this one is for you
little soul.
this one is for you
broken heart.
this one's for the person
who cries late at night.

you're not
alone.
and it's not over
yet.

stay strong.
go on.

the blade is not
the answer.

stay strong.
move on.

tomorrow
will be
better.

let's hold hands,
our fingers entangled,
your sweaty palm
pressed against mine.
let's sit on the steps,
your jacket wrapped
around my shoulders,
while i read aloud.
let's walk down
the streets,
casually pushing
each other
with laughter at the tip
of our tongues.
let's drink coffee
from paper cups
with milk and too
much sugar.
let's feed each other
pizza and lick
each other's fingers
afterwards.
let's cuddle
under tons of blankets,
our limbs a tangled mess,
humming a song
hoarsely and off-key.
let's watch a really
terrible movie
and then
a really great one.
let's tickle each other
breathless
and then lie
on the floor,
tummies aching with
laughter.
let's spoon on the
couch, your nose
nuzzled in my neck.
let's read poetry to
each other and
then
make out,
finishing each other's lines
between the kisses.
let's watch the stars
and kiss hungrily
under the night sky.
let's waltz to
alternative rock
and **** to
heavy metal.
let's get drunk on
a Tuesday,
let's cook breakfast
and dinner
and lunch.
let's sleep through
the entire Sunday.
let's hold each other
while we cry.
let's go the woods,
let's climb a mountain.
let's live
and
laugh
and
love.

Closed doors.
Drawn curtains.
***** sheets
and humid air.

Two tangled bodies.
Two souls
as one.

The dying sun
caressing
bare skin
and twined fingers.

Shared looks
and shared secrets.
And a kiss.
‘I love you’s whispered
in muffled voices.
His heartbeat
is her lullaby.

I keep the words you told me
deep inside my brain
and they bleed into my veins;
I'm bruised all over
and your absence
has driven me insane.

To M.

See, I should have kissed you.

I should have kissed you when I had the chance to. Should have pulled you closer, stood on my tiptoes, my hand tightly clutching your neck, and kissed you full on the mouth. Should have run my fingers through your spiky hair, smiling as your arms closed around me.

I should have found you, the taste of tiramisu still on my lips, and I should have kissed you, giving you a taste of the happiness in a box that you'd handed me so timidly.

Your voice still rings loud and clear in my head, I hear it when I read your messages, that distinctive accent, eyebrows raised, cheekbones moving. And that smile, so sly and cunning, your lips slightly upturned. I *should have kissed those lips when I had the chance to do so. Then and there, among tears and sporadic, almost desperate hugs, I should have kissed you. When you held on to me for just a little longer, your hug tight, your hands running along my back, I should have traced your lips with mine. I should have sealed that promise with a kiss.


"You never see a person only once in a lifetime," you whispered in my ear, your breath tickling me. "That's a promise," I choked on tears, "You hear me, it's a promise."


I should have kissed you; instead, I hugged you once again as you held me tightly and rubbed my back. I should have just reached out. Fate or whatever mystical force there is ******* us up pretty badly. If only I'd met you earlier. If only I'd known you before I got mixed up with the wrong person. I wish we'd had more time. I wish I'd done a lot of things differently. My heart drops in my stomach every time you say you miss me. Your voice will fade away. I won't be able to conjure up your face without looking at pictures, and all your familiar features will be blurred by time and memory. The ephemeral imprint of your skin against mine will soon be gone forever. My heart will grow cold.


The taste of tiramisu will linger, though. Always in the back of my mind, the unanswered question of what it would be like to taste it from your lips. Have tiramisu some time. I hope it tastes like me. You never see a person only once in a lifetime, but perhaps you only have one chance to kiss.

I should have kissed you.

To Sam*

We were stellar; we shone so bright, with our own light, spectacular, blinding. For a while there, you got me believing in forever. You made me think that somehow, a thing so pure, so strong, could last for an eternity. I was truly convinced that ten, thirty, fifty years from now, I'd reach out and your hand would still be there. I had faith in us, in how innocent and pure what you and I had was, in how love, true love, unblemished by carnal desires, could still have a place in our world. I believed in the simplicity of 'my soul loves your soul and it has been so since the beginning of time.' Your hand in my hand was the safest, most secure place in the world. I sometimes existed simply because of the fact that we were invincible and would last long after the stars had all died out. How stupid, how childish.
We were floating, building castles of thin air up on the clouds, and came down to earth not with a bump but with a crash. With an explosion. I sometimes stand in the middle of the living room, spaced out, and wonder, what now? I feel this whole in my stomach, as if a black hole has swallowed all my insides, and there's an endless void inside of me, and someone keeps punching me so I double up, but the fists don't stop- and then a moment of bliss, and it all starts over. A modern-day Prometheus trapped in the confines of my own mind.
The whole world's turned bellicose, and I don't even bother avoiding the shrapnels; could any physically inflicted pain hurt more than the storm inside of me? The only certain thing in my life went to ruins; turned to pieces so suddenly, without the slightest effort. And I think, were we really so brittle? If the backbone of my existence crushed so easily, what is there to say about the rest of my life? My strongest belief was shattered, and thus, all my other beliefs turned out to be evanescent.
I sometimes wish one of us had died. In this way, I would have someone, something external to blame, someone else rather than myself, rather than you, to hold responsible for what happened. Someone else, something else to be angry at for taking you away from me. Because now I am left with bitter disappointment at humanity's inability to preserve something so innocent and rare as the love we shared. But we're both alive, aren't we? Forced to exist separately, forced to breathe on our, and to build our castles in the clouds by ourselves, because when you break china dolls and crystal glasses, you don't put them back together. You just stand there with your hands bleeding from trying to pick  up the pieces.

To F.

You're not the first person I've kissed but you are the first person I want to spend the rest of my life kissing. And it scares me so. I've never been loved - just rejected, at all my attempts of loving, and ever since then I've been afraid, down to the bone, of commitment. Of opening up to someone, of feeling love, of letting myself be loved in return. I've been used and abused, and manipulated, and made fun of. I'm telling you all this so I can emphasize how big a gesture it is on my side to admit that I have feelings for you, that I am willing to make myself vulnerable to you, and to you only. I've been strong for so long that I crave being weak for a little while. So, I'm baring my chest here, and handing you a knife, hoping you won't carve my heart out like the rest of them, scrap whatever remnants of a heart there are from the hole in my ribcage. I've never been domestic, so you need to understand how big a deal it is that I crave your intimacy -- not just having ***, it's not about having ***. I crave waking up next to you, with your arm cuddled to my body, with your leg thrown over my legs: I crave exposing myself to you. Hearing something on the radio and thinking, *Oh, I need to remember this so I can tell him. Seeing something in a window shop and buying it for you just because I know you'll like it. Your being able to order takeout for me from any place, without ever hesitating. Going jogging with you early in the morning, before I've had my coffee and you - your tea. Curling up on the couch watching stupid movies. Touching you just to reassure myself that I'm safe. This, to me, is more intimate than ***. This, to me, is scarier than ***. I used to think I was just lusting after you. Until you held my hand and I knew no one else's hand had ever or would ever fit better in mine. Until you pressed the side of your body to mine like you wanted to be closer to me that physics could allow and I knew I would never feel safer. Until you ran your fingers in circles over my bare knee and I knew this was the most intimate I'd ever felt with someone. Until I read my poetry and you looked at me like I'd put up all the stars in the sky. I am terrified. I am downright cold-blooded terrified of what I feel, and all this, this want, this need that creeps up my body, in every cell. It scares me more than death, more than oblivion, and what scares me even more is that you will take the knife and sink it into my chest down to the hilt, and won't even blink. That you will hurt me like all the rest, that you will leave, or make fun of me, or that you will never love me back. I don't know if love is the right word but I want to know your greatest fears, secrets and desires, and I want you to know mine. I also know I'll never send this to you because I've learned to be strong and to hide my feelings, and to tell myself that this, too, will pass. I'm a coward, because I'd rather be torn up by the pain of watching my love for you die a slow, tortured death than face rejection. I'd rather suffer from the unknown than from the dull, numb hurt of knowing you don't love me. And I will be alone, always. I don't have in me the bravery to face my greatest fear, so I'll let it eat me up. I'll keep myself warm on candlelight because I'm too afraid to light a fire.

i was a spark.
you turned me into fire
but since you left me
i am ash.

and I miss
random things
that I never knew
I could miss.
your body in
my embrace
though it's never
been there,
though it should be;
your scent
in my nostrils
and us,
skin against skin.
I miss your lips
on my forehead,
your arms around me,
your fingers
in my hair.
and what I hate the most,
what I never want to see
is a world
without you with me.

The first time I couldn't get out of bed, I shook so hard I feared my bones would shatter.
My mum never taught me how to deal with this excruciating emptiness inside me,
she never told me one day I could wake up and feel
like nothing in my life would ever matter.
She never told me there could be days and nights that pass by
in the blink of an eye
days and nights when I lie on my bed
and force myself to breathe --
because even breathing feels like a tedious chore.
She never told me I might wake up some day
and feel so tired, so tired that no amount of sleep
would ever make me un-tired again.
She never told me
I might sit on the bathroom floor some night
and feel the water run over me
feel it seep into my bones
and I might just sit there, for hours on end
until the boiling hot water that could leave my skin blistered
went ice cold and made me shiver --
She never told me that
I might sink nails and blades deep into my flesh
like voracious beasts because
it might take the pain away somehow.
She never  told me that
I might stay awake trying to lull myself
every
single night
while voices in my head
churned and churned and churned
that I was useless, that no one would ever love me, that I was incapable of being loved.
She never told me that my bones
would feel so feeble, fragile, that I would always, always feel
so cold.
She never told me
that I would sprawl myself on the bed, eyes wide open,
stinging
and I would wonder why nothing at all
mattered to me.
She never told me
that I would end up fearing the blinding daylight sneaking in through the curtains
because it means another day
of apathetic existence.
She never told me
that I would feel like a graveyard,
and she never told me that
a day might come when I look in the mirror
and see a ghost.
She never warned me
that the world might turn gray, she never
ever
ever
warned me
that panic would sometimes sweep me off my feet like a tidal wave
and I would lie on the floor/in a hole in the ground/on a bed of nails
and struggle for breath
and force my heart to keep beating --
for what I do not know,
because she never told me
that a day might come when nothing in the world would have a meaning.
She never told me
I would walk past snowdrifts and wish for peace
and crave to lie in one and let the snow cover me
until my lips were blue
and my skin was blue
and my eyes were cold
and I was finally as blue on the outside as on the inside.
That I would want to die
simply because there was nothing to keep me living.
That I would stuff myself with pills
so I could fall asleep at last.
She never told me.
She never warned me.
So when I went to her with my wrists ripped open and ragged
my hands warm and sanguine with my own blood,
she told me
We can get through this like family.
I don't know what family is, mom.
I only know what it's like to shake like a leaf from the chill, down to your very bones, when outside it's summer.
I only know what it's like to paint a porcelain smile on my porcelain face and feign interest
because just like porcelain I will shatter.
I only know what it's like to forcefully drag myself in the shower,
to forcefully wipe my chin from the *****,
to scratch slurs on my arms,
or else, to be ecstatic.
I don't know what family is, mom, because I've always pretended.
I don't know what family is, mom, because I'm made out of plastic.
I don't know what family is, mom. Dead girls don't have families.

you're a gulp of breath
and i am drowning.

i'm a droplet of water
and you're an ocean

you keep me awake
because if I close my eyes
you'll be in my dreams
breaking my heart
every night

stop haunting me,
you ****

today
is the last day  
i'm crying.

today
is the last day
i'm hurt.

today
is the last day
i'm lonely.

tomorrow i won't cry.
tomorrow i will smile.
tomorrow i won't push away
the ones who love me.
tomorrow i will not be hurt.

tomorrow, yes.
but not today.

Cold air.
Laughter.
Awkwardness.
It's March.

The wind is blowing
and my heart's
about to turn
to dust,
and butterflies -
I want to **** them
so there's only
us.

The world's reduced
to cold March air
and thumping hearts,
and maddened butterflies,
and our uneven breathing,
and a kiss and
us.

tic-toc
goes the clock
you set your eyes on her
and now you're lost

tic-toc
goes the clock
you talk to her
and drown in the pools
of molten gold
that are her eyes

tic-toc
goes the clock
you talk to her
until the sun is up
and her phone battery's flat

tic-toc
goes the clock
you hold her hand
and know you've got her

tic-toc
goes the clock
you hug her tight
and know she's lost

tic-toc
goes the clock
you kiss her with
your deceitful lips

tic-toc
goes the clock
she's all yours and
you possess her

tic-toc
goes the clock
you make her happy
and maybe for a while
you even care

tic-toc
goes the clock
she's truly lost,
she loves you

tic-toc
goes the clock
but you grew bored
and faked it

tic-toc
goes the clock
you left her
and you broke her

tic-toc
goes the clock*
and now even
nursery rhymes
are about you
you *******

while others dream of
getting an education
finding a job
getting a husband
buying a house
choosing curtains
washing sheets
doing chores
and shopping groceries for the week at the local supermarket
going out with the girls for a night out at some nice pub
having a baby
changing diapers
teaching your kid to talk and read
living the dream
cooking pies for pastry contests
growing old and becoming
a nanny
playing bingo in the local club
and driving a nice car
and not having troublesome teenagers
and dying peacefully
and having a fairly nice funeral
and a nice piece of land in the local cemetery,
I dream of
staying up until 4 a.m.
the only light coming from my
laptop screen
killing characters while pressing
keyboard buttons
drinking wine
and smoking rolled
cigarettes
in a cramped apartment
in some unknown city
a room
stuffed with art
and scattered manuscripts
all over the floor
caffeine nights
and starving my body
but feeding my mind
and freeing my soul
I don't dream of getting married
but of getting my characters together and
then drifting them apart
I don't dream of having children
but of writing children who
grab the opportunity and live
a fascinating life
I don't dream of living
I dream of creating lives
and deaths
and dreams
and love
I don't dream of dying an old lady
I dream of immortalising myself
in creating fictional lives

it's such a thin line
between hatred and love.

a thread.
so feeble.

it's such a thin line
between heaven and hell.

a thread.
so feeble.

it's such a thin line
between you and me

that i can't tell
if it's heaven or hell
if it's hatred or love
if it's you and me or if it's *us

But at the end of the day, I don't want the one who will spin my head round, who will make my blood boil, whose kisses will feel like I'm on fire, whose touch will make the universe explode. No. I want the one who will be okay seeing me throw up after we've had a bit too much to drink; who will hold my hair and call me a loser the next morning, but will, nonetheless, leave two Tylenol on the nightstand. I want the one who won't mind taking care of me when I'm sick, who won't mind my coughing fits and my runny nose. I want the one who will be perfectly fine with running home in the rain after we've missed our bus; who will be content with wearing ugly sweaters in front of the telly, drinking hot chocolate and watching silly movies. I want the one who will cook for me and who won't mind my cooking. I want the one who will be perfectly comfortable with us walking around in our underwear and who will drink as much coffee as I do. I want the one who will lie in bed with our laptop while I'm reading a book and won't mind the silence. I want the one who will buy my parents silly Christmas gifts and someone whose mother I'll be friends with. I want the one who will laugh at my jokes when they're funny and will call me an idiot when they ****. I want the one who will beat me at computer games and who won't mind that I sing even though I **** at singing. I want the one who will open up to me and let me help them; who will listen to my worries but who will respect my personal space. I want the one who will call me silly nicknames and who will tell me they love me everyday. I want the one who will take pictures with me and will pin them on the fridge. All I crave is comfort and stability. Don't romanticise love: the only thing you'll ever need is a best friend who wants to sleep with you and spend the rest of your life with you.

I don't like to tell stories. I like to tell people. Personally, I believe anyone can tell a story - be it a good or a bad one. Stories are simple. What makes a story alive, however, are the people in it: they make it come alive, they make it pulsate, and breathe, they become the story itself, with its bumps, with its ups and downs, its hills and mountains and oceans. Its veins, its lungs, its heart, its brain. Even the most simplistic, uncomplicated, dull story can turn into a blossoming flower, alive with the passion and hatred of the people in it. I like to tell people. The human soul, stripped to its bare backbone. The human soul violated, mutilated. The human soul in all its earnestness. I like to dissect human emotions, to trace back ambition, desire, fear, eagerness, disgust. To take all that makes us human and to carefully twist and bend it to my tastes and preferences. I do not care for the story. I care for bravery and cowardice, I care for cunningness and lust, glutony and barrenness. I care for the living, flowing blood of a story: namely, its people. You tell a crime. I tell the criminal. I tell her deepest desires, her greatest fears, I tell her insecurities, her pride, I tell the way she takes her coffee, I tell what she dreams of at night. You tell a love story. I tell the story of love itself. I tell the way a heart beats against a rib-cage, the way it flutters like a bird trapped; I tell the way palms sweat, throats dry. I tell the way dopamine and serotonine pump through the veins and make pupils dilate. I tell emotions. I tell humanity. The story matters little. The story is a shell, a mere curtain dropped before the real show has even begun. What interests me, what fascinates me, what makes my brain moan with pleasure, is the fate of the human soul, bared of all pretence. So tell your stories all you like. Tell your petty complicated mysteries and your unrequited loves. I take the soul and bare it, and eat it raw. The soul of the story itself: its people.

when i met you
you were broken
and thrown away
like a toy that's been played with
and ditched

you were hurt
and decayed
and mocked
and pointed at
and put down

they made fun of you
and like stray dogs
****** on your happiness
they chewed on your bones
and made you feel like you
were nothing

and you were crying
because you used to
have a cute cactus in a
ceramic ***
and you used to hold it close to you
when they hurt you
but it was stolen
*

look at me, you beautiful creature
look at me, you vulnerable soul

i'll wrap you up in the blanket of
my sweet loving
i will fix the toy that was broken
and paint it in fresh colours
and never ever play with it
because you're art
and art should be inspiring (which you are)
and cherished (which i'll make sure you will be)

and i will put you on a pedestal
and show you how amazing you are
and make you forget
about all the ******* you've gone through

and i'll give you a new
cute little cactus in a ceramic ***
because who said
you're not allowed to get
a second one in a lifetime?

I was lost at sea.
You crushed against me like a wave.
You left me breathless.
Revived me with your lips.
You got me on your ship
and taught me how to sail,
my captain.

It's just a sheet of paper
so thin and feeble
fragile
and almost transparent,
yet it has
the capacity
to hold my broken soul;
all of it
on a piece of paper.

It's just a pen
so feeble
fragile
so solid, made of plastic,
yet it has
the power to
transform my thoughts
into lines of ink
and turn them
into something
real;
all my soul
pouring out of a pen.

Things so
unimportant
a pen
an old piece of paper
my soul turned into ink.

So useless.
So powerful.

I know how to say
"I love you" in
English and French,
and Spanish and Italian,
and Russian and Bulgarian,
and Arabic and Dothraki
and High Valyrian,
and Klingon,
and in any other language
you ask,
I know how to
write "I love you"
in Gallifreyan and
Tengwar,
I know how to make up
a billion different poems
about my love for you.

But still, it won't make you
love me back. I somehow
was never enough for you.
You keep me awake every night
wondering why you left
and I think it's high time
I started looking up
how to say "I don't hate you",
"I've moved on", "I don't miss you"
and "I am okay" in all these
languages in which
"I love you" didn't matter.

when i told you
i was a queen
you knelt before me
sword out
and pledged your allegiance
to the ruler of your  heart
you called me your highness
and dared ask for a crown
i'll now burn your bridges
send knights chase you down
chain you in my dungeons
and dissect you one slice at a time
i'll feed you to my dragons

treason is a deadly crime

i think about the girls
in my class;
the one we have
an inside joke with,
tho we have nothing
else in common;
the one who plucks
my eyebrows
and asks me for
advice and
help with homework;
the one who thinks
i'm a nice person;
the one to whom
no one else is nice;
the one who likes
to hug me all the time
and calls me a friend;
the one who adores
chanel and likes
to talk to me
sometimes and sits
next to me in chem class;
the one i used to be friends
with but we fell out
though we still talk sometimes.
i think about
the other girls
from the golden five;
the two who are
inseparable and
nice to me and
understand me somehow;
the one who
shares my fandoms
and i can vaguely call
an actual friend;
the one i grew up
with who drools
over tom hiddleston
and sherlock and
books with me.
i think about
my literature teacher
who told me
she loves me
and about my
english teacher
who hugs me when
she's proud of me.
i think about
all the other teachers
who call me
exceptional.
i think about
the boy who used
to be my best friend
for two years
but we drifted apart
and yet he'd still
call me if he needed someone.
ithink about
the girl i stalk and
whom i send sweet messages to.
i think about
T. whom i love dearly
and V. whom i love dearly
and N. whom i love dearly
and M. whom i love dearly.
i think about my
sun and stars
who breathes for me,
my knight,
my heart.
i think about
the boy i love
and how even though
he said goodbye
he's "not indifferent"
(and about a promise
i made),
and about his mother
who adores me.

i think about my
mother who loves me the most
about my father
who calls me
princess
about my brother
who pulls my hair.
about my grandparents
and aunt and cousin,
about my mother's
best friends.

and then
i ask myself
"if all these people
are going to cry
if i happen to die,
if all these people
will lose sleep
and scream into
their pillows at night
and ask themselves why,
what does it matter
that i
don't
love
myself?"

to me, you and i
rhymes really well
with **a l i v e

Let's steal my father's car
even though I don't have my license yet
even though you're not allowed to drive in this country.
Let's run away to a place
where your parents aren't fighting
where your mother is healthy
where my family isn't toxic
where I'm not burdened with crushing responsibilities.
Let's roam endlessly under the stars
with only the moon to keep us company;
let's escape to a place
where the cops won't pull us over
where only you and I will matter;
let's escape to a time
when you and I can happen.
Let's drive away to a place
where our laughter will resonate
for miles around;
where your face will bathe in starlight;
where we can be the only lovers left alive in the galaxy;
where your soft lips can touch mine again;
where your fingers can draw patterns all over my skin
with invisible paint;
where we can fight until we make out:
your lips
my hips
your hands
my hands;
let's run away to a place
where nothing else matters;
to a time
when we can forget about the world.
Let's escape and paint the world anew
in screaming color,
in bright lights,
in loud sounds;
let's leave all fears behind
because you've been hurt
and I've been hurt
but I've had enough of being wary,
I've had enough of guarding myself.

Let's steal my father's car
and run away together
to a time and place
when and where together exists.

I'm sick and tired of this pride,
Of building walls around us,
I don't believe in
amori vincit omnia
but maybe I can warm your heart up
and you can stitch my scars up
and maybe this will be enough.

if
                                                 i
         we
                  re
                                    
                                          to
                        
                           f
                            a
                              l­
                                l
  
                         ­    a                          a
                                    ­                                                      t
         ­                           p                                     ­             
                                                   ­                      r

                                 you'd always be there to catch me.
                            a safe place to land, a safe home to haunt,
                                       your arms are my temple,
                                          your shoulders my fort,
                                               my steady pillars,
                                                     my whole
                                                         world
                                                           ­ in
                                                             y
                                                             o
                                                             u
                                                              r­
                                                             b
                                                             o
                                                             n
                                                             e
                                                             s

i really wish i could do something
to show you that you
matter
that you are so much more
than your body
that you are simply
a bird in a cage
a lovely, beautiful soul
trapped in a meaningless box
to show you that you are
your brilliant mind
and your way with words
and your heart
i wish i could show you
that you are
a glamorous pearl
in the wrong shell

give me wings.
set me free.
i want to travel
to every edge of the world.
i want to sleep
on park benches.
i want to eat foreign
cuisine
and drink cheap
coffee, half asleep,
in a booth in a
cheap restaurant by
the road.
i want to walk barefoot
through fields of daisies;
i want to bury my toes
in the sand and feel the
wind in my hair
on a beach in October.
i want to breathe the
salty air in
and write poetry on
the cliffs.
i want to recite
cummings under the stars
while drinking cheap whisky
i want to run free
through fields of grass,
those green oceans of
morning dew.
i want to drive on
the highway at full
speed
and ***** the
speed limit.
i want to sing off-key
at the top of my lungs,
i want to hide in the
woods and make my
own recipes,
i want to cook
my own life
not by the rule book.
i want to be whom i've
always wanted to be.
don't tell me how
to live my life;
let me drink hot
chocolate,
sitting on a beach
at 4 a.m. in a
party dress;
let me drink
tequila in baby blue
cotton pyjamas,
let me waltz
to heavy metal,
let me breathe.
for ****'s sake
break my shackles.

Светлината се пречупва в очите ти като във фасети на диамант,
ръцете ти пробягват по тялото ми болезнено нежно с хирурическа точност и остро
като бръснач --
и кълна се, кълна се, че всяка клетка в мен
превръща се в прах - като натрошено стъкло
като лед
като брокат (от кутийката в ръцете на тригодишно на букли)
разпилявам се разпръсвам се --
прашинка светлина на върха на пръстите ти
(аз съм Кай и ти се ледът в окото ми).
Всяко дихание си минор е и
разпилявам се
разпилявам се в ръцете ти
топла
увивам се като змии около китките ти
(Ах, колко езическо! въздишаш)
и пламвам.
Има нещо за змии и ябълки, което може би
трябва да помня --
смееш се и облизваш сока от брадичката ми
нищо греховно
            порочно
         и плътско
не ти е чуждо. Имам мастило
                                        във вените и искам
да го разлея по теб и да пиша
с пръсти като пера
всяка
премълчана
дума --

разпилявам се --
леда между зъбите хрущи хрущи троши се като кости
и месестата част на ябълката плът е --
разбивам се на хиляди стохилядни секунди безвремие докосването ти носи
играят сенки по стените
и (не)докосват се и тръпнат --
Флуорсцентно разливаш се, сияйно
и безгласно устните ти шъпнат
и трескаво
                            забиват се, разкъсват
           вени
           капиляри
           артерии
Безкрайността е просто дума  -
                                                проблясваш рубинено с цвета
                                                на устните ми,
                                                в небето ми си Сириус
и с пръсти проследяваш всичките галактики
на млечната ми кожа.

Проблясваш -- разпилявам се -- угасваш.
                             Фигмент на светлината
                                                                  и
                                                                     игра
                                                                              на
                                                                                   думи.

the first time i told you
those three words
you remained silent.
it was dark
we were in bed
in a foreign country
stealing kisses
and just then
i knew you felt it
when you kissed me
as an answer.


the second time
i told  you
those three words
was shortly
after christmas
in a three-page letter
with reasons why
and just then
i knew you felt it
when you kissed me
as an answer.


the third time
i told you
those three words
was on valentine's
in a tiny book
of poems
i had written
and just then
i knew you felt it
when you kissed me
as an answer.


the fourth time
i told you
those three words
was when
i told you
you were
the most important
person in my life.
you didn't kiss me
then
and i guess
you didn't feel it.

the fifth time
i told you
those three words
was after a fight
when you asked me
why i was still with you
when you made me
cry
every ******* day.
you didn't kiss me
then
and i guess
you didn't feel it.

the sixth time
i told you
those three words
was on a park bench
you were on your
knees
and crying.
you didn't kiss me then
you pushed me away.
you had words of your own
to say.

these were six,
and i guess it's
only fair.
now we're equal.

my six iloveyous
turned out to be
your six
"i have no feelings for you".

when i met you
we were strangers
two lost souls
drifting together
two lost souls
with a common taste
in loneliness
two lost souls
prone to self-hatred
two lost souls
needing somebody
to love them.

when we were together
i gave you
all the loving
i could
and all the hatred
i felt for myself
i transformed
into the love
i gave to you.

when we were together
i believed you gave me
all you could
with all your
heart
and i believed you
just couldn't use
the right words
to describe your feelings
and i believed
you called it 'care'
because love
was too strong a word
for you.

now i know.
now i know
i fixed you
and you're not as
broken;
you absorbed my love
and used me
to fix yourself
but all the
progress
you'd made
fixing me
turned to nothingness
and star dust
in only six
little words:

1. i
2. have
3. no
4. feelings
5. for
6. you

when you left me
we were strangers
two souls
drifting apart;
when you left me
we were strangers
one more lonely time

they sometimes ask
what superpowers
I would like to have

I'd like to be invisible
and to travel in time
and to read minds

so that I could
go back
and know what
you thought

every time you
kissed me
when you didn't mean it

i wanna take the pain of yesterday
and all the pain of your tomorrow
i wanna make your fears go away
i wanna steal away your sorrow

i wanna wipe your tears away
and heal your scars forever
i wanna hold you day by day
and be with you whenever

you need my helping hand
to wrap myself around you
and never let the idyll end

Breathe me in.
Cover me with kisses.
Take me, I am yours.
Put me back together
when I'm falling apart.

Hold me and heal me,
my soul and my body,
hold me, protect me,
kiss all of my scars.

We are so floating
when I cuddle in,
and I wish you'd
never go

because who's to
glue together
all the scattered
pieces?

they ask me
why i read.

they ask about
the books in
my room.

well here it goes:
i ripped my heart
out of my rib cage
and cell by cell
i tore it apart.

i ripped my soul
out of
wherever the **** it was
and thread by thread
i tore it apart.

and then
i opened all my
books
and between
each page
i carefully
tucked
a cell
or
a thread

and now
my heart
and soul
are safe
inside
the stories
other people
had to tell.

I hate me
I hate me
I hate me
I HATE ME
I NEED TO CUT
I NEED TO CUT MYSELF OUT OF MY SKIN
I NEED TO RIP MY LUNGS OUT
I NEED TO DICE MY HEART
I NEED TO CHOP ALL OF MY ORGANS
I HATE ME
AND I NEED TO
NOT BE ******* ALIVE

Every shadow, every scent,
every sound and every flash of light
remind me of you

though you’re gone,
though you’re dead.
I’m crying for help.
I’m praying for salvation.

Save my immortal soul;
it’s broken, hurt,
depleted.
I want to be dying.

For you’re gone,
and I’ve forgotten how to breathe,
oh, my long lost love,
and I don’t want to remember.
Save my heart
for it’s destroyed
and it is bleeding.
It’s screaming for you
to be here,
to hold it.

I don’t want to live
when you are gone
but I still wander
waiting for you
to be mine again.

In death.

Let your blood trickle down on my lips.
Let your lungs steal every breath with a kiss.
Let my teeth sink deep into your skin.
Drown with me in the realms of sin.
I draw you in like Lucky Strikes,
somehow you have become the apple of my eye.
I want to rewrite every fairytale, I want to erase every ******* time
I've ever erred.
Somehow every love song is about you,
pull out a gun and shoot me dead.

if you asked me
why i love him,
i couldn't really tell.
i guess it's the way
his ocean blue eyes
reflect the sunlight;
the way his hair never
has a permanent colour;
the way he says my name,
the way he calls me "queen";
the way he pouts his lips,
or the way his voice
trembles slightly
when we talk;
the way he lights his
cigarette
or the way he breathes
out the smoke;
the way his hand
is made for mine,
the way he fits around me
perfectly;
the way he says
"i love you";
the way he always calls me
when i am in need;
or the way he'd never
ever ever leave.
or maybe none of this,
or maybe a whole another
set of reasons.
but all i know is
that he's mine
and i am his
until the world is gone
and far beyond then.

you made me promise
that i'd never cut.
then why the hell
did you inscribe
your name
your smile
your heart
all over my arms
in thin fragile lines
flowing with blood

you make me want to
cry
and
drink
and
cut
and
die

I've always been fat
and so what.
looks don't define.

I've always been ugly
and so what.
looks don't define.

I used to think I was smart
but it turns out I'm not.

I used to think my brains
were my best quality.
It turns out that's
just another lie.

I am so stupid so dumb
so so so dumb

what is the point of you
you ******* useless
good-for-nothing
*******

Болиш ме -
разяждаш ме -
течеш като киселина във вените ми
и разкъсваш всички тънки връзки
между мен и моята същност.
Изгаря ме всяка целувка
като пламъци стапящи плът:
аз съм малка восъчна фигурка
в ръцете на качулатата Смърт.
Ти си беладона във виното,
бели пясъчни лилии,
змийска отрова по устните,
конник на бяла кобила -
вестител на всичкото зло;
ти си разпятие
и алена ябълка,
ти си грях,  
ти си нощ.
И разпилявам се също тъй алена, кървава,
разпилявам се като стъкло.
Скиташ в дъжда, като просяк омърляна,
в рокля разкъсана
и оглеждаш се в локвите,
мокра, мръсна прелъстителка
в ръката с нож.
А душата ми е затворена
между четири стени катедралени
брои минутите
до твоята поява -
точно
тридесет
и
три.
Ти си пясъчен часовник, запращам те,
разбивам те на хиляди стохилядни стъкла-
изтичаш като пясък между пръстите ми,
сол в раните
по китките,
които сама съм издълбала --
не спираш гласовете в главата ми,
ти жалка просякиньо
с кърваво червило
и ириси със цвят на нощ
и ереси
се крият в твоите ириси,
и белези
като влакови прелези
раздират кожата ти
кожата ми -
аз и ти, нима сме едно?
Пророк на всяко мое минало
и всяко твое бъдеще,
жрица на богове и богини
отдавна загинали -
в небеса мастиленосини
удавяш се,
ти, моя Атлантида,
порок (пророк)
и грях(и бях),
пречистване(потъване)
и крах (и бях).
Къде си? (Няма те.)
Къде съм? (Няма ме.)
Накъде сме,
не знам защото всички пътища
преплитат се,
кръстовища и скитане,
и
пъкълътсееопразниливсичкитемудемонисатук,
ах знаех си--
Тишината е оглушаваща,
валят куршуми
от страдание
по тънкото стъкло.
В главата ми си,
под кожата ми -
отмиват калните води от тебе мъката,
удавник съм
и диря
зов
покров.
Като мъниста по кристален под
и като белите пера на гълъба
обагрени във алено -
Устните ти шъпнат в ухото ми
омразата,
разкъсваш плът,
къде е  б о г.
Отразявам се в кристалните води на твоята повърхност.
Разкъсваш всички тънки връзки
между мен и моята същност.
Течеш като киселина във вените ми -
разяждаш ме -
Болиш ме.
Любов.

I'm fiery, impulsive.
I talk too much,
I think too much
and sometimes not at all.
I complain a lot,
and I cry and laugh,
I blab a lot,
overreact.
Hyperbolise,
and overanalyse
and take things wrong
and get offended,
I don't trust,
I hate, I love
with fiery passion,
I've hot blood.

The sea's not always calm,
please captain, take me,
I might be too much,
but try not to let me go.

I'm not simple.

I am January - cold and grey and ugly.
I am February - short and dark and gloomy.
I am March - fierce and complicated and bipolar.
I am April - warm and sweet and full of colour.
I am May - sunny and blooming and frenzied.
I am June - the scent of summer and hope and the feeling of freedom.
I am July - the burning sun and the sand beneath your toes and the sun in your hair.
I am August - the sea waves crushing against you and the lazy shade underneath a tree and the grass tickling your feet.
I am September - pouring rain and gales and the fog creeping in.
I am October - red and brown and orange, the crunching of dry leaves and that the darkness that's falling.
I am November - distant and lonely and drowning.
I am December - the frost on the windows and the gentle snowflakes, and the dunes of snow, and the freezing coldness, I am December - decaying.

I am not simple. A little complicated, messy.
Can you take me?

I hate you because I love you.
I hate you because you left me.
I hate you because now I have no one
to hold my wrists and tell me not to.
I hate you because there's no one
I trust half as much as I trust you.
I hate you because you walked away
without thinking about the mess you
were leaving.
I hate you because you forbade me
to cut and you made me promise not to.
I hate you because you took my two
sources of relief - yourself and cutting.
Did you realise you were ruining me?
Do you know I have nothing now?
I hate you but I love you
and I wish I could break promises
like you do.

It is so ******* hard
to smile sometimes.
It is so ******* hard
to wear a mask.
It cracks up, very often,
and there's so much
that I fake.

But then there's you.
You see what's underneath
and I don't have to
fake it anymore

because

there's a monster
hidden there
and you're not scared
and I've never been
so much
alright before.