I let myself go, when all I wanted was
             To be in control, no notion
Of living, only emotion
And what it means to be whole,
Means to be driven.

Button up
The remnants; tight thread
Of frost plaited in hate,
Thick
Along my skin, now
To think it is the
spin
Of pain that keeps
things silkily thin
beneath my lashes, beat
The love I’d burned
To ashes. Never again –
But then, with sickness
I cannot ever quite pretend.