I hurt my hands on purpose, punish myself for the things I can't control like this hole in my brain you're too busy to crawl through
I tell myself that im healing, that three days sober is a start to something better, that maybe I'll wake up for the rest of this lifetime without bruises or "how did I get here" maybe something will stay long enough to understand that I do the things I do because he's doing the things he does an hour away from where the sun stopped rising 12 years ago where the waterfall stood still and I'm left here with all this stillness inside of me, like I feel too much so I have to punish myself with numb and you have to punish yourself with maybe I could have stopped her from breaking her own wrists
maybe nobody gives a **** about maybe
nobody cracks a smile with hope strung through their teeth like Christmas lights or tinsel or something
I tell myself that my dad doesn't have to drink to sparkle anymore and neither do I
neither do I but I do and I end up with are you sincere tattooed on my hand with no idea as to when it happened or when I would ever think that it would be a good idea to look down at all of this breaking and bruise and be reminded of you but I did and I do
so no,
maybe nothing sparkles anymore

me lying in an empty tub
whispering everything i hate
about myself

there’s no way to describe the feeling that enveloped me once you left
but if i were to have to do so
i would say that it felt like cold tendrils wrapping around my neck
******* my every last breath

if i were to have to put it into words
i would say that it felt like dull tweezers plucking at my heart
tearing it apart
not all at once
but piece by piece

if i were to have to explain myself
i would say it was like drowning in the arctic
the cold water
a brutal reminder of the cruel reality
where you left me
to sit alone
and surrender to the insanity
that has slowly consumed me

i don’t know how to write you anymore
maybe you’ve fallen out of favor
maybe you’ve fallen off trees
all i really know is that i can’t see
whatever you had the strength to believe
double homicide on the streets
blood, kiss, silent, dreams,
i only recall a number of things
that had me by the throat
but never made me choke
i know you’re in there somewhere
pushing me out of your home
and i remember nowhere
and wanting to be alone
cross the train tracks
let’s pretend we’re never going back
let’s get wasted
let’s let them waste us
smear black under your eyes
blow away my mind
i don’t need no medicine
i haven’t got the time
i wanna breathe you, please you, tease you, take you
curse myself cuz i know i’ll never be with you
i know i’ll never hate you
no, it’s never enough
and they show them put his wrists in handcuffs
like he’s a symbol, with charges so unfair
Smooth Criminal, she quivers at his stare
bow and arrow, female hero
don’t make me go where you wanna go
wash the blood out, wear my mind out
write me sonnets, Shakespeare’s on it,
i’ll drift through the universe
i cannot hold this life on my surface
this is a curse
don’t worry baby i’ll buy you some time
i’ll give you some of mine
i know it’s gonna hurt, i know it’s gonna bite
but i’m never gonna let them put a sword in my side
i’m never gonna let them control my mind

my body, the hand grenade
ugly crawls inside, makes a nest.
an animal chained in a cage,
my insect in a jar.

i spit out my ugly. it wasn't supposed to be this way.

life is a simple arrangement
of numbers and measures.
the bathroom mirror under florescent lights
is my sacred altar.
never mind that nothing else is sacred.

my broken body, the hungry child
i give her food, i take it away. i make her cry.
i bleed for her.

she swallows my ache and comes back for more.

slamming doors still sound
like fired shots
and
loud voices still sound like
grenades--
warfare is something that never quite leaves the mind
it's a trigger pulled rifle or a trigger that pulls me
back into the past
where I am afraid and alone
and where I am held against my will.
shouting rages have a way about them that
feels like broken shards of glass piercing my ear drums or my mentality
and if hands are not anything less than gentle,
I grow cautious and cowardly.
I never quite outgrew the habit of ducking my head
when I hear hateful words and could never quite fathom the idea that the sting of sharp curses could be used jokingly and not with ill intent.
while most people live to fight, I live
to forget my battle wounds...
because it's easier to admit
that I can heal
than it is to admit the bullets to my fragile heart were fatal--
blood isn't the only thing that's bleeding out of me.