You know, I would like to call this a poem
But really all it feels like is bleeding.
Like the flood that pumped through me is,
Wasted.
And trust me,
That hurts.
When I think of all,
I can't help but cringe.
Because somewhere in the between I lost the pieces of my puzzle,
That I was really looking for.
And that the love that I etched so carefully
Into the lines of your face
Ticked backwards, like a forgotten clock,
At his mention.
For you, I connected constellations in your freckles,
As though there was some kind of system of finding my
Way in this labyrinth that I know so well.
I found oceans of depth in those eyes,
That promised me salvation in happiness
That promised love in loss.
Although I have learned,
That when you explore too deep
It is easy to become lost.
The bleeding isn't a pattern,
There is no rhyme to this reason,
Only treason and tragedy.
So excuse the torrent,
Because I've already drowned in the flood.
Remember when flowers grew in the garden?

echos bounce off of the
brown wooden walls
in this room;
i am stuck.
a constant ringing -
reminder of a time
that once was.
i survive through
dates carved on
bridges in front of
waterfalls.
you avoid eye contact -
and i notice.
we are swastikas
and *** leaves
drawn in permanent marker
on the
insides of
desks.
we are phone numbers
scrawled on
bathroom walls -
do not call me for a good time.
we are cigarette burns -
               on purpose.

God ******, Molly
God ******
I sailed out to sea with you because
You were afraid of exploring the world alone
And that
Is when I learned that I couldn't swim
And you let me drown

I don't know how much guilt you've felt in the last year but
It was pretty ******* ****** sitting at the bottom of the ocean
Waiting and hoping that you would save me

Of course you didn't.

I still don't know if I've been saved because sometimes the bubbles that come out of my mouth only float up.

This
Is the first time you got
Dirt
Under your fingernails
This is
The first time your dad
Didn't come home
This is the first time
Your little sister got
Drunk
And told you about her
Nightmares
This is the first time you stood
On the top of a mountain and
Screamed
At everything
That ever wasn't anything
This is the first time you stepped out of your pants
And into another person's
Body
This is the first time.
Maybe all of your parents' fighting was just a test.
Whether you passed or not depends on how
Late
You went to bed, listening
Or how
Empty
The palms of your hands looked when you
Held them against hers because
You were taught that you should
Hold it all.
Music is hard to dance to when you've been
Taught to stuff your
Fingers so far into your
Ears that you can't even feel
Your own heartbeat.

You were taught to hate the color yellow and have two left feet.

under the pink lemonade sky i left you.
not really, because you left me first,
but i left your memory there.
in the summer twilight i left you.
i left you for vast skies and glorious people
and pink lemonade sunsets.
under the pink lemonade skies i left you,
and under the pink lemonade skies i ran head-on into myself.

I've never been quite crazy
or ever fully sane
but I swear to God I've seen you here
on a day when there was rain.
Did we share the same umbrella
or maybe a cup of tea,
I tend to fall in love
with all the eyes I see.
Tears clouded corners
of your softened emerald eyes;
your fist hit the table,
blood began to rise.
The record player sang and wailed
a million broken songs
and in a flash I saw your hands
and knew I was all wrong.
History reminded me
you were no face unknown,
I know those emerald eyes,
those hands have held my own.
I can't recall who did what
beneath that hazy sky
but my fingertips warn
it's not worthy of a try.
I turn to escape your haunting eyes
but notice, heavy with regret
your crooked smile as I catch a whiff  
of tangerine and cigarette.