you bound me in despair
to your will and body bare

I decided that's all that
happiness was

the choir is singing hallelujah, now.
my best isn't much but there's sweat on my brow. everything went wrong, everything goes wrong.

I'm in an irrational routine with these things. I write and sing and drive and act out of turn.
but there's something right about now

I like the sleepless nights
I feel free and alive
It's sweeter than bright
brighter than sweet

I feel I have a purpose
I feel in control of those
Opposing forces
the one guiding the wheel
the one gripping the pen,
covered in ink and dirt

I embrace it with whatever
parts of me I can muster

I become a different person

but this nirvana will end soon
there are other people I am
required to be at times, and
that time is now upon me

it all could be so easy and
I think it's becoming easier

such I fool, I am
it's hard to think about at times

I pulled into the parking lot
found the idea of you and
sped off like the fool I swore
to never be

you do this to me,
time and time again

but I think if I let myself
realize it, I'd realize I
missed you more than I
thought I never needed
you, dear. have mercy.
find compassion. release me.

i would tell you about the way i lose myself when you come to close,
and sear your image into my heart
with every appearance.
the most beautiful of all scars.

i would tell you that speaking your name feels like breathing fire,
a pain i can't bring myself to feel,
so skirt the scorch
and let my feelings sway

but above all i'd ask you
why?
because if there's anything i know,
it's that my love didn't show

choke on hope,
no love to stoke

And the spiders will never stop dancing
And I am twelve years old again
In the summertime
Dragging sharp objects across my hips
And pen is just not the same

And I feel the stares
Of all the people
And I feel my blood rouge my cheeks

And I am fifteen years old again
In the wintertime
And the bedroom floor feels too familiar
And I’ve been sleeping for fourteen hours

And my lips are always chapped
And he looks at me like I’m a diamond
And he’s a pretty good actor
And I crumble under the weight of his eyes
Which are not unlike diamonds

And my hand begins to cramp
And the spiders are taking a break
And their little legs still move
And I don’t know where this fear of centipedes came from
And I am a gutted pumpkin,
A Jack-O-Lantern in June

And my hair is turning white
And I can see my breath
And he stares at me like I’m an anomaly
And I am anomaly
And my ribcage is broken
And there has been a burglary
And my stomach is being pumped
And I am lying on the shower floor
And my head just missed the edge

Trying to flee but tripping,
On the clothes he leaves
Strewn about my bedroom floor.
Reminders of how he drags me in.
Over and over.

Sipping on air he steals
From these lungs.
He coils himself around me,
Hands enclosed around my throat.
Begging me, pleading, stay.

Five more moments, he whispers
sweetly, softly into my hair.
But his words cut like razors
on the soles of these feet,
as I tiptoe from the bed.

He does not force this poison
Past these lips. But oh,
How easy it is to ignore him
At the bottom of a bottle,
At the end of a cigarette.

These paper thin limbs,
flimsy without him now.
I cannot slam doors,
On someone who is forever
Stood on my side of the frame.

I, his melancholy mistress,
Am comfortable only
In the dark shadows he casts,
When his cold arms
Are encircling my waist.

If I drop him,
Surely my own heart of glass
Must shatter?
Tell me, how can I ever look upon a mirror
If he is not there to crack my reflection.

I would say
I love you to the moon and back,
But truth is I love you more,
With every fiber of your being,
Each and every pore.

I would say
I'll travel the seven seas for you,
But I'd do it twice as much,
There and back again twelve times,
Doesn't even convey the amount of my heart you touch.

I would say
I'll take a shoot for you,
A dagger in the heart,
I'd be your barricade,
Only if you'll play this part.

There and back and round again,
In envoloping  love spiral,
I don't even care,
If this confession goes viral.

Did your mother mourn your first locks

whe she found out the truth

about the thoughts

hidden behind your eyes

as secretive as pressed flowers hidden

in pocket bibles.

-

These leaves you pluck from their bindings,

and roll into cigarettes;

they read ‘Ezekiel’.

-

Your mother

must look at you as a baby

with a two-ton heart

and your mind being

a whirlpool of water;

slightly polluted

but as warm as Sunday’s bath.

-

You’re forever drawing in bathers

that drown in your presence.

-

Being close to you

brings me ever closer

to drowning.

-

And your mother

wants your girls

to come up for air