I wake
from a dream of you
with blood streaming
down my face, I can smell
the metal, I can taste it,
and I'm not sure what it means,
I dreamt in scarlet, not rose -
things did not appear
better, they were truthful, if not
a little worse.

My biggest fear
remains the same, I am scared to
lose you, or to even gain you at all,
I have spent every waking minute
daydreaming
and every unconscious one
in the same, untruthful manner,
you are the ripped pages
from my journal,
you are the reason I write
with blue ink instead of black,
you are everything I love
and despise about the human race -
*you are everything.

i fall in love with the way your lips form words,
how your tongue dampens your lips so that
your voice doesn’t come through dry.
i fall in love with the way your veins have
spilled across your hands, your warm blood
ebbing towards the surface, oxygenating
your numb structure. your upper lip curls,
and there is a careless trail of stubble,
indicating that you didn’t want to wake today.
your accent isn’t from here, but i find it familiar
all the same. your lullaby-like voice
speaks something funny, and i can feel
a smile tug on the corner of my lips. you could
cease my demons, hush me into a slumber.
you could graze my skin in careless movements,
skimming the surface like a stone on water.
i would welcome you into my humble embrace,
and plant precise kisses on your skin, like
seeds into soil. let them grow, let them bloom,
let us alienate our favored circumstances, and
welcome the possibility of broken bones.
scars tell the best stories,
let us see how this one ends.

I am just a metaphor
for everything you're afraid of.

I push those in my life to breaking point –
The personification of a supernova.
Exploding – shedding light on every possible flaw,
Leaving only swirls of debris in my wake.

I am one day older. July 17
My mother has another year
To her name. The sun has risen,
But time is setting – I am
Getting further away from the
Closest thing I had to bliss.

There is something beautiful
And desirable about ignorance,
Something I possessed only as an
Infant, yet I would ****
To hold it once more. **** –
That proves it. Just how far
Am I from those illusive years?

When I was little, nature's
Corpses would be buried with care,
And we would whisper words
To the Earth about who we had lost.
Now, pests are killed by my will,
And handled with disgust.

Yet, I envy them. Their lives,
So easy to dispose of, and mine,
Neverending. But I am the same
As a common moth.
Crush me.

I shiver in a cape of black
as the sad piano fills my heart,
the empty space that you
created with an artist's hand.

A hand so blue and bony
that holds her every dark morning.
the mist, the fog, the rain,
when did it all get so gloomy?

I cease to remember myself
before you enclosed me
in fantastical fancies,

and I swear to God,
I wish, I wish -
that you ceased to exist.