Toothpaste residue washes down the drain,
mouthwash follows.
I waste my time cleaning these bones inside my mouth,
to be opalescent with their crooked demeanor.
Wondering what others think of me,
thinking about how today has been endless
and tomorrow will follow suit.

Spending time gazing into the mirror,
trying to change.
& we'd prefer to be found
with alcohol in our blood,
laying somewhere cold in a snowbank.

A bullet inside the glass I'm drinking from,
I bite down as my brain erupts,
splatters the wall.
Ending my ****** writer's block...

the mortician left to inform the world,
of the irony in never including yourself as a character.
Everyone's face is shadowed and misplaced,
like a Picasso painting.
Those faces have haunting features,
an appearance that shouldn't matter,
it's the judgement within those eyes.

Why can't we peel off the skin and lies,
like an age old band aid?
Revealing the shredded bones
beneath the act of aging.
We're all so weak,
with conflicted truths,
signs of emotion are signs of weakness:

Still so many of us fortunate souls are lead to wonder why?


why? why?why?

The desire to be nothing
pertained to me,
trading smeared blue inked letters
written in my woes and goodbyes,
that were premature.

Oh, how the piano with its' keys have broken off,
means the musician lost his will to play,
drowning himself on a west coast beach-
A poet with her repressed memories,
have made themselves a home in her troubled mind.
And we all have;
so many words,
so many truths,
so many secrets,
and these words drown her so.

The need to conceal my inner most demons,
no attention drawn to myself, a paper bag over my head.
Another placed over my head,
a smile scribbled on its surface.

My attempts go unnoticed,
as I'm the only one pointing out my flaws.
The bag has the same tired word scribbled on the inside,
"failure"
and the ink stains my face.
I had never approved of labels,
but there are ones that cannot be removed.
We have these facades,
we orchestrate
at the expense of an existence
we're refusing to live in.

You don't come around anymore,
but I still remember making memories
that never had a place existing anyways—

the say heaven, hell, and purgatory
don't count as long- distance
still I punch in your number,
listening.
To the buzz on the other end,
muting the television,
turn down the lights,
and put candles in the room;

I keep your existence alive by fabrication,
sewing selective memories in the lobes of my brain,
but they manifest
& my dreams--
are the seams of my sanity
being pulled out.

You're always there with a glass of lemonade.
Yet, you never knew what an inside voice was,
as you scream about how wonderful the afterlife is.

Your proposal a tempting blade,
the encouraging way
you promise
I'll see you-
meeting the artery in my neck,
or a tendon in my wrist.
You know-
I've done it more than once-
mistake my sickness, for your ghost.
I swear,
I can hear your voice,
all the time now.

I haven't felt this sick in a long time,
can't even recall the last time sleep came to
me in a quiet hush, with a wash of calmness,
asleep with the sky resembling
a blanket of
stars casted
out into the atmosphere.

A constant migraine hammered into my skull,
everyday I burst out randomly and cry
so hard until my knees quake,
my sadness does not end,
it folds me, unfolds me;
creases me, & turns me into a paper airplane-
I float.


There's no tin can tied to string,
I can't set out lawnchairs,
and await
for the Thursday,
you were supposed
to live to see-
never comes,
there's an emptiness in shuffled feet,
and hatred for that surgical green color.

Or when people utter "home"
I think of your paralysis
and the way your word's
fought for meaning, in that slurred tone:

"I'm going home"
I've never been religious
nor do I judge those who are,
but I've been spiritual my whole life-
the spirit knows when it dies.

my skin shudders to think how they carted you off;
to discover the parts of your body
you had not known were betraying you,
your lung's gave up
and soon the breaths in your chest,
had no place left in this world.

Like anyone else;
trying to justify why time rots hope, as it loosens our grip on reality.

Awaiting your chatter as
I shave my legs while,
you do your make up
in the faintly lit bathroom;
I hated that guava pink lipstick
you wore like it was your job.
I loved that mauve colored one
that made cherubs beg for you to
hold them in your maternal arms,
always having open arms for all outcasted,
it was part of your charm.

They say you always know when you're dying:
does that make an illness,
the equivalent to the
heartbreak of your body knowing
it has no regard to live any longer,
and the crisis with mortality,
that if we fend off fears and try to be stronger,
then an unbeknownst curiosity for what happens.

You know, we all know.
We are all going to die someday.

But-
does your mind go
when you die too?
or do memories remain
as something complacent
that even death cannot
strip the soul of?

I’m fine,
thank you.
So talk about your demons…
give my your share,
you asked if I loved anyone,
but you wouldn't understand-
trying to love yourself.

Instead you lied about studying psychology
and asked my bra size;
my eyes were as big as that full moon,
when I watched you and him
skinny dip in that pool.

I never would have been able to predict
what would happen next,
He was ******* and said-
“Don’t have ***”

Drove around in your car,
held hostage
the next day
I never had any idea
as to what I should say-

It was MY body,
but not your dichotomy to know
where those parts were
stripped of my soul,
to reveal what hurt-
& you impregnated me with an omen
that visits my sleep every night.

It has your ******* sapphire eyes
and licks its chops.

“You led me on” It says
(defending a child predator)

Next,
harassing me for gas money,
Didn't I give you enough?
your existence is a heavy
debt in my mind

I lost a friend,
my ****** addicted friend.
They detest me
but defended you-
can't help but wonder
if god's the *******
who makes me bleed.

Was the thievery of purity,
enough to succeed in creating imagery?
I speak of how I lost my dignity & sanity.
But-
your toxicity never strains itself from my veins.

Cicadas hum quietly,
amongst the summer choir.
Locked doors,
birds on their wire's.
Keep from harm's way,
but thorted by desire-
Blinds colored gray
block out humanity.

These dreams speak to me through insanity,
a tv plays white noise,
my mind is in calamity.
As nightmares creep in through my eyelids,
amid the darkness of this quiet house.

This is my Strauss-
wooden floors entirely silent,
the thoughts inside are violent.
Recalling Baptist Hospital.
No cart rhythmically on call,
a nurse alloting me two pearls to swallow.

Making the sea of seretonin flow,
making happiness through my body grow.
Tonight,
I take my trazadone
no longer resembling a pearl,
my toes curl.
At the bitter taste,
following the nightmares that make haste
to follow me to bed,
praying I don't wake up dead.

In the dusk of August we remained separated.
Different lives lived,
wondering has the "best day of our lives" already come.
Riding home in your car;
I remember how full of life you looked in my eyes.
We both laughed about inside jokes & stories from childhood,
I never figured out how to stifle my guffaw that spoke of how lonely I am.
I promised you my honesty, always.
Referred to it as a curse,
but a fate much worse is-
the one where we never belonged to one another.

Sometimes, my head gets so heavy:
I never belonged underneath the sun.
I had stopped writing poetry for weeks because, I didn't feel I had anything worth saying.
Until August 4th.
I cried to you, poured my heart out to the waves.
Where I dreamt they carried us away-
in the mundane life I lived,
my bones could never be content in finding happiness within myself.
Last August we spoke like two children in love.
Becoming the lights that illuminated Gulf Breeze where my residency was.
My heart erupted into
smoke signals across Pensacola
that reach your window.

We spoke effervescently of a future we'd
be a part of together.
We spoke of intimacy and how it'd feel to be enraptured by passion.
I'm a fleeting thing, my love.
Gone.
Like the rotting leaves through Autumn in another state,
I am the present time when-
destiny does not meet with fate.
I'm no longer here,
with a curtained heart outstretched,
loving me is dastardly,
and now it's too late.

—KRM

Spoke with an angel in a nightmare,
her voice out of tune with the weather,
she weeps so pretty,
but when she sings.
Time stops & the bones,
of the waking world shatter.
Forlorn,
eerie,
soprano soundescapes
the windpipes,
an eclipse forms from her wallowed pout.

The pouring of light emphasizes on
sorrowful words spoken,
the world places a sympathetic ear to
the chest of the sky.
The pounding doesn't stop.

Sky is slate,
a skulking cat,
with slit eyes.
The introduction of a silver tressed girl
and her delight
for crimson,
red and sheets of whiteForeign
fables pour from
the wrists,
dripping down the elbow.
A pirouetting figure,
with dandelion wisp limbs,
struts past to sing of her disease.

Legs swing in the urge to
jut off a 1,000ft building,
the chilly breeze used to be endearing,
but once you're screaming-
"You are my sunshine,"
in a desolate parking lot.
Wearing happiness
under the eyelids,and a powdered capsule between the lips.

Telephone wires no better than a noose,
choke back everything you want to say.
Weep into the static sound,
nobody's listening.
nobody wants to know-
what's on your mind.

Grabbing at thin air,
mistaking it for potential
or meaning.
Angle the reflection of the mirror properly--
there's a hollowed out torso with;
protruding bones,
that absently cut the days into,
hours, minutes and seconds.
I wanted to break my jaw this week,
I'm not using it for anything.
But chewing my words to never be regurgitated
into anything but rejected suicide notes.
Those letters never fit well,
and the phrases are cliché.
Atleast all those wadded ***** of paper
are weightless in the winds,
like the wings she wore upon her back.
That I desperately wanted
and the red inked margins—
wounds I haven't the courage to make.
So I've cut myself to pieces,
rearranged them more than once,
And just break
and break
and break
and break
and break