i'm searching for something that i can't reach

she sleeps irregularly. she cries and breathes all at the same time
but does not make a sound. her face falls apart every morning when
she realizes she is still alive. the anger coursing through the blood
vessels in her body is not caused by anything, it comes rapidly and
mockingly. she counts to ten and holds the air inside her lungs and
hopes to any being listening that her nose stops working so that the
air inside her can expand and then eventually diminsh so that she
can tear herself apart all over again. she eats unhealthy. stuffing salty
fries and refrigerated microwaved chicken down her throat and forcing
the urge to throw it all out down to her skeleton so that the food
remains in her body, making bumps in her stomach and sticking
out of her ribs like unwanted monsters. she likes being ugly. she likes
that no one ever notices her and when they do they don't say a
word she likes that her own body betrays her and punishes her eyes
when she wakes up in the morning and realizes she is still alive.
she is a phantom. she is a ghost. she is a whisper. knowing her will not
be an adventure it will be a maze filled with poisoned leaves and razor
sharp rocks. her smothering brown eyes will captivate you and
undo every single knot in your body and make you feel like gravity
does not exist. but she will not be pretty. she will never be beautiful.
touching her will be like trying to collect shards of glass off of the floor
from a bottle of wine that you accidentally dropped. she will not
love you. she will not love herself. she will only convince you that she is
happy being a mess, a disaster and you will have no
choice but to believe her because your love is short lived and
only exists when she feels worthless and lonely enough to want
your company. you know this. she knows this. neither of you will
say it. the truth is an ancient phonebook neither of you have
ever heard of. *she is not a hurricane, there is no eye in her

(h.l.)

~~~~~~~
Is It Better :

To Gesture & Not Speak

or

To Follow Blindly
And Imitate

?

We are wrestling against Stygian tides
This agony is yours too,
Not just mine.

I see you see me with impassive eyes;
Such smothering obligations,
Your smothered sighs…

It makes me want to weep
To see us drown in this impasse.

The rocks tire of turning,
The ravens grow hoarse, screaming
You are not my mother;

And I, a graceless archer, live
By slaughtering birds at night,
And burying corpses by day.

Laughter floats like a mirage
Hovering above us like doves.

You say
I hate you.


But I hate myself more.

He often sat alone.
Known by none, liked by none.
He was shy,
never looked in the eye.
He was falling,
falling from the sky.
But, the sky wasn't.
It was more.
It was the constant fear he got when
others whispered loud enough to barely hear,
it was the 12% he got on a test because he was stressed.
It was life.
He lived like a knife;
always used for the simple things,
but was nothing for the hard.
You used him to butter the bread,
but his was still burnt.
Oh, what a shame.
He should've learnt.