Like the city
there's always the constant buzz of your existence in the background
reminding me you're still here
polluting my thoughts

Your lights are too brilliant to disentangle from my mind
burning bright like neon signs in your eyes
prompting me towards you
and your vacant streets

Empty words hang on brick
crumbling graffiti of the walls we used to call shelter;
we built houses on comfort
but always needed something better

When I left, you phoned
I told you I had found home
though I wanted to hear the lonely in your voice
match the lonely I still know

He held my cheeks in his hands like my lips could break
And before him the sea would've swept down his throat and washed away the sand that had settled in the knots of his grinding bones
Reviving the reefs under his ribs
And sweeping away the crusts of salt clinging to his tide worn flesh.
I returned once again to the lighthouses I had built in the palms of his hands
Fingers coaxing through and slipping under wave after trembling wave
He knew where to touch, he knew how to behave
Yet I've let him sail far, far, and farther away.

To this day I smoke cigarettes in their names
a collection of men
admittedly women
that after settling too long
sit somewhere between memories and strain.
I don't burden myself with the weight of their names
though a few of their impressions have become deepening stains
bruising, blemishing the favorite spots on my brain.
Earliest versions of the story have found personal inches on my skin
before I grew up I learned to let it leak in
sluicing through veins
burning the moments of where I had been
in attempts to remind myself of what remains.

Sleeves of scars
and a garter of silver lines and burns
oh the hurt I've endured
Seated by the fire as a child
Lord knows I've had thoughts like this for a while
I'd dwell on the discretion I took
brooding over every hook that snagged my flesh
made a mess
of the little girl I never was
and they who shook me
pet me from the inside out
must have forgotten to what degree
their consumptive hands made me bleed
God how I wish they could see
every stain left with or without cause
was provoked by their nostalgic applause
but I don't even blame them
It was a conscious disease
perniciously eating
still chewing at me.

I still find comfort in you
As if I have made a home in that crevice in your neck
You know
The space between your head and your heart
Where I'd place drunken admirations ever so often
And it always ended in my folly...
But no
I do not blame or hold you accountable to anything less than chivalrous
Besides your thirst for me
And the cup I'd lay at your feet ever so often
And now
My truths have led to false accusations of utter lust
But oh God it was more than that... ever so often.

i want so bad to feel the burn of his love set fire to the edges of my life
i want to feel his lips meet mine without the angst i imagine
and i want the rawness of our impulse to dictate our love
i want to guide his ******
and sip his lust
i want to dive into the fascinating parts of him
and linger in the shallows
the unsecrets of his mind
i want to not miss him and for him to love me again
i want to feel his finger tips trail every curve
every imperfection
and accept it as honestly as he did
i want to be accepted into love once again.

i want to not feel so badly for the words that meet others
and i want to not live in a shrouded fire any longer
i want to break and rip apart the routine with fury
and love as much
and feel as much
and live as much as I can
without my brain being bent relentlessly to the influence of substances.

It's this inner craving to be different that hurts
this impulsive fire
so desirous
so ravenous
so disastrous
I feel I've no chance at not reducing myself to ash.

Then there are those times where my fire blazes wildly
blindly
and blissfully.
It radiates, spilling light on anyone near
embers encapsulating and holding them there
and a certain grace falls over me
over us.

What if I just let him go?
I can do that
What if I just inhaled everything I had been missing?
I should feel that
What if I can cry again and not have him lacing my thoughts?
It's possible
What if I forgot to keep time again?
It's not something I'd need to worry about
with you else where
and your shadow not guiltily sipping
any chance I have
of recovering from this
masochistic
and
draining
way of life.
I want to flirt with the freedoms
I've so often tasted on my tongue.
I don't want to care
about anything
and I want to be sober
and indulge in the same pleasures.
I want to leave behind the pain
of my mental cage
and no longer want to be considered
on the absolute
borderline
of a
dangerous
insanity.

Borderline Personality Disorder.

1. The other day I woke up and thought I knew who I was
I fell asleep and somewhere in between I lost myself
I lost the feeling in my stomach too
but we're still talking about how much we have in common.

2. My sweater got stuck on the hanger this morning
I started to rip it down
eventually I broke plastic and skin.
I haven't been back in my room since.

3. 12:06 PM Today my best friend came home and took most of our makeup
12:07 PM I messaged her and mocked our friendship.
12:07 PM She was in trouble with her grandma and had to hurry. She didn't know.
12:08 PM I broke down crying.

4. I woke up at 7:32 AM and took 4 shots
drank 2 beers
smoked four bowls
drank half a bottle of NyQuil and woke up the next day.
I have yet to figure out why.

5. I wanted to be a horse trainer for 9 years
then I decided I wanted to be an artist
worked on becoming a tattoo artist
matured into a writer
fell in love with photography
now I'm not even sure if I like school.

6. First scars appeared at 9
worst scars at 15.
First attempt at 10
almost wasn't an attempt at 14.

7. I've been happy the past few days
but I still want to **** myself
because soon I'll be drowning in depression
and succumbing to anxiety.

9. Once I got so bored
I thought myself into sorrow.
I didn't come out for a few hours
but by dinner I was laughing.

10. I used to be in love with a boy
but I didn't know
so I used whatever I could get
and now I'm alone.
I don't blame him.

11. I've mentally lost myself
as I screamed into the mirror
and it wasn't me talking to myself.
I don't really remember being there
but I was.

Silently I sat
transfixed on the deeply layered smoke
straying from my lips
and rolling towards the open window's lure
of a rather enveloping
and icy night.
City lights hummed in the wake of my house
across the road
brilliant under the street lamp
dancing far from the trail
and behind the stroke of trees
over the hill
out of my reach
and knotted in my veins.

I wish there were words
or pictures
or sounds
that could convey how I feel inside
but no matter how much I try
or how many nights I waste
with pen in hand and paper not far
I end in a teary eyed fury
because the creativity that leaks
from the outside world
into my skin
seethes within my bloodstream
and blankets my being
and it gets stuck
and no matter how much I write
or draw
it just seems to multiply
and I sicken with sadness
unable to share what I have within me.
So I smoke
and pop pills
and somehow
it releases this creative pressure
or seems to display it in my feelings
and I am alive again.