m Aug 10
I burned for a year,
but no one felt the heat.
Left ashes on everything I touched.
The traces of a silent burning.
But I am no phoenix,
and this is no rebirth.
This is the dying of the senses.
No nerve left to feel.
This is a forest fire,
and I am the kindle.

I burned for a year
just to say that I did.
Self-immolation of the most selfish degree.
A sacrifice that isn't for the best.
I've given up a dozen times,
only to give up on giving up.
But this time I swear I mean it.
And nothing will be gained or lost.
All you'll find is ash, and dust, and residue.

I burned for a year
or maybe it was ten.
It's been so long that I've lost count.
But it's my fault for being so flammable.
For being a wildfire of a being.
For being so desert of feeling.
I just burn and burn and burn.
m Aug 3
I wear my ghost like a shadow.
She clings to my bones like the cold,
haunts the deepest halls of my mind.
Dragging out every skeleton
I've ever tried to hide.
She does not have a soft tongue.
I wouldn't dare speak what flies
from the bladed tip of her tongue.
She shakes me to the core
and I find her even there,
rotting holes in my chest.
Because ghosts don't haunt the heartless.
There is no silver bullet,
no stake to the chest
Haven't you heard you can't ****
what has already died?

I wish I could shed her.
Peel her from me, like a layer of skin.
Scream that I'm still here.
I have been all along.
I have been all alone.
But she lives deeper than the surface.
And the only way out is to take her with me
m Jul 22
They ripped out your heart
using nothing but teeth and tongue
then walked away with it -
****** and fragmented.
Grinning teeth stained with red syrup
that drips from their mouths
like something they could afford to lose.

It's no wonder you
don't trust smiles anymore.
m Jun 18
My sheets reek of a perfumed corpse,
like we tried to mask the decay with something sweeter.
Like this body between ours
isn't the result of something so sinister
even I can't look it in the eyes.

I thought it would be impossible to ignore this death,
but you keep rolling over to my side of the bed
as if there were any warmth left here.
I know you feel the rotting heart between my ribs;
it beats so slow that I am certain it will stop.

You know love doesn't die - it decays.
And skeletons don't sleep in closets when there are perfectly good mattresses available.
m May 31
I clench my jaw when I pray,
and I don't stop until it aches.
Only then is it that I realize
nothing pure slips through these teeth.
Popping Prozac at communion,
swallow down the savior with the blood of
---Christ, I bit down too hard again.

We know many sacraments here.
Each breath is a ritual.
Breathe in.
Hold it.
Breathe out.
Now count your sins
until you run out of stars,
and search for salvation on the edge
of each blade.
And hope to whatever ***
that eternal life is just a myth;
it sounds worse than any ****
your preachers warned me about.
m Oct 2017
We don’t use diaries anymore -
those are meant for secrets,
and we have none.
We let them spill out of our bodies,
and pour onto blank white sheets.
We swear it’s the only way
we are going to heal.

We turn our pain into poetry.
Anything that hurts this much
has to mean
something.
And even though we are desperate
for anyone to listen,
our language is in the letters
that we will never send.

We romanticize pain like it’s the
only lover we will ever know.
Love is our *** and we are each our own devils.
Too fragile for this world,
ceremoniously destroying ourselves
before anyone else can do it for us.
Yet we still can’t understand why we’re so broken.
m Oct 2017
I know these must be my hands
but I can’t remember what they do.
And is this a heartbeat
or an attempt to escape a body
that does not feel like my own?
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