The old part of me is dead:
The part of me that loves you.

I put him to rest on a grassy hill
Where the butterflies flock to roses.

There he lies, under the tomb of a dead tree,
Steadily being feasted on by cankerworms.

He is silent, he is free,
For he has passed the door

Into a realm of calm tranquility
Where pain makes more sense

And reasons why are no longer needed
For he lives in the Kingdom of Night.

She rules there and invited him
With a kiss and a nibble on the ear.

He could not refuse her lovely black lips
But he knew not where to tread

So she shoved him down with words
Of ice and sorrow and blame.

There he lies with her through eternal night
Caught up in the death of his life:

Her, the one, the only, the Moon
That fought the Night.

That old part of me is dead now:
The part of me that loves you.

He is silent, he is sleeping,
For he has passed the door

But the ghost of myself
Still whispers his love for you

Ever more.

Why would he worry about me?
He doesn't know I broke my promise not to hurt myself.
He doesn't know about the scars.
He doesn't know about the bottle of pills beside my bed.
He doesn't know there's a collection of knives in my drawer.
He doesn't know that I write nasty letters to life.
He doesn't know about the reason I sit on the roof.
He doesn't know about how I can't sleep at night.
He doesn't know that even if I do, it's only after the tears.
He doesn't know I carry around a mental list of why I hate myself.
He doesn't know I can't concentrate at all.
He doesn't know I lie through my teeth about how I'm feeling.
He doesn't know that I'm avoiding church.
He doesn't know I'm pushing everyone away.
He doesn't know how lonely I am.
He doesn't know about these poems.
Why would he worry about me?

You said you wanted to
Know me better
So here I go:

I've got exactly 28 pens
I know because I counted

I've got too many notebooks
Yet I can't stop
Buying more and more

Sometimes when it's 4 am
And my mind is
Driving me to the brink
Of total insanity
I take 3 showers
to try and calm myself down
(It never works)

I like apple juice but I hate apples

I've never been good in math

There are too many
Cigarette burns
On the crook of my elbow
And scars on my thighs
and demons in my head

I love the smell of cinnamon

Once when I was 15
I drank blue paint
Because I think blue is beautiful
And I wanted to be beautiful too

That didn't work

So I drank a bottle of bleach
To clean my very core

It didn't work either

Now you know me better
I understand if you'd want
To run away now
It's okay
Save yourself
Run

Dreams are dark purple
  So lacking-light they're nearly black
  They are vibrantly ultraviolet
So thick one breathes them in
   You can taste them in your lungs
   Heady, intoxicating
A whirlpool of purple ideas in a turquoise sea
    Schools of merfolk glisten silver,                          
        flick through your sleep
        waltz in your mind

Dreams are luscious fruit
    Pomegranate seeds bursting in a spray
       Of bright red, like fireworks
       Just sweet enough not to pucker your lips
       Just sour enough not to curdle your tongue

Dreams are soft fabric
    Warm like cotton
     Smooth like silk
      Sensual like velvet
Blankets to cuddle and wrap up
    til just a nose is left peeking out
    eskimo kisses with snowy air

But always,
above all,
Dreams are seductive
   one must crawl out
   clawing at the waves
   Escaping up to lighter shades

Hitting air with a gasp.
A shock every morning.
Heart pounding pulse jumping

Every morning I must ask my self

Between the dark luscious soft seductive sea
And the cold rushing gasping heart attacking air


*Which is the dream?