i need isolation, not your constellations
i'm sorry but these stars won't guide me home tonight

our ships have sailed far apart
i'm sorry for your weathered heart

standing here i can hear the cries of my melancholic ghost
standing here i can see the tides bring in corpses of our love

but if you can please forgive me dear
i loved you so with all my tears

salt water was the only thing i could ever understand
salt water is the only thing i ever needed, my friend
salt water is the only thing i could ever be in the end

I never called it ****,
the events of the night the gin had made us hazy
and the drugs had us reckless.
The half hour you spent strumming me
like some pawn shop guitar
Suffocating me in the sheets
which were covered in the filth of your former lovers.

I never called it ****.

The way your hands had rudely ripped
my previously untouched skin
and your mouth devoured my innocent lips.
Never thought much of the way you had told me to be quiet
while I whispered for you to stop
because I'd never done this before
and it was painful
and I wept.
Because you had warned that I would wake the others
and I was embarrassed
and you had made me *****.

I never called it ****.

Never let the repetition of your phrases sink in too much
as you told me it was fine
and it was okay
that I'd like it.
I never thought too hard.
Because you moved too fast
and the room was spinning
and I gave in to waiting for it to be over.
And when you had gotten too tired of hearing me whimper
and my pleading had become obnoxious
you sighed an angry "**** this"
and stomped off to the bathroom to finish yourself,
after commanding I put my clothes back on,
And find somewhere else to sleep,
I stumbled across your ***** basement to where the others slept
and collapsed hiding silently in the sinkholes of your couch,
Listening to your grunts before the light came on and you passed out
avoiding the stains of my youth on your sheets.

And I never called it ****.

In the morning you drove me home
making little effort to hide your disgust in my failure to get you off
While I looked out the car window at all the houses I had grown up next to,
None of which looked familiar any more
attempted to ignore the stinging of the poisonous scars you had left behind
pretending that my body wasn't covered
in the scratches and bruises of your insincere actions.
And when we arrived outside my parents' house
after an eternity of painful silence
you didn't speak merely
grunted at my departure
and I snuck quietly through the front door to the shower
where I scrubbed until the marks from your fingernails
became indistinguishable from the skin I had rubbed raw
until it bled
trying to convince myself
that I had eliminated all the remnants of your scent
and the dirt from your actions.

But I never called it ****.

you had too many drinks that night,
and she was wearing a dress,
so you thought, "she's a ****," right?
because you label women as:
what they wear is what they are, right?
you tried to woo her countless times,
but she still said no,
and you thought she was playing with you.
you thought, just because she was wasted,
that means she's ***** and wants to ****.
she was an innocent girl.
all she wanted was to have fun,
but you ruined that for her.
even after she pushed you off,
and smacked you in the face,
and called you every swear word,
you thought she wanted you.
she cried for help,
but the music was too high,
and everyone was too drunk,
and they all thought she wanted it too.
and that makes me sick.
because she didn't want it,
she wanted a place to let loose.
she didn't want it,
she just wanted some fun.
a couple of beers,
a couple of cheers,
then she'd go off with her friends.
but you've formed her into a woman,
a woman who screams in her sleep,
who locks all the doors,
who jumps at every bump in the night.
you've done that to her,
and you don't even feel sorry.
you thought she was an animal,
just a play toy.
but she was so much more.
and after she stopped weeping,
you tried to kiss her again,
but she pushed you away,
you got angry with her.
you shook her and smacked her,
you beat her black and blue.
don't lie to me, i know you want me.
i know you want me.
I KNOW YOU WANT ME.
and she screamed,
even if you hurt her.
she screamed and screamed,
even when you broke her jaw.
she shrieked.
she cried.
she never wanted you.
a week later i was walking home,
and coincidentally i looked up,
and on top of the building was a figure.
there was a goddess up there,
black and blue from a beating,
but still beautiful.
her sobs floated from her mouth,
down to the streets,
but no one bothered to listen.
but i did.
and i went up there,
and brought her down,
and hugged her.
she flinched and squirmed,
because some **** had ruined her.
some ******* poisoned her thoughts,
making her believe every guy is the same.
every guy she has ever loved or trusted,
became another trespasser.
she couldn't even look her father in the eye.
but she broke down before me,
revealing herself in blood in tears,
painting me a story that made me sick.
she cried for hours on that roof,
curled up in front of me,
begging me to let her die,
but i refused.
i saved her life,
and i hope no one saves yours for when karma comes around.

You can't breathe.
The cold air burning
down your throat,
clenching up like a fist.
There they are,
in the backseat of a '98 Buick,
your mouth is wide open,
but the air won't inhale.
The blood is clotting up
around your brain,
and the the stars in
your vision fuse and form
clusters and galaxies of color.
You fall to the pavement and writhe
in anaerobic agony. The world
falls from blue to black to white
and your heart is clogging your
epiglottis, dead weight in the
back of your throat.
You can't breathe, yet you struggle
up to walk away, still
everywhere you turn
there's a silver '98 Buick LeSabre
and her, painted in
silhouette across
the back window.

My own body is abandoning me,
the flesh and blood falling out like clumps of hair.
I never wanted a second heartbeat –
already have one too many

but it came with
a full moon; my cycle in its final stage,
to purge and be young again

purge and be hollow.
He or she has whispered, vital things can leave
too, stain your thighs
red like footprints down a path. He or she found the
door easily. I whisper back, you were

a light
too bright for my house
so you set the whole thing on fire.

Ashes, singed skin
float from my crevices like a cloud –

I did not know that
some things can take up too much air before they
even need it
or that I can mourn what
I would have wanted dead anyway. It is

like everything I could
never love
just wants to remain a pink bloom on my *******
until I wish they would have stayed.