And We Bragged
We Sped Up
And We Fuck
You Get A
We End Up
We Sleep Up
In A World
Is It Quite Worth
Next To None
We All Bought
Money Bought All
We Became All Free
But Nothing Was Free
Count One To Three
Are We Alive Yet
We All Rot Together
Are We Not Dead Yet?
I'm sorry my bones are fragile,
breaking from the touch of your voice.
I'm sorry my tears burned your delicate skin,
and sorry if my screams broke your ribs.
I'm sorry I ran away,
away from your charcoal claws.
I'm sorry I house a broken body
and tore my cracking heart.
I'm sorry I fought off the darkness in my veins,
but too tired to fend off your demons.
I'm sorry I was the one who carved your scars
and squeezed your creaking lungs.
I'm sorry for saying "I'm sorry."
I'm sorry for believing that phrase
can heal bullet wounds,
and align planets.
she writes the things that come to her mind in the middle of the night in bursts of blobs of bullshit.
the words come spilling from her mouth and it reeks,
like a trash can left unattended for weeks on end.
she wakes the morning after and reads it back in hopes for a glimpse into her psyche,
her brain is a chaotic something that even she cannot make sense of.
her pretty words do nothing to disguise the true mess that lies beneath the surface.
new flowers on an old grave,
doesn’t mask the decaying body underneath.
the beautiful colors of fall,
failing to disguise the scent of the rotting leaves on the road side.
pretty words from a pretty mouth
with no purpose or meaning.
even — which burned this hearth
can not break free itself — from
a gin of its own tongue — since
an ember starts from the word "fire"
an opportunity are also promises
will test its own sincerity — on
stirring-fate in a hot cauldron
which vaporized a lot of anxious
"should I believe
on the potion i made — if
that shatter in this frame
is my own fear?"
Loves it all
But not I
And I hate
There is dark
I'm always nervous that you hate me
And I wouldn't blame you
And I try to calm down
But anxiety is my best friend
Who loves to pass me notes in class that say
"They hate you"
So strong so confident
Why wouldn't I believe them?
But if you do hate me you don't say it
If you're upset you never tell me
These are what I lay awake at night afraid of
Please don't leave me i love you
I tell myself to grow up and smile
But Anxiety loves to show up in my dreams
And I don't wanna bother you anymore than I already do
I love you please don't hate me
Large and unburdened
these hands show my true weakness--
spread across silken sheets
and the gentle touch will feel
as if desert sands were
wedged between the threading--
those threads do not breath as easy
as these hands of mine do.
They look and feel
as privileged as my ghostly appearance
would lead the World to believe--
even watermelons harden in the sun,
but these hands of mine
are closer to being ballet dancers
except they've never
had to learn to dance.
They've never had to be successful
and I've been led to believe
failure was optional--
that with each attempt the World
will give me a do-over.
Sometimes or maybe always
people eventually run out
and instead they are left
...better luck next time.