When wisps of dandelions lay still in the blanket of your hair,
and your eyes can no longer say I love you,
without your lips moving.
I know my world has ended.
We stood on the porch
with the wind chimes blowing songs through my ears.

There's still something there through this Armageddon. I recollect the curve of your smile or the shape of your face
in every single pool of water I come across.
Your eyes had a haunting quality about them,
as they look through my hollowed out frame,
and see what wars I've fought.

It was your time darling,
your time I bought.

I know,
my world is ending.

The skin of strangers bone's looks dimmer,
and your heart looks darker.
When it's revealed in the quiet of our room.
That distorted haziness your voice gets when you're tired, is there all the time.
I can never help but wonder what I did wrong.

Asteroids come hurling towards me
at a thousand miles an hour,
The world is ending.
Just as predicted.

Where are you now?
Clairvoyant and always knew just what to do.
What happens now that I've been left behind.
What happens now that I can't pick up the pieces?

Your promises never looked more beautiful,
than when you couldn't keep them.
Lies never seemed more eloquent
than when you couldn't stop telling them.



Your face it haunts me.
Your words they weaken me.
Your hours we devoted to one another- cut through me.

I'm not afraid anymore,
to do this alone.
Let the flames engulf me,
let my skin hang loosely from the bone.
Let me drown.
Let me fade.
Let me waste away.
Let me be reborn.
Let me live again.
Let me find a way back to earth.
Let my soul go on.

There was a time I thought of adoration
when mention of you,
but it's now replaced with bitter resentment.

In the miscalculated performance,
you couldn't be faithful.

And now I see-
dandelions are just weeds.

And now I see-
I see everything.
The honesty your spirit lacked,
the lies you spoke from cracked lips.

And the venemous kisses you placed upon my skin,
I was poisoned- to think I saw everything from your perception
and ignored my own crumbling world.

Now, we are nothing.

There's something honest in hurting enough to display your brokenness like an archive.
There's a wooden fence in the backyard that leads to a small pond; frogs croak, the southern sun pulverizes our skin. I used to imagine sneaking down to that pond late at night, slitting my wrists. I was suicidal, I'm not sure if I am anymore. It played out so beautiful in my mind- almost how Ophelia drowned.
      Water lilies cover my dying face, metaphorical really. Water is dyed a maroon color and my skin has the life drawn from it. This was the summer my family welcomed a new child and all I could do was devote time to my demise.

Hallunicuated hearing my mother's dissapointed words scold me.
She's a ghost and I still  wanted to trade places. My father got re-married, I lost even more of my mind. Hysterical tears and maniacal nights with the same songs on repeat. I tore through my skin like a dying garden, hoped for death like someone with nothing. I have so much; my father, my home, my sisters. I felt I didn't have anyone.

Found solace on my skin-
writing novels, not stories.
Brick surface, room on the right where I built walls with no desire to fight. Large window with the vast world outside, but I never participated. I'd weep until, the sun awoke. I'd swear the moon warned me to quiet down.

Bled so much,
I could have saved several lives
instead, of trying to take my own.

Living near the ocean should inspire happiness,
remaining caged in my bedroom,
I hear the ocean call my name.

A siren draped in golden satin with red lips,
she combs my hair for awhile.
Moves her hips to an old crooner's song,
that plays in my mind-
the sun is so full of ****, so full of lies.

Telling me, "I'm gonna be fine."
Why's it always in my eyes?
Everything’s just "fine" for the sun,
loved by everyone.

She is mocked by its presence,
she does what you wanna do.
Sings a solid hymn with the understanding
in life,
nobody wins.

The siren kissed my hand while,
taking pins out of her hair.
She unfurls the waves of an ocean-
revealing a black case with red felt
in her arms.

And she sang,
"The sun will come,
I will melt."

Red felt held
two ethereal stones.

"Sweet sadness cannot be escaped,
you are not fine,
this was only ever fate"

I've tied the  stones around my ankles,
the brush is in my hand.
I feel the coolness of her hair in my palms,
my hands wince from the pressure upon
my face.


The sun is just a lesson never learned.
Feel the sadness lift,
before I can rush ashore,
it's too late.

"Come
sweet sadness cannot be helped,
you are not fine,
this was only ever fate."

To love you,
meant seeing your reflection in pools.
Who does love have?
A sunset doesn't even remain,
and stars die nightly.
North of here,
love has nothing.
Autumn is on it's own,
winter sits upon a cold lonely throne.

Only love is left to plant seeds,
in the hearts of spring.
Metaphors burrowed in chest,
it's a relief to smell long- distance.

It's a similar burning sensation,
just like that familiar place hell-
that you put me through.
Prisoners with their chains are always breathing like
they're living
but they're only surviving;
inhaling smoke into their lungs.

We've all come to find,
peace on Earth,
is only in our mind's.
And I've come to realize-
I'm chained to you,
forever in binds.

Fingers shake clasping a camera between them,
there's no film in it,
just an urge to capture fragments of time
before they decompose
into a grave of forgotten moments

Inadvertently,
I speak of my own funeral
in the present tense.
My frame resembles a cadaver
in the summer months,
limp from depression
but encouraged by mania

Fingers shake,
causing an earthquake between the fault lines of my palms
close my eyes and I've become a paperboat
floating on a pond,
cattails brush my edges
where incisions were made
they dazzle with coats of glitter
and star stickers

Like madness pirouettes through flames,
the wet edges of pages
are destroyed and what I was made of
could not remain.

such a gentle color,
maroon is under the starlit night
I am fragile,
but not enough to crumple in your grasp.

Sickly creature found
clawing up the rocks
with hell below,
there isn't a sound.

She is a girl,
but resembles a ghoul.

How sad it is
that she couldn't smile,
she never found living worthwhile.

You-
as a human being,
have morality to make her feel loved
even if you never meant it.
You- as a human being,
benevolently take advantage of vulnerability
and see it as doing a favor.

You're the patron saint,
savior for suicidal girls everywhere.

Her frame looked beautiful stretched out,
skin was the perfect canvas
to plant unmeant kisses,
matching the color of her underwear
you'd never see.

The bones fashioned into a bed
you lay in,
again, it isn't a sin
when she's barely breathing.

Seething with melancholy,
tasting the despair on pouted lips.
You had *** with her misery,
and ****** when she had unmoving hips;
Saw the lines up and down her thighs
so he cuts the ****-
and became a decent person by “loving”
a girl who didn't believe she could be.




Just the distance between a ceiling fan
and chair held her back,
from being free.

She’ll make up another one like you,
or assume the worst of everyone for the rest of
the days she decides to see.
Rests in her own bed
re-living the grip of your hands
reaching for her pants

She’ll bare a toothy grin in your direction,
make a joke about suicide or hoping to be dead
and you'll never know what to say-
just that you can find blame in everything,
but what's inside her head

But even with you there-
she's always alone.


No need to be held and caressed
as if it will subdue the demons that rest inside,
or that she'll wake up the next day no longer depressed.

Put that sad music to rest,
dressing her sorrow in lace,
paints her face,
and collapses farthest from grace.