I’ve tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
“you can’t wear red lipstick”
made me believe
I never wanted to in the first place.

for every time instead
I’ve stained my lips with cherries
learning how to tie the stems
so I can slip forget-me-knots
to the back of your throat—
do you feel my restriction now?

the razors that fly off my tongue
perk thorns on my skin,
another down stroke on my wrist
will teach me that
you were right,
shyness is a virtue.

no need to speak,
go spend one hundred dollars
and some percent for tax
to cover up,
even though I’m sure your mother told you
that cotton stains.

so make it black.
get your hair stuck
in the zipper of that sundress
and pray as you pull it out
that it will lose its pigmentation
in the process
mark a down stroke
for killing two flowers
for one bouquet.

hold it
close your eyes and throw it back,
I know we shouldn’t be wearing white anyway
but tradition can take a lot out of you
like what you really think—
don’t say **** in public.

instead drag your first impressions
all the way to the altar
and dress in your Sunday best
a flower on your lapel
clear on your lips
a stroke for the neat decline
of the son

I tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
my image
was my fault.

Her deep brown eyes were now achromic

I craved her love but she was bent on straight needles. Constantly needing reminders that she's still human and can feel, still putting up barriers between her and her evils. Seeing the man up on the steeple she knows her attempts are feeble

Constantly misguided by the Christian belief that acceptance was key to the question of "am I worth it"

We use to talk but now you're aphasic

She was in a dreamland where voices were something to be tasted she was so anesthetized from these pills that were prescribed to help her dream but nothing could be prescribed to help her wake

It was like seeing the sun go away but not being replaced by the moon

I was just hoping it was a phase that would pass and she would return without a trace of the past but this hope was as empty as these bottles
These feeling so corrupted
These words so unheard

Like a wolf howling only to be answered by a vacant night

And it doesn't matter how much I beg and fight
She tightens her grip on her defenses like the band on her arm
But still leaving her defenseless to her emotions

That might as well be where she is 6 feet under a pile of broken dreams and wondering beams of support that holds up her house of sanity with a vanity of broken images of who she hates the most.

She's caught between a lake of fire and limbo, on a tipping scale one once from destruction

I know I can't bring the sun back but maybe I can find a new light in this darkness.

Because she was something I always wanted more of

I twitch when I wasn't around her
I would get the shakes from just one kiss
I would get drunk off her smile and high off her words
We both overdosed on something
Because this love .... was never labeled a drug.