I want you
and a home to come home to
or maybe to come home to you
or maybe a home in you
or maybe I just want you.

if I tie your wrists to the arms of a chair, until your fingers turn purple and muscles tense up for lack of circulation, your limbs incapable of movement, your body no longer under your control, do you think I could match the pain you made me feel when you decided my body belonged to you?
If I lock you in a jail cell, seven feet by two, key between my palms scraping against my flesh, blood dripping from my open tissue because somehow you still hurt me even when you can't touch me, do you think then maybe I could escape from thoughts of you breaking free, able to invade me again?
if I drown your eyes in hydrochloric acid, would the color burn away like the way you stole the color in mine? Like the way you stole the colors from my life?
I can only see in meaningless shades of grey, for the rare moments I actually choose to open my eyes

when you slid your tongue down my torso and bit into my skin with your carnivorous incisors to write your name
when you penetrated my soul with an uninvited spirit to shift mine out of the way
when you decided I was no longer inside of my body, for I had to make room for you
you forgot to bury my mangled corpse and
you left me to the ground to be fed on by the animals with blood on their breath
and I'm running out of meat

the simplicity of the silence,
the holy matrimony of the moon and emptiness,
the unforgiving nature of all the broken pieces -
the noiseless abandonment.
do you feel it?

my mother tells me to stop believing so much in the things i cannot see,
so i ask why she believes in my father
and she is silent.
she stopped believing long ago but hasn’t found the strength to claim the brokenness inside her.
the sadness hangs in the air.
do you feel it?

my teacher asks me about fiction and fact and i say
no one is safe either way,
fairytales don’t always have happy endings.
the disappointment lingers in the room for a long while.
can you feel it?

the way things whither away with the passage of time,
the gradual but constant erosion of once important things
like memory and bank accounts and love.
the theory of decay.
do you feel it?
of course not.

the silence forgets that it knows how to speak
so it doesn’t.
my father forgets that he knows how to love
so he doesn’t.
the author forgets how to rewrite the narrative
and so she doesn’t.

the theory of decay.
do you feel it?
because I do.

You said to keep my eyes on you,
but I was busy memorizing
the way your cadence rose and fell
and how each syllable
altered the contours of your face;
and you revived everything around you...

I'm not a person for promises,
or seeds sown out of spite, but there is something so fascinating about you-

how you glide and breathe
so effortlessly by me

and I think that maybe, you could be my sun
if circumstances
and solar systems
allow

She knew
i was gullible
and so
She tells me she's okay
and she thinks
I believe her
From time to time
I assumed she's fine.

But little did she knew
that behind her
fake smiles
and baggy eyes,
I see right through..

And how I wish
I could take the pain
away from you.

I feel it in my lungs
suffocating me
I feel it in my bones
breaking me
I feel it in every breath I take
choking me
I feel it in every thought that comes to mind
driving me to insanity
I feel it in my sleep
slowly killing me
I feel it in my happiness
bringing me misery
I feel it when I'm with them
longing for the moment I leave
I feel it when I'm alone
wish my heart was stone
I feel it when time stops
and when time flies by
I feel my world falling apart
and there's no going back to the start
yet I stand still and feel all the pain
my soul falls into chains
and I fail once again
I feel my hands shaking
body falling to the ground aching
I wish it was a nightmare and that I'd be awakened
I keep waiting for the day
when everything will be ok
but the mistakes I've made
can't be undone
got nowhere to run
I wonder if I'll ever again get to see the sun.

I like pens that bleed
Ink that smears
Girls with scars
Broken parts
***** clothes
Stained sheets
The hint of blood
The taste of lust
The smells of love
Nights through morning
Mornings to night
Suns that sleep
Moons that dream
And all the pretty
You hide underneath
Those pretty
Pretty
Pretty things