As the universe expands-
We slowly drift apart.
The space between us will grow forever
and I’m okay with that.
I now understand that each of us are
unfathomably
eternally
perfectly
alone.
In our own heads.

Occasionally
a single intrepid photon slips through the veil
and I smile when I see it.
We were never really meant to be close,
but I am still happy to see
that you’re okay too.

there is something special
about the poetry of children,
the art of little girls
half remembered stories
spilling over from a past life
soon to be forgotten
scrawled on lined paper
decorated with stickers
scraps of fabric
and fallen leaves
a grin missing teeth says
"how do you spell angel?"
all innocence, sugary innocence,
but there is none here
this one draws devils
dancing at night
where have you been?
what have they shown you?
why do you already know
a hundred ways to use the colour red,
smashing markers and crayons
until they bleed and scream?

something
about the water
just the right temperature
the earth dreams and
proteins coalesce
life, out of unlife
i dip my big toe in
a trilobite comes up to bite it
from the sun touched silt
poor thing, i think, stroking its back
poor thing to be unmoored in time
poor thing, suffocated because the earth
changed her mind, tried again,
words erased on a page,
skittering legs going still,
belly up,
silt bed,
sand grave,
dark sleep without dreams

summer is all

bare feet on concrete
diaphanous heartbeat
dustings of sand
and holding your hand
sun bleached hair
monarch winged air
prismatic sprinkler spray
and long, hazy days

bored, we scratch our legs
with blades of dry grass
watching the clouds in the slushie blue sky
eating our fill of cherries (they stained my dress!)
and floating, floating, floating away
on the dandelion seeds of childish wishes

If you were to undress me
you would watch
as I peeled off and discarded my wings.
You trusted the mirage
that covered up the void
behind my eyes.
My existence is nothing but illusion.
My halo is nothing but mirrors.

my heart threatens to overflow with love
but there is no one there to catch it
so instead,
i will put it in used perfume bottles
(this one is faceted! like a diamond!)
and give it out for free
until there is none left for me.

Just when I felt that I could get to know you
you slipped through my fingers
as the dread rose again to press my lips shut.

The words did not flow naturally
but were strained
repetitive

lifeless.

In a single pause, we both learned
that I am far too alien for this world,
far too detached from reality

far too afraid of knowing, or being known.
With a hesitant smile, I turn away,
knowing that it will be the last.

My skin bruises where you touch,
threatening to burst like a delicate peach
to coat your fingers in warm viscera.

My uncanny senses easily find you in a crowd
so that I can avoid you
and spare us the awkwardness.

I never knew what was wrong,
what fundamental spark I am missing,
that allows me to neatly clip through others

without being noticed.
I never was able to decide
whether the strange matter that makes up my body

Is a blessing for allowing me to hide
or a curse for not allowing me to connect,
to be swinging on that uniquely human wavelength.

Despite being impaled on the long blade of time
I still hold your jaw in a vice grip.
Crack me, like the sun does the ice and I will
split.
Into millions of manic fragments, clinging tightly to the last vestiges of shadow.
But you have not defeated me.
I slowly put myself back together so that next time
my wrath will be stronger, my grip will be tighter.
My wings are held together with stitches and scabs,
but they are stronger than yours, artificially pure.
Though you rise like an arc of solar corona
to burn me once again,
all I must do is wait
and wait
and wait
Because when entropy takes over, your heat will be snuffed out
And you will realize what it feels like to live without the flames that fuel you.

Little dragonfly, how is it that
your wings are sharp enough to cut through glass
with questions like
What would happen if I let go?
What would happen if I jumped?
What would happen is I chopped up her body into tiny little pieces
and fed them slowly to starving dogs?

Don’t you know that
you are the reason my hands tremble when I pick up a knife
you scream with glee, beckoning me to take action.
Just one cut wouldn’t hurt.
Just one stab in her back wouldn’t hurt.
Just one taste of the blood pooling in your hand
would solve all your problems.
...
But you don’t really want to do that, right?

it took me all these years to realize
you are no god;
when i fight back you bleed red
when you told me you'd bleed ichor instead

I want to reach up to touch the stars
even though they would burn me.
I want the universe to sing me to sleep
with a deafening radiant voice.

But all I got was fistfuls of shadows,
seeping from between my fingers like thick congealed blood
All I got was velveteen silence
coating my brain like a fine layer of silt

And I found myself falling.
Until my thousand opened eyes could no longer see the stars.
Except for the ones that were falling with me
illuminating our collective descent
in all shades of sickly green and blue

And I found myself changing.
as we learned to breathe in the murk
and breathe out dreams.
As we shed our wings
and learned to swim.

As we went down,
down,
down,
spiraling into the abyss.

But oh, isn’t it beautiful?

I wish that I could curl myself up so tightly that I would become a singularity and all the negativity in the world could be ****** into my infinite density and slowly over aeons I would radiate away into black nothing as I watched the world around me decay and
for once
I could
be happy.

Until the nothing of the world matched the nothing of my head except for the thoughts that go speeding by never being able to touch but only to die and the colours would fade away from blue to red to gray and then
I’ll ask
Are you
happy?

petrichor
fall-smell
apple crisp air with
fanged wind
halo sun
prismatic dew
children
golden honey locust
leaf rain
skipping rope
mushroom
cricket-call
fading
last rose bloom
frost
sugared grass
wilted petals
death.

sway
with the trees
swirl
in the breeze

burn
with the sky
ask
the stars why

sing
with the rain
feel
the earth's pain

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.

You are an angel.
A bit like a bird, but less free.
A bird can fly and sing wherever she pleases,
but an angel's hands are bound in red ribbon,
constantly paranoid,
constantly pulled
this way and that
to ensure she never falls
off the straight and narrow path
losing her halo,
bruising and tearing her wings.

At night, one can hear her sing
attracting the attention of a bird
whose powerful talons may untangle the ribbon
and set her free.
But she dismisses her with a smile,
knowing that the one who has power over her
has thousands of eyes, watching her
every second of the day
every second of the night
constantly
always
from the eternal in between.

i'm brave,
i say
i'm brave, i'm brave
but no amount of words
can hide the rotting wound inside me
no amount of aggression
can hide that they pulled out my teeth

The sweetest angels are the ones who were raised in cages.
Free from corruption, sin and blood
Draped in holy white, with every stain covered up.
Perfectly pristine.

But how can an angel fly without room to move her wings?
The bars cut through them as they grow, mangling the delicate feathers until clots of crimson blood are the only thing holding them together.
And it feels good
to feel its warmth and see its exquisite colour, so pleasant to the eyes
Dried blood is ugly and cold so she thrashed around to spill more, each drop as precious as a jewel and as beautiful as the sun.
And it feels good
to destroy and to hurt.
Though they mock her, she doesn’t care.
Because it feels good.
Because how can an angel fly without room to move her wings?

But if she can’t fly, then she can’t be an Icarus
Or a crow that smashed into a window, thinking it was a portal to another world
and then plummeted to its death.
But then she can’t see the universe
or the beauty her wings have to offer.
The only universe is the one in her brain and I want to leave I want to leave I want to leave
Maybe a caged angel set free will become a demon but I want to leave.
Even if the fallen angel smashes through the clouds, a portal to another world
and plummets to its death
It is worth it to taste the breeze.
I want to leave.

You tried.
So I guess I can forgive you.
But what use is a rebel angel against a god?
You gave me courage in whispers and gestures of affection
but it wasn’t enough.
I’m sorry, but it wasn’t enough.
Courage is a bandage over a festering wound
but maybe I want it to fester.
Maybe I want to jam my fingers into it and press until the rot reaches my heart
and reaches my brain
and reaches my wings.
Courage is resistance
but maybe I don’t have the will to resist anymore.
And even if my resistance is successful, I know I will still be crushed.
There is no place in this world for an angel with broken wings or worse,
a broken head.

Except the cage.

What am I made of?
Thoughts and dreams, floating up into the sky on new grown wings
But they are ****** down, by a force greater than us all.

What are thoughts made of?
Strange is the universe’s insistence on tragedy
So why not retreat to a charmed world of fantasy?

What is existence made of?
It is designed by a cruel creator to be impossible to reach the top.
So we must be content to live on bottom, which is more beautiful anyways.

Maybe something that was once a part of you
Now exists within me
And that makes me happy.

Drifting from the sky like an angel’s feather
is a snowflake, that gently lands on my skin
And I think to myself-
what did that angel do to get kicked out of heaven?

Did he struggle as he fell? Thrashing with rage and indignation?
Or did he simply let go and allow himself to drift towards oblivion?
Or maybe, it was neither.
Maybe he chose to leave.

The small shock of cold brings me back to reality.
It is brilliant, almost too brilliant against my numb body.
I want it to stop so I can go back to feeling nothing.
It would be better for my tired brain that way.

I tried to tell a story once, but I realized quickly
That nobody was listening, that nobody cared
and that made me lose my mind entirely
because it made me feel so small.

In that moment, I watched my reality fall apart.
I saw a corpse. And two figures,
too cowardly to go separate ways,
but too cowardly to stay.

Too cowardly to listen- but how is it so?
When the words keep falling, falling, falling
onto ears that choose to be deaf,
onto skin that chooses to be numb.

And like the angel, I fall. This time on my own accord.
But was it really? Or did someone kick me out without me knowing?
But without wings to catch me, instead of falling
I mindlessly circle the singularity.

I tried to tell a story once, but then I realized I was
actually flying under the sea.
And nobody was there to watch and be proud
that I had achieved something I thought impossible.

So then why even try?
Each word, each snowflake, each feather
Is a reminder that I am in fact, still alive
and it leaves me to ruminate on a choice.

A choice I am too afraid to make.
After all, I was never allowed to choose
even the most insignificant things.
So why should I be able to now?

i lean my head on your arm as the radio drones on
rain splatters the windshield and it is cold,
so cold outside and the sun has set (i have to be home soon)
but it is so warm here with you that
i ask you to drive us off a cliff
because last month you asked me what mania feels like
and i know now that it is the held breath moment
between euphoric love and the world coming crashing down
like the final scene in one of those artistic movies
that i love so much and that you never got
but you suffered through watching for me

the sun burns
angel feathers
dog barks
choking on purity
an alarm in the distance and
thousands wake up
but can't remember their names
the tulip closed
around the beetle
and says child,
i will protect you
when black ink pours
out the ears
make it stop!
oh god, please
make it stop

thunderstorms in june
he threads daisies
through her wet hair
he wraps bindweed
around her bruised neck

two young lovers,
hiding from the world
in a glistening meadow,
muddy bodies tangled
on a muddy blanket

her, a siren of the suburbs
with berry stained lips
lays with her apollo
with eyes of august honey
and a rifle instead of a bow

pulling bugs out of each others hair
wondering if life will always be like this
or if it will change
and how these memories
will feel in the distant future

as the chorus of crickets begins again
after the storm has cleared
the sun descends like a halo
we can't be late
it's time to go

there is only one
flickering lightbulb
separating this world
from the next

the struggling light
can only touch
the infinite jars
of red kompot

and the worn rifle
propped against the bricks.
it is dusty.
it has been too peaceful.

a spider hunts
her next meal
but instead finds herself
thrown around in time.

what decade is it, again?
in this dim light,
every photo looks like
it is in black and white.

a singing voice
that sounds
like ******
in my stomach
how much
did you take?
enough to heal
the angel wings
they took from me
they can carry me
i'm small
i'm still a child
i reply in a lilting voice
my head falling back
pink ribbons
on a lace pillow
i see halos
i'm home

Shatter my glass eyes and allow me to see,
invite in the lights of the galaxy.
No longer koi fish, now dragons are we
out of the fishbowl and into the sea.
Leap over that swirling waterfall with me
falling in wonder through eternity.

There is something living inside all of us.
Horrible filigree fear and existential dread.
Seeping through the membrane,
gnawing at the bones.

If this existence is all there is
am I just a vessel for something greater?
I want to believe that I am free,
but I can still feel it.

There are tender hands reaching inside
caressing my heart with deliberate touch
and withdrawing sharply
to lick off the blood.

If this existence is all there is
then what is the point of resisting?
Resistance means to fall gracefully,
severed from the source,

to die, to decay, to be consumed,
and then forgotten.
My meaningless data will be overwritten
by someone who doesn’t question

the loving violation of hearts
and the delicate scabs that form
sealing the ports, keeping the terror
from rising once again.

i
want to sit
so still
so still
that the vines curl around me
like a hug

i
want to sleep
so deep
so deep
to be awoken by
the curiosity of bees

angel-sweet
docile
like a puppy
in a pink collar
i don't bark any more
i don't even flinch
i let it happen
i must like it,
don't i?

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.

Help me exist.

Help me feel like I exist.

I am unable to feel
anything but the diagonal trickles
of melancholy, or hate.
They prevent me from fading away,
but I still detest them,
because they make me Other.
I fear that I am unable to love.
I know why.
Love is easy to write about.
But to write about feelings that don’t exist is much harder.
What does not exist cannot be created,
for a clever mind to transcribe into words.
Plucking them out of the ether of lexicon
requires a solid word, and a solid hand,
And I have neither.
I am made of halcyon and moonlight,
numbers stretched over a screen,
not quarks that are able to form bonds,
to feel connected.
Half the time I wish
that my corrupted radiance will spread.
Soft glitches, in the corners of their eyes
to eat away at their core until they stop
writing odes to love, that alien emotion,
the words snatched out of their hands mid sentence
by an ethereal hand now real enough
to gather the thoughts as they dissipate away
into a fragrant bouquet for one last breath

until they are lost forever.

pink princess gowns
                                                           ­ mud                        lace barrettes
                           bird corpses
                                                         ­       cherry candy
                       dried blood
                                          tea parties                  fabric fairy wings
         the therapist's office
                  spoiled milk                                           secret bruises
                         church bells
wooden spoons                                            jump rope
                                       bathroom scales
                                                          ­    lily of the valley smell
                rough hands
                                             january
    fourteen                                             ­                metal belt buckles
       teddy bears                 closets
                                            glitter pens in a diary                
autumn leaves
                                  rage
                   ­                               sugared raspberries
          grandma's apron
                                                        pur­ple nail polish
                                                          ­                               report cards
                        old cassettes
                                                       ­        cedar trees
flip phones
                                         kitchen knives

that day the sky was
****** mary blue
lying in snow
making angels with you
there are two scars
where they took my wings
one for each person
holding my strings
im still a puppet
with a hollowed out heart
thats why i fill it
with trinkets and art
thats why i feel
so bad when you're gone
and thats why im writing
this silly song
tomorrow ill be empty
and they'll see the hole
fill it with garbage
that's always been my role

i've killed dozens
does, rabbits and hares
but i've never
caught myself a bear
they're crafty and clever
too strong to subdue
without special tactics
and i know a few
should i gain her trust
using a disguise?
should i gaze into
her frost tipped eyes?
run my hands
through her white fur?
listen to her gentle
relaxed purr?
now she's trapped
in my cruel snare
crying, distraught,
but i don't care
i could end it all
with a shot to the head
but i always loved
when they struggled and bled

sunny daffodil blooms
are still months away,
maybe that's a good thing
if you know what they say.

you can't swallow poison
if there's nothing to eat,
you can't be a victim
if you retreat.

you can't see the cracks
in the mirror that spread
if you stay locked up
within your own head.

flip yourself over and try again
flip yourself over and try again
flip yourself over and try again
wake up
wake up
wake up
it wasn't real
it wasn't real
in another life, was it real?
flip yourself over and try again

God operates like a factory,
hammering reality out of nothingness,
passing it along the assembly lines
where it piles up at the end
and eventually falls
and falls
through beautiful layers of abyss
dancing, twirling on the way down
with no wings to cushion its fall.

But sometimes, he makes a mistake,
a small manufacturing error,
clogging up the system with its imperfections
it holds on tightly
and desperately
only to be crushed at the end
and be recycled back into nothingness
where it will never fall victim to entropy
and burn out, like everything else.

i want to be
a mad artiste
i don't want to
contain the beast

with pills and trips
to the ward
i want my voice
to be heard

either be famous
for my art
or be famous
for breaking hearts

cut off an ear
use blood for ink
a starry sky
in tulip pink

when my death
shows up on tv
teenage girls say
i wish that was me

bike spokes
and chalkdust
and sunsets
and street lights
and
being careful of how you sit
can't show those bruises
can't get mud on my dress
or there will be more
i can't i can't
i'm too scared
the chalk will be thrown out
and the bike will rust
but the laughter remains
just outside my window
but they bound me
like a straitjacket
i'm not insane i promise
do you still want to be my friend?

on the school bus
the expansive blue sky
watching the leaves
flutter and fly

resting my head
on your shoulder
feeling the air
grow slightly colder

i pull a leaf
out from my sleeve
it's all so perfect
i can't believe

the day is over
i'm going home
at least for the weekend
i'll be alone

so i tried my hardest
to remember it all
that magical day
in the middle of fall

maybe that is why
i remember it still
whenever the air
picks up a little chill

i can smell apple juice
pumpkins and hay
i can still feel
pink boots caked in clay

summertime thunderstorm
rock me to sleep like a baby
the pitter-patter of rain
the pitter-patter of sparrow paws
hopping from dream to dream
run, run
until you can fly
this world is made of flowers and honey
but not here, not here
there is nothing here for you

after the party
dim light
streams through the window
the sun is thinking about rising

the chair you were in
is already cold
it looks so empty
it looks so forlorn

the house still smells unfamiliar
faintly of your scent
faintly of the liquor
still soaking into the tablecloth

the clock in the basement
chimes five times
muffled by
the blanket i am lying in

muffled by the roomful of
discarded wrapping paper
and a plaid scarf
that someone forgot

was it yours?
will you come back to get it?
will it bother you if i slept with it?
will it bother you if i cried into it?

The arms of a little girl are welcoming to the ones she loves. Gently, she reaches up, and innocently wraps them around the object of her affection, perhaps a grandmother, or an uncle only seen once a year.

Returning the affection, the family member will gently pat her head, or offer a kind word.

“Why do you hug like that? You’re doing it wrong and it’s weird. Here, let me show you how to do it.”

Someone else swoops out of the shadows to hug her. It is a sterile and cold touch. One that makes her shy away, not understanding what is happening.

She looks at me and I see her discomfort, but am unable to do anything for her. The shadow leaves long after I do, and she slinks away to find someone better.

But the scent of fear still lingers in the air, soft enough for her acute senses to pick up on it. She looks for the source, but only sees me. I avert my gaze from hers, but still understand what she says.

Why are you a stranger to me if I’ve known you all my life?

You see, if my hands have been anywhere near your neck, I’ve probably thought about how easy it would be to **** you. That’s why I’ve been trained to never offer hugs.

It has nothing to do with you, I just have really bad intrusive thoughts sometimes.

She looks at me, and lifts her upper lip, showing her teeth, glistening white with fresh strings of saliva.

And now is the time I choose to make eye contact. Her eyes are a curious colour, one only heard of in the most bone chilling of myths. I half expect them to freeze me solid, but instead their empty stare speaks to me, saying:

I am not a part of this reality.

I am not a part of this reality.

I am not a part of this reality.

Someone come take me away.

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.

i am
god's mistake
vicious, aggressive,
full of hate

i'm a dog
with sharp, sharp teeth
they grow back
when i've been beat

i sin and sin
and don't confess
don't give a ****
don't even stress

**** your god
and **** the devil
i am myself
i'm ******* special

Bittersweet nightshade drips from your lips
I want to be coated in your poison spit.
My dead skin is datura white,
two mad dreamers dancing through the night.
I can feel your trembling claws
swaying with the foxglove’s paws.
Cut me open and I’ll bleed sap,
strength of the yew fighting back.

everyone writes about nature
they want to hear the birds
and weave a story like a flower crown
watch the sun as it goes down

but i can't stop writing about houses,
old and tired, new and perfect
the horrible things that they have seen
the sickly air hanging in between

the moon will always be here
and i thank her for that
these places will crumble and mold
and i am thankful for that

one day one day i can be
a flower or a star or a fawn
after i scrub the repeating
repeating memories out of my carpet

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.

empty, empty
hollow like fangs
hollow like eyes
that hang by a string
observe everything
observe everything.