The problem with loving an artist is it appears beautiful
You get endless sketches of your hands and eyes
On coffee shop receipts
You get scribbles about the endless abyss of your love
Written in the margins of her class lectures
You will receive long tight embraces and soft kisses that
sometimes feel as if she is trying to swallow your scent
And that's all okay for a while

The problem with loving an artist is it gets ugly
she'll smoke too many cigarettes at 4 pm on the back porch while
She mumbles to the sunset about another day gone
You'll find her in bed at 8 am with pages of sad ramblings
Clutched in hand even in sleep
She will skip meals so she can revise the same four words
Until they are the same as originally written
She will ask you to listen to a different song every day because it
"reminds her of you"

Eventually you will find her with paint and blood
Curling into the drain
But she will shut the door on you
And when you question her about the razors you found in her nightstand
She will take them from you and say
"This is how I make my art"

And for the first time
You will read the poetry on her wrists
And you will be unable to say what she needs to hear because
You are not a poet
You do not know how to make words into love
You do not even know if you want to stay when she calls you

"Muse"

I finally died on a Wednesday night

My dad was in Atlanta with his family
But that’s the way it’s always been
And that’s the way it will always be

My mother was at her boyfriend’s house 15 minutes away
Starting her new life
The one where she tries to forget about me
Maybe if she keeps redecorating his house
She can find a way to hide me in the corner
Collecting dust and spider webs
My picture on the wall hidden by a sea blue curtain

And my siblings were in his basement watching TV
Probably fighting and getting ready to sleep
I never knew that every time I refused dinner or a movie with them
I was sealing my fate like my coffin lid

I was born on a Wednesday evening
5:15 pm at 4 pounds
I entered this world early and that’s how I left it

I killed myself on a Wednesday

I left behind cabinets full of pills I always said I would take
I left 19 notebooks of half written poetry
A few finished paintings and pastel scribbles
And a bowl of almost empty cereal left in my drawer

I left with scars on my body and burns

I left three bobby pins in my boyfriend’s window sill
Locks of my hair still in the kitchen trash
Lighters and pipes still hidden under my mattress

I left my bath water in the tub, turning cold as my body
***** socks crumpled in the corners of my sheets
I left my favorite shirt on my floor

I left my books opened
Underlined all the words I never could say aloud
I kept my favorite CD in the player in my car

I left my toothbrush out and my window open

I left an unfinished prophecy

Why don’t you ask your hairline where I’ve been
My fingers have been on your scalp in all of my dreams
You’ve been nowhere to be seen
I’m not sure what I expected but it wasn’t this
I thought I saw you today
I saw you in the lanky legs of the boy next to me
I saw you in the freckles across the bridge of someone’s nose
It’s strange to think that you’re not here
Your memory never left
It still swallows me at night
You are in the back of my eyes
All black and white

Did you really expect love from a girl who
compares herself to gasoline
But do you really want a girl who dreams of
lost things every night to love you
I eat chocolate frosting out of the jar
And I always bring a gun to a knife fight
A back alley stabbing with gold bullets
Do you really expect someone who sleeps
With her boots laced and bag packed
To be capable of love
I have mirrors in my corneas so when
I look at you
It appears that you are the only one I've ever seen

And lately I've been reading all these things
about people being blind and still
having hope and praying to god

Like maybe I can instill some of that into me

Like maybe if I can find some feeling of normalcy
if I find a joke funny or
some lyrics that really speak to me

Cause here I am with two good eyes
when I've got my contacts in and two
working hands that I have yet to do good with

I used to want to help the world but
now I think I only wanted the attention

I feel less connected each time I come home
Our dogs only bark at strangers
But I've never gotten into the door quietly
My mother and I orbit the house like planets
We crashed by chance four years ago
And we've been in pieces
Drifting farther into the space
That is in our bedrooms
Since that moment
I have started to feel like a ghost
And I can't breathe unless
I am completely alone

it is 4:56 am and you went to sleep
two and a half hours ago
but I'm sitting here going through all of your pictures
reading comments left from girls who are
so much prettier than me

it's hard telling yourself "do not get attached"
when all I want to do is sew myself to you
weave my veins with yours until they
take root and start to bloom in your bloodstream

a lot of the time I want to poison you
make us an even more twisted modern tale
of Romeo and Juliet

you say all of the right things but it is never enough
I want to burn the love letters on top of your funeral pyre

a lot of the time I dream of killing you