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I want you to give me bruises around my neck,
so that i can put you behind fear.
I hold your music in my hands,
the notes falling off each page,
i don't feel the music like I used to with you.
Eyes burning, face burning,
waking up with Kleenexes underneath my fragile body.
Paper filled with tears to hold.
Warmth in your smiles,
hatred in your eyes,
rage in your hands.
I file our disturbing memories.
This is not a home but a psych ward,
the only protection is a lock on my door.
I didn't give you permission to stroke me,
to rip me from my pride,
to destroy my only innocence.
The flowers around the house begin to die slowly,
they smell the yelling and the throwing.
A girl weeping in a corner, a memory of my recent past.
I wish I could go back to ignorance,
when all I knew was the word "light".
I don't want to hold things in anymore,
i want to let my words spill all out onto the page.
Don't want to become like you,
but am already half you.
You know what they usually don't say,
like father like daughter.
It's a black and white picture,
no more differences.
Always your shadow behind me as I look into the mirror.
Your fingerprints are on the piano,
staining the keys.
The piano is your music,
voice is mine.
The times we spend together are the times I want to rewind back,
to make them into perfection instead of what they really are,
pain and dysfunction.
I am eating up everything,
but so empty inside.
I need something more,
a touch of love from you.
You don't know me at all,
but i know everything about you.
Your heart has broken into many pieces,
spreading through your body,
you just don't show any piece of it.
Who will fix your mess when everything you touch breaks completely?
I will, I have to, since I am your other half.
If you want the background/inspiration to this poem feel free to message me
You once told me
that your favorite part of me staying over,
was how your pillows smelled like my hair
after I was gone.
I thought that was funny;
Because when I got home,
before I washed it,
I'd smell my hair.
In it were wisps of you.
i. descend

i've lost weight since we last met
we fit differently from before-
bird-thin, the both of us-
but this hollow in your feathered chest is
still where i feel most at home-
your jade eyes
a nest, to cultivate my happiness

i've been betrothed to the birds
you stayed back, earthbound
i fell, a cataract, from the red cliffs
you watched me sink, earthbound
i was ripped to shreds in the tundra
freezing and thirsty
and you listened instead to the flowers,
drowning me out as i whispered for help

they told you sunlight stories
when i was trapped in dusk
i was an inch from the edge of night
and you fled
so as to not be consumed.

ii. unpend

i know what i told myself-
i said i shed my mourning veil-
but i still weep for the morning lark,
your lightening song
haunting my brittle nightingale

i write you letters every night
with a fountain pen slathered in red ink
saying what i never could,
spilling my regret on the page

(wake up with ****** hands)

i should have known
you were no one to trust
you're just a fledgling

we're all so naïve.

iii. the end

i take flight, for brave is the man
who would leap from the bluff
to prove his worth;
for i can take action now-
i can say this now,
where before i sat on the sidelines

i will not wilt
in your arms
just for a moment
i will hold you tight
my prisoner

thank you for keeping me alive
i don't need that anymore
thank you for staying by my side
when i had eyes set to ****

thank you for helping me to ascertain
that i’m no phoenix
thank you for participating in
my stupid guessing games

you were the match
to ignite my nicotine habits
but now i'm the one who's
decided to spark and fade

green-eyes,
i've made a decision
and this time i'll stick with it-
featherlight now,
i will make my escape
i am choking for words.
i hacked off the tip of my tongue
to spite my quick wit-
stumble over it.

lusting for beauty through text/
creation is hollow at best-

a dollhouse
a fantasy, dystopian as per usual
for an idle mind
losing hours and
pickled in hate's brine.
   salt in the wound
   salt in the wound

angst, angst, teenage angst.
a kiddie anarchist.
stop fighting it.

turn up the stereotypical.
depression playing on the radio.
don't try to be more original.
what haven't we seen?

choking for words and
stuck on painted portraits
all is well, but never exciting
i'm exiting this uneventful existence
all for once and once for all.

-and you thought there was a winner
buried in this chrysalis-
well, the rhythm has returned,
but i'm sick

of painted portraits and lost hours
and sugar-coated expectations of the truth
how uneventful, how unexciting
and i'm tired of razorblades,
but at least they're honest

speaking down, insults and
lies and i know i need to sleep
but i'm fighting it.

i'm ready to move on, but not for long
not for long and
you'll see me as a butterfly someday.
i dreamed about you
last night.
you were alive.
i learned about loneliness last night,
belatedly, because no one ever bothered
to explain it to me- it was
something best kept for the time it existed in
the blank space where a hand had once been
a soft shaky touch
now absent

the sorrow comes in sultry waves
with the indigo tide of me missing your breath
on the hollow in my sleepy neck,
a whisper backandforth inandout and then
a hitch, a twitch and the slow descent
from sea-froth into dreamland

we drifted, content, into the
scared scarlet hills where nightmares roam
where i made my home, knowing that
in sleep your whispers still coated my pillowcase
and i was not alone

we sank, satiated, into
the wasteland in our wasted heads
knowing that despite the terror, we could share your bed
knowing that when i woke, gasped, drenched in sweat
you would brush the hair
from my forehead
i'd remember my respite
and we would settle down once again

and as i lie, disconsolate
my ribcage heaving, desolate, i pull your jacket
to my face, breathe in your scent, your comfort
rise from the depths
and thank whatever guides our fate
that i only feel this pain
in the present
that's what he always smelled like- cigarettes, *****, and axe.
"arson is always the answer"
he says with a delinquent grin
we're ****** and ****** up
smashing our own storefront windows
for the sake of the beauty
in the shattered glass,
in the crimson staining our skin  

we keep ourselves busy
tending to our wounds
then brag later, calling them battle scars
in an attempt to counteract
the pitying stares and then
the disgust when it's learned
their source is our own hateful hands

just stroke our teenage egos,
stoke the flames
and we will continue
to set your world ablaze
we'll search for awe and distraction  
**** consequence
you know we had no future anyways
there is a man inside of me
he swears and screams
he is violent and
mean, unafraid of confrontation
i attempt to **** him with cigarettes
and *****
he only grows
and now he sleeps
in my throat
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