I want to know what it is
that draws me to the floor of the shower
when the water is burning my flesh a stale red,
much like the color of your lips.
my skin may cry, but my bones lock,
holding me under the water.
it pounds like it once did
against my cracked window,
trying to burn away the words
you carved into my frame.
my wrists starve to see the white tile floor turn
dark.
crimson.
red.
while my eyes pull closed,
in an attempt to stay shut forever.
and the water dripping in it's slow rhythm,
from my shaking, aching lips
is the only thing
keeping me sane.



I want to know what it is
that draws me to the cigarettes
that tear me into pieces.
my lungs feed on their heavy smoke,
and my porcelain skin seems to
fade.
dull.
crack.
the glowing between my fingertips
reminds me of the way it once
danced and swayed
between your strong, rough hands.
but still, it seemed almost as if
it were a part of you.
(which I would never be)
my lips, and my cigarette, both agree
they'd be much happier
pressed to your waiting mouth.



I want to know what it is
that draws me to you
when every inch of me, inside and out,
is a reminder of how I've been hurt before.
how the words that have been thrown at me
now wrap up my organs like vines.
thorned chains pulling tighter
as I fall harder for you.
the way you speak,
fragile.
soft.
strong.
the look in your eyes,
and the whispers of the thoughts
you are so reluctant to let me hear.
the words that you speak so delicately
as if they will shatter, or I will shatter,
before your very eyes.

they told me
"never fall in love with a bad boy."

what they didn't tell me
was that bad boys
are not boys with scars
that have no stories.

they are not boys
with split bones,
stretched shadows,
black irises, and blacker bruises.

bad boys are the ones who
stitch together their words,
silk spider webs,
wrapping you up,
just like he did in his arms.

they are not boys who hide their faces,
and spill smoke from thin lips.

bad boys are the ones who
fill your hungry cries
with red wine and black waters,
dragging you down,
just like he did with his words.

they told me
"never fall in love with a bad boy."

but I did.

There's a part of me that wants to believe that the world changes when the sun finally slips out of the sky.

Maybe the brain releases some kind of chemical that makes us more aware and appreciative of the world, allowing us to fall in love with the way the stars mimic the flickering in our eyes and shine even brighter than our sun ever could.

Maybe the world falls silent because it's striving to listen to every breath that you take. It always sounded like a machine to me, almost like dark waves lapping against the battered shore. A monotone rhythm, so consistent that nobody listens after a while.

But I will always listen. You are so much like the ocean. Deep, vast, with so many unexplored crevices hiding beneath the sweet surface. Those who hear the sea everyday may not appreciate it's whispers, but I hang on to every syllable.