Drench me in
the sweet stardust
that falls from your lips when you speak.
I know you have a silver tongue
but I am already a statue-
if I must be rusted inside,
at least let me be plated
in glamorous lies.

Today I think I will
carve a little heart into my neck
as a memoir
of when you bit me there
and I licked the blood from your lips.

I keep my wings locked in a jar
So I can't use them when I inevitably fall.
Until their gentle iridescence decays
and they crumble away
when I inevitably lose my grip
on this tenuous reality,
and float aimlessly through life
like a snowflake
borne on a gentle breeze,
not knowing which way is up or down.

We are just
angels under the bell jar, eating each others’ wings.
Twin anomalies that annihilate each other-
Leaving behind the tiniest scraps of our existences
to be framed by a collector.
Devoid of context, tasting faintly of liminality.
Devoid of context
how easy it is to forget
my own purpose for existing.

No wonder this one turned out violent.
If you take an innocent child
and hit her, and scream at her,
you drown the angel within
and the rusalka rises from the mud.
No wonder this one turned out wrong.
But of course, it isn’t your fault.
Maybe it was the school. Maybe it was the friends.
Maybe it was the TV and the internet.
Conveniently, it was not the poisonous ideas
about total obedience, and angelic femininity,
and a special place below
for people who do not fall in line
to march to their death.
No, we were never angels.
Never had wings that could save us.
But at some point, we were human.
Now, we are aliens,
peacefully drifting through space
until something greater stirs the heart.
And with Jupiter’s wrath in my wings,
I rise.
Now see,
my teeth shining with blood and gold
and hate.
I hope you are afraid.

Please don’t be mad at me.
Please don’t hate me.
I’m trying my best you know,
it’s just that sometimes,
even the sun gets tired of holding herself up.

You don’t
feel real
to me
anymore.

I’m afraid that if I touch you
my hand will pass right through
like a ghost.

The sad thing is,
I can’t tell whether you’re the ghost
or if it is me.

Sometimes my mind
feels like it's flying away from my body
traveling at 200 miles per hour
into another dimension.

Now, be closer to me.
Close enough to smell the blood through your neck,
close enough to absorb me,
so you can understand how much I love you.

Sometimes my mind
feels like it is trapped
in a well of chemicals
in a cage of stars.

Now, stay away from me.
The version of you I made up is enough,
the version of you that exists scares me,
so please join me in a daydream instead.