fifteen on my windowsill,
yet ink on my hands that I will wash
and on scraps that will be crumpled
and i like to open them when the house falls to murmurs

there is no moon here,
and I've seen no stars
between bars
that keep out
the vicious
and
keep me in

yet a light, somehow,
shines on blank pages
(empty for ages)
that whisper
come closer
and
cover me

Not a nice girl,
not nice,
but a girl,
who for the first time
did not want to be nice
but wanted the words
to spill like blood from
an open wound
wanted the words to escape like
trapped birds from a cage,
that could peck and **** and pester,
that everyone might run from,
yet can only watch with a smile
as they take to the crisp autumn air.

I like it when it hurts,
a little bit-
I like to feel some self-inflicted,
irrational
pain-
I am
masochistic
turning the knife toward myself
I am
biting down on
roses
I am
picking apart everything you say
until your words are
shards of glass that I
dance on
and then
and then
I’ll
I will come to you
when I start to cry
and ask you to pour
iodine on my
wounds
so I can kick you in the face
because you missed my birthday.

In the dream I had last night-
in between the ebbs of light
where nothing’s wrong and nothing’s right

someone died again.

They keep dying, in my dreams
the people that I love, they seem
to melt away by silver beams

each moon’s ****** vein.


I awoke with swollen eyes
and with breath that couldn’t help but sigh
relieved that there are no goodbyes

no more stinging pain-

but the darkness still remained
and of the morning sunshine I’ve been drained
because the knowledge that I’ve gained


That in my sleep, I’d killed them.

infinity
is somewhere in the milky way
the way
it swirls between the stars
and promises
to keep moving
without rhythm
never stopping
always pulsing
ebbing waves
on and on and on
a kiss that lasts forever

and we are
fragile like the earth we live on
pleading
with our life giving sun
that promises
just one more day
on every day
to keep burning
always blazing
fiery passion
on and on and on
until the day that it stops

Sometimes
I just wish that the nonsensical fell
right into its place
and didn’t get tangled
in branches like kites
and thorny vines
that climb up stone walls

and sometimes
I wish I knew that everything
would work out
just the way I plan
and everything
would fill itself in
to my equations

but kites will blow where they please
and flowers will grow how they please
no matter which way
you fly
or plant
them

and
I hate math
anyway.

last May
on my couch
as we pretended to watch
animal planet
as we pretended to listen
to hippos playing,
the world was silent
as we slowly inched closer

until
we breathed
‘**** it’
and then

after all that time
for the first time
like nothing else
there was nothing else
but time

that’s when
I knew
you make
me brave

enough to jump
headfirst into
a pond full of
some predatory
hippos.