ship in a bottle), please don't shake or it'll break and crush the illusion; a crack at the mast, so it doesn't matter even if you try and hold fast.

Baby, I've got you right where I want you, teetering on the edge of a razor blade balanced on my nose. I could open my mouth and swallow you whole; say hello to his taste dancing on my tongue, a ghost of a reflection in his eyes; a tracing of the rotation of my hips. You may have him cowed, but I will always come 'round and unlock the pen so he can ravage and run rampant and free.
Nov 2015 · 798
I'd Fight A Gemini
cassiopeia miel Nov 2015
You're searching for even the slightest validation for your inexcusable actions, transient in both values and the physical realm, collecting conquests and usurpees like how one might collect trophies from animals they hunt, faces frozen in a false expression with unseeing glassy eyes as they are forever immortalised in your sick collection to be made a mockery of long after the passage of time takes it's toll on both the images and the subjects.
A calculated maliciousness disguised as an indecisive personality, you are a bottom-feeder grafting onto the bellies of whomever are blissfully unaware or trusting enough to swim by you; but your own is yellow as a summer's day is long; not from just cowardliness, no, but from **** (sans the vinegar), and I wish I could compose this prose into something a little less hateful and a little more tasteful, but I won't spare you another second of my time, I'll erase you from my mind.
cassiopeia miel Nov 2015
****** ILLOGICAL. bite to break skin, I'm rampant chaos; burning Hellfyre within.
sharpened edges, razor kiss, a dance on the edge of this galaxy.
tilt at the axis and ill crash,
supernova blinding flash
but i wont ****** burn out.
ill just burn your retinas and scar you,
leave you wandering the bleak dark night you stranded me to.
all of the doctors pills and all of the kings men couldnt put cassie back together again.
ill hitch a ride on the tail of the next comet straight outta this galaxy because everything here means nothing to me,
least of all, you.
Nov 2015 · 628
little lion man
cassiopeia miel Nov 2015
"It's been a long day without you my friend,
and I'll tell you all about it when I see you again." - Wiz Khalifa, 'See You Again.'

I think of you every day. There hasn't been one day where you haven't stomped your combat boots around the darkness of my mind.

Yesterday was a bad day where everything especially reminded me of you; you, who shot himself in the head earlier this year. I woke up this morning frantically searching for my phone to go on Facebook in a panic because I had a very real-feeling dream where another friend killed herself, too. I wanted to hold her hand and kiss her sweet face. I wanted to ask her why she didn't tell me. I wouldn't have stopped her, I would've held her hand and jumped off that bridge with her.

I woke up feeling like my chest was collapsing and I found out that it wasn't true, but I am still without you and
I don't know what makes me sadder, the fact that I can't let you go, or the fact that I'm still ******* here. Even my body rebels against me, against my attempts to strip this universe of my existence.

I don’t know what makes me madder, people, or having to act like everything is okay.
I go through the motions, I follow routine, but there's nothing inside. (The lights are on, but nobody's home.)

You are a ghost, but you are the man that I love most. Try as I might, but I can't let you go. It's been 9 months, minus 2 days and I have missed you for every. single. moment.

It's not fair. 19.5 years is not long enough for a good person to live. What have you endured that has broken you? Are they like what has broken me? There's so many unanswered questions, you robbed those you left behind of their answers. There's so much of life you will never see. You'll never get that house with the white picket fence, no dogs or cats, no kisses or impromptu late night walks to nowhere, no wishes of 'goodnight's and 'good luck's (Hell, no one even got as far as the last chance for 'goodbye.'), but then again, neither will I.

You haunt me. I would ask--I would beg--if you could please visit me in my sleep, but I don't sleep so much anymore.

// (I don't believe in any biblical Heaven or Hell, but if there is somewhere good people go after they die, I hope it is each person's personalised halcyon. I hope you finally received the freedom, happiness, and love that you did not in this life. If you are short, I will see you soon, and I will bring all of the third.)
this isn't a poem. this is an honest, open letter to someone who will never get to read it.
cassiopeia miel Nov 2015
i am mine i am mine i am mine i am mine i am mine before i am anybody else’s i will swear up and down but you and i both know that’s not ******* true i am still yours i will always be yours because no shower can scald you from my skin no amount of scrubbing can take away the poison you’ve breathed into me

your ghost lives in my favourite music and i don’t wanna talk to you i don’t wanna listen to you
no i won’t listen to you anymore
you're so ******* vain you probably think this is about you
cassiopeia miel Nov 2015
a toast to all the people we wasted the years of our youth on,
the golden days and the pearlescent innocence that has decayed to a jaded hue.
we know better now

i wish i was vivacious. i wish i still had hope. i wish i still believed in happiness or love; you love what is convenient and what you need at the time, but no one knows what tomorrow brings but tomorrow itself, and i can’t deal in those uncertainties.

(i am an uncertainty.)


blech, there’s no room for all the feelings inside of me, i’m being stretched thin until there’s nothing left; i’m transparent and.
i just want to run and never stop even if it kills me; especially if it kills me.

what a joy it would be to be stricken down dead where i stand;
what a joy it would be to finally feel the caress of the grass against my skin, the dew of early morning pearling into frost.

my heart isn’t strong enough for this world, yet somehow my heart also isn’t strong enough to home the unending depths of my own cruelty.

i’m the dragon in the fable that must be defeated in order to ensure a happy ending.
suicidal ideation, self-hatred, demons, inner demons, feelings, death, jaded, youth, waste, time, hopelessness, giving up, decay, desperation, corruption
cassiopeia miel Nov 2015
a patchwork of years of storms and wilderness, my body is cracked bones weaved together with rusted chicken wire.

i hate how the demons i've encountered in the past have dug their claws into me, because even after ive pried their talons from my skin, the venom still corrodes.

i’m full of perforations seeping blood and bile and pus and consequently every hug and kiss afterwards feels like a knife is being plunged into me and it drip drip drips, staining the soil and dripping onto everyone who touches me afterwards, blistering their skin and burning holes in their clothes. (sorry for the mess)

i am rotten to the core, and my cup runneth over in my blood. i drink, and i drink, and i am never satiated. the thirst is primal, the beast is older than you or i or time itself.

i am the one who destroys me. i do it best.
Nov 2015 · 597
the mean reds
cassiopeia miel Nov 2015
oh honey she’s too busy thinking of creative ways of killing herself to pay you any attention,
lying at night with her limbs hanging off the sides of her bed beckoning the monsters underneath to pull her under.
maybe then will she have company so that the demons in her head can take the day off,
so she can breathe without the constant weight weighing heavy in her mind.

the only patterns in her grayscale world are self-made, nah, more like self-inflicted;
there’s the cigarette burns that dot her threadbare skirt and the
the only smile she has is the ones on her wrists, but somehow i think the jagged red lines weren’t made with lipstick, no not this time.

there’s grace in her stillness; she's coiled like a python about to strike.
bite before you’re bitten, yeah.
an arrow pulled back in the embrace of a bow, she hardly quivers.
aim and point,
determination to reach her target is the only constant she can count on
slicing through the air with a trained precision,
all teeth and fangs and broken glass.
no amount of touch can erase those who tracked dirt in her house before you,
you can’t make her forget the kisses trailed down her thighs before you,
not when those lips were dripping acid and winters passed, even now she still burns.
the corroding is invisible to everyone but her.
it will take more than snow to erase all that you’ve known
Nov 2015 · 601
transition to winter
cassiopeia miel Nov 2015
i don’t deserve goodness, i don’t deserve time. the seasons are changing and i am like autumn's goodbye--no longer colourful, no, but a slimy residue of fallen leaves; i decay in gutters and am trampled underfoot, sticking to the tread of your boots like a stubborn child begging for attention, throwing a tantrum and you’re just a tired parent, ignoring me and hoping i just grow bored and go to sleep but i don’t; you aren’t the only thing eluding me tonight. you aren’t the only thing deluding me tonight.

— The End —