As you walked through that door
With the smell of liquor fresh on your tongue
The anger of a man in your heart
You made me halt and muse
Will he ever quit?
My lover lost in the world of *****
Addicted to the lost feeling in the soul
Numbness that came with it all
But as he drank bottle after bottle
He forgot
He forgot me
His beautiful wife

He would come and plot
Which object should I beat her with tonight?
Should I throw he out the window?
Or should I take the time to hurt her slowly and painfully?
Just so I can hear her beautiful cry of pain

I knew what he was going to do tonight
But as the scared little fool that I was
I would just back down not say a word
Take the beating as it was my own fault
For being born
For living my life without a care
For letting him in
For letting him hurt me
For letting him lock me up
For letting him drink
For letting him **** me...

your simple curves
and gentle breath
leave me speechless upon your horizon
the thickness of your summer hair
fading into time
your quiet ways
bring me back
to all i ever was

I keep telling myself it's okay
But, in all honesty,
That's a flat out lie.
I can't deny it.

If I'm driving to who knows where
If I'm sobbing my eyes out
If I'm screaming at the top of my lungs
If I'm yelling at myself for ******* so badly
If I'm wishing I was someone better
If I'm hoping no ones home to see me
If I'm thinking about how much of a failure I am
If I'm pretending that I can pull it together
If I'm assuming I can break the news without losing it
If I'm sitting in a random neighborhood
If I'm writing this in the confinement of my car
If I'm hoping I can disappear for a day
If I'm completely done with all this trying stuff-

Shhhh, it's alright.
No, it's not.

If I'm set on trying again, I'm an idiot.
If I'm going to practice even harder for next time, I'm wasting my time.
If I think I can do better, I'm lying.

5 times. 3 times....
No more. Please. You'll be okay.
But am I really okay? Do you really think I can ignore the disappointment in their eyes?





*....I didn't think so.

Please forgive me for my lack of meter and form of a paragraph. Let me take you to a day in my life, of what was supposed to be the conclusion, on February 9th, 2013. I was on the floor of my bedroom, the cold wood no match for my fevering body. My hollow gaze melting into the green walls, the picture collages of magazine cutouts I spent whole weekends arranging. There were no tears. No feelings beside this hungry ache of emptiness. The clenching grip of depression enclosed around my ribcage.

There were no tears because my mind was made up.

I drew the razor blade  across the fair delicate skin on my wrist, perpendicular. I just wanted to feel something. One. Two more times, crimson paint flowing down my arm, onto the wooden floors. Steady stream, throbbing pain.

It wasn't until my head was light and vision blurry that I noticed my mistake. I cut too deep. But there were no tears. No feelings. Besides acceptance that my time has come. I slowly closed my eyes involuntarily, giving into the soft waves.

Feeling the grip loosen.

if we ever get drunk again
I'll remember that day our lips met
and that day when
you stole my breath away

but if we ever spent the next day
you wanting us to be 'just friends'
I will grab you by your shoulders
and shake the world out of you
and kiss you so hard
that my lipstick stained your lips permanently

this way
it'll be my turn to steal your heart away
and i will make you doubt
of why you ever thought
that you are better off alone

It was once
A never-ending-everlasting
forever-staying-never-breaking
never-sna­pping-never-changing
thick as maple syrup fresh from the tree
long enough to tie up the galaxies together
TWICE
this was the hope I had.

I threw it around you
the seventh time we met,
and I tied one end to your left ankle
and the other end to the space in my heart that I had
saved just for you
I didn't know I was saving it for you.

Because I had no idea
that I would end up caring this much.
That I would write poems about you until three in the morning
and turn those poems into songs
only to forget the melody.

That you would be the reason
for my curled up legs sitting in the corner
and the floor a sea.
My floor is still a sea.

And no one warned me
that you would be the root of this
black tree that is thriving inside my head
despite the dull axe that thumps all day long
yet produces
only bruises
no scratches
I have enough of those,
because apparently the consequence of love
is pain.

And I know a lot about pain.
My hands will be red and blistered for an eternity
from the rope burns you gave me, because
every time you strayed,
I would tug
and then you'd stay.
But your pulls got harder
and your left ankle stronger...
so did mine.
I learned to stop picking at fresh wounds
to let them callous instead
my hands are as thick as a bear
and I've got you to thank for that.

I thought
that you would never stray again
after that nasty big cut you got on your forehead
from wandering too far
you crept up the edge of the cliff
inch by inch
but you crept too far.
You returned with that cut and
swore you'd stay yet
now your wound is reopening
and your big toes are already off the cliff
and this rope I tied around you
this once massive rope
this once massive hope
is now
a stringy little thread.

My hands are shaking and
my wrists are bleeding
but I'm still holding on.
Because my real hope
is anchored to something
much stronger than the both of us.