It is in these moments late at night that I evaluate your caress,
the way your hands shape my body
and how
your lips criticize my secrets,
in what was meant to be acceptance.

I lay drowning in my own misunderstood falsified memories.
Trying to recall the wake of your voice
only to find a week hum.

How is it that I feel haunted by you when you
are still
                                            here.

It is in these moments that I attempt to make myself a martyr
when in fact,
I already tied your noose.

I am uninspired and lazy.
too jeered to fall in love.
too bored for ***.

Blatantly tainted by privilege.
It isn’t as if I’ve become coated
in self served depression but
emotionally exhausted from experience.

I am modern romanticism
disguised by femme fatal.

I spent days waiting for a
creative surge.
Now i'm stuck in wordless purgatory.
I have 27 mosquito bites on my feet.
All going to scar.
That makes for 31 scars between the two,
but who is counting?
I told her I wasn't a good person.
I don't know if she believed in me or ignorance.
I love her but curious killed the cat,
and murdered me with a 12 gauge shotgun.
I can't decide if she notices the new patterns
written in my skin or
politely doesn't ask.
I'm pretty sure I'm not depressed.
I don't see my scars as overly cliched battle
wounds from myself.
They are the mark of intrigue.
One time, in a letter, she told me she kissed them,
as if I didn't notice.
I couldn't find the romance in the gesture, only
embarrassment.
We are both aware, please just ask, and I will
gladly tell you what I did to get them.
Because I'm not a good person.

It’s a funny thing what drugs can do to you.
They can rip apart your soul.
Expose you, to the elements of a
false reality.
Where things seem nice, as if they were
some sick escape of the sorts.

Places become more brilliant.
People become more beautiful.
Everything becomes brighter.

The world is upside down,
intertwined with something which
cannot be described by simple
words.

It is something of the smells of Christmas,
and the feelings of warmth, mixed with
accomplishment and a linger scent of
disaster.

For all love ends in disaster.

Each night alone I become lost
I drown in a sea of blankets
and a small mattress that seems
far too big.

I toss and I turn
I flip the pillow over
I pull more blankets on
I push folded laundry off

However much I try
I cannot seem to replicated
how the bed feels filled with you.

An acid washed version of myself.
Worn and torn.

The fatal girl.

Everyone tries, no one buys.
Passed around,
lost aroma.

Terminally insecure.

Pushing towards nothing.
Striving for the unattainable.

Nothing is actualized.

The skin fades,
exposing deep blue veins.
They seep to the surface.

Vulnerable flesh.

Anticipating the sharp tongue
to **** from the inside out.

From every moment
         Inside and outside of me
Its always been you

You plug your ears so you cannot hear my pain.

Turn your back, and hope for the best, ignoring my cries.

My cries fed by your lies.

I feel like I am screaming.

I am burning and trashing.

Yearning and crashing.

Pining for normalcy, normalcy that one was there.

I feel no comfort, only anger and sadness.

My own hands are pushing me back into the blackness.

Your tongue is coated in poison, and it flicks across my heart, and seeps into my veins.

Ripping me apart and exposing all of my weakness,

Untying the lace that held my bones together.

Rough fingers collide
            tongues speak in sign language
For it is just us

Everything is ****.
Creative death by consumer.
Fall in love with me.

His fingers  trace my skin.
The white patterns
permanently
fashioned in.
Uneasy breathing.
The pang of curiosity
fills the room.

I silently plead him not to.


He asks anyway.

People write poems about loss
How it rips them apart,
and leaves them restless.

Losing you was the best thing
that could happen to me.

Repugnant charm.

I never seem to let myself stay happy for long.  
But in this moment, wrapped in a sweater
that has been dunked in the thick smell of
charred logs,
apple cider,
and,
whiskey
I feel my feet slip off the ground
and into elation.