how is it that you stand there
speaking and smiling?
every word is a dagger
in my heart.
you rip and tear the walls.
my heart constricts and i am not safe.
who are you to do this?
be silent;
though it pains me still.

◊

I cannot feel
or reel in the things that i deem to be unreal
There's a blank spot in my heart a pit
that's been teared open and wholly ripped apart

Do not dare falter or stumble in your path
Do not scorn or scoff at this nor dare lay a frown
Do not look down at me
and see as if i am some widowed gal reaching out her hand

I pretend to know where the bird lays it's nest
Pretend to know the flowers are here to stay
but that's a play pretend, i know nothing except the horrors that stay grey and feed all day
I pretend to smile and seem as if i hadn't been bleeding where i lay

Go on with your path,
falter not at the widow least you desire to face it's wrath
Go on,
least you find what's missing then serve your hand,
Good man

Lemons into lemonade...
That's what they tell me.
It's so hard to make lemonade
When your wrists want to bleed.
The juice stings my flesh
And I just want to end.
The scars remain on my flesh
A reminder of my friend.
Pain is the only one I can tell
Nothing else is real.
Other people will spill and tell
The secret of how I feel.

Lemons into lamentation
That's all I have today-
Nothing but hopeless lamentation-
Until life stops dumping lemons on my tray.

~every distance is a long shot
within reach of a fool~
                          Prv. 𝑓:𝑦

bleed your heart out in dripping
poetic pretense―slip
that inky salamander some silk:

         "the wilting waiting flora
bequeathed their busting bouquets and
     bountiful bosoms unto the world
              in all of its prescient
                       violence"

then read it back to yourself
later and be
absolutely disgusted.

throw it away with all the other
things you've done in your
life.

now reach back in your closet
and rattle the skeletons
lingering there.

finger your dreams in the
dark under pressure
from the mind
to find yourself.

the lightning severance
will sing and
anxiety will
harmonize with the knife.

you've done it again...
****** it all up
and everyone
knows it.

you could eat all the erasers
in the world
and your **** still
wouldn't come out correct.

a lifetime of valleys and
seawalls has made you
an avatar of
effortless blunder.

and you can't stop bleeding
all over the page; white
is red again
cause
you blue it.

bleed in―breathe out
breathe in―bleed out
bleed in―breathe out
breathe in―
bleed out...

welcome to the creative
process.