i can only imagine what it would be like to be in the hands of a god.
maybe the closest i'll ever get to heaven is when i'm standing next to you in front of a coffee shop and we're about to have an hour long conversation about the meanings of the world and what we plan to do with our lives. and if i'm being honest with you, (i'm never honest) i'm scared of the future. i'm scared of what happens next.

you said let the rest come easy, but easy for you to say, you have something going for you. you're the human embodiment of success, the embodiment of euphoric nature that i crave to feel.

i wonder what it's like to be touched by a god
can your finger tips graze my shoulders until they run down to my hips? can you touch me all over because i want to feel holy.
i've been feeling sick ever since i found out you exist.

i tried telling my best friend at the time that i was hurting and my heart was ready to explode, it felt as if my lungs were giving up and i knew i was going to slit my wrists in the bathtub sooner or later with my clothes still on.

he laughed in my face and told me there was nothing wrong with me. i stood there in silence, trying to accept that my own best friend didn't believe me when i said i was falling apart. i cried myself to sleep that night and woke up in my own saliva, it was disgusting.

my best friend told me he loved me to death and would do anything to protect me. he tried kissing me one night and things haven't been the same since. he makes me want to wrap myself up in barbed wire and drop myself off a high cliff, falling hard onto the ground.
but if i tell him that
he'll say
i'm
just
fine.

i wish i was normal.
i wish the chemical imbalance in my brain didn't control every move and thought that i make. it seems as if my disorders are written across my forehead and my colored hair is a sign of my illness. but last time i checked, i thought if i dyed my hair, the chemicals in the dye would seep into my brain and give me a spare of serotonin.

i mean, it works. for a few days at least. then i'm back wishing i was dead and praying for a solution. i never ******* pray unless it's for my own benefit. i should probably find my peace because i thought i had it.

i told myself i wasn't going to write this because i didn't want anyone thinking i'm a lost cause. but maybe i am. maybe there is no hope for me. i'm happy, genuinely happy, don't get me wrong, but i'm numb too. undeniably numb.

i don't care about what people say, i don't care about their feelings. i don't care.

i may be a water sign
but ****
i feel like fire.

it feels as if my brain is melting
does that make any sense?
you're standing right in front of me but mama says you're not there
how can it be?
i've seen you since we were toddlers
we took our first steps
lost our first tooth
our first day of school
what does she mean you're not there?
i've seen your friends
you've seen mine
what does she mean you're not ******* there?
i'm going to sleep this off like i always do
i'm in bed with you
but mama says you're not there.

you called me persephone for the first time when your tongue made a home between my lips and thighs

you told me i’d stay; chained to the hell you called your feelings until my legs snapped in half and my arms wrapped around you for support. but you never mentioned if you’d catch me.

you told me i was meant to love you
and i was never supposed to walk away
you told me the ruins we called our bed, were to never be escaped.

you called me persephone for the last time
when i grabbed my phone and walked out the door and into my mama’s car

you said persephone and hades would be forever
but oh, my hades, i no longer want to live life in darkness
i don’t want to taste the charcoal in my throat and choke
you no longer have control over me, my hades.
i’m ready to be set free.

you claim that there is golden power dripping from the edges of your fingertips
you can make me beg for your touch
that you’re a god, and the man above is just a pretty delusion for us to hold on to something wholesome and sweet

i laugh at your tales
because in my mind, you will never curse me like you did those other girls
we’re both immortal when we’re together
the devil and his mistress
two angels that couldn’t redeem well enough

i like to think that i’m special to you
but we all know when you promise me something
you have your fingers crossed behind your back

i’m wondering if michaelangelo has finished the canvas painted on your body with ink, because my lipstick stains just don’t do the trick anymore

your hands are not golden
they’re charcoal
and you’re making me filthy

you remind me of the sun
burning and brightly beaming
but if i get too close, i’ll simply
melt

but i was always the one to take risks.