On our walk today,
You told me you loved him
And I vomited,
In my mouth,
Just a little.
Forcing the putrid liquid back down,
I feign support.
"Really that's great?"
Are the words that escape.
Replacing the aftertaste--
Of the ones still stuck in my bile.
Ones tasting like,
"Why can't you see my love?"
and
"What does he have...
That I don't?"
My emotionally caused nausea
Goes, thankfully, unnoticed.
As you are still lost,
In thought or lust.
I can never tell.
As we continue walking,
My stomach calms.
We acknowledge life's beauty,
In trees, in birds, in clouds.
While I am forced
To disregarded its greatest,
You.

My hands trembled,
looking at
how bleak my world seemed.

I looked down to see
a red line,
running down my arm.

Closing my eyes,
swallowing the same pills
for what i hoped was the last time.

My hope of eternal sleep,
eroding as i awoke
dizzy and empty of all things.

Maybe i killed her,
or maybe
I killed me.

I am establishing self into
own vision; swallowed some of
My Own stolen ink: chewing on the pen from the front desk.
—tongue was aflame and bitter.
"Well," said self, "I better get more used to the taste of ink." —looked at me
in the rearview. "At least you look Dead Handsome with blacked-out, bruis-ed hickies on your lips."
And I popped my collar up.
It made me look distinguished, so I kept it there—. Opened car door and spit black bugs and blood against the snow.
Quickly realized then, how I could make the ground my canvas.

Hold me.

You scream.

I bleed.

Rusted nails,
Twisted thorns.

In a sterile society, who needs immune systems?

to bring in spring
we lose an hour
of sleep
of life

we celebrate this
and are happy
to lose this hour
to mess up our lives

all because
the bleak cold of winter
is killing us inside.

-r.y.s

Compare me to a winter's day
My insides are icicles
Threatening to drop, to shatter at the slightest disturbance
My demons are hibernating, hungry and wrapped in fur
Anticipating the first sight of spring
                     Fullness
My heart is bleak
                     Barren
A cracked stone wall runs along its edges
Flowers could bloom there, but not in this coldness
Not in this absence
My blood is screaming as it ravages inside of this empty shell
"I just want to die. I just want to die. I just want to die." it howls
Where is my spring?
Where is my solace?

I say;

The drifting rain dissolves sea salt
Turning tears into dangled monsoon
Under the bleak ballad of dying dawn
Where I long for heat unbroken

You say;

The drifting rain drenches my tiptoe
Witching smiles into deranged equinox
Upon the downpour of ancient daybreak
Where I pray for old snow long sunk

All was as if the days faded
And morphed into younger sunset
It was as if mercy was drained
And no one preach as desired

The downpour stench though remains constant
Of rotting perfume of the rouge graphite
You drowsily drip from dowsing fingers, they lit
Into pages of burning, dancing melodious lads

As will, you may keep those imageries for you
And give up old stories as my slumber lyre
Whether it is about the burnt down marching boy
Or the bloodstained pianist from our ancient joy

For the bleak heart aesthetic
has affected a new kind of love
And the bleak heart aesthetic
would never let you feel so certain

So please keep your drifting rain of strings
During the downpour of the deranged equinox
When the snow goes black and slowly sunk
Into pages of firespit melodious lads