I am not a body in the wreckage;
 this is not the part where you
 drive by slowly again and again, 
your speckled egg-shell neck craning
 to see what damage you might have done.


There is no yellow-tape around my heart, 
and they have not outlined my shape in chalk. 
I am not an animal in a cage 
here for your amusement when you
 get bored or lonely or just want
 me to remember that you used to be
 the one who kissed me good night.

I will not pull out my entrails 
so you can see if my heart still
 beats or if it was a job well done.
 I am not the debris at ground zero,
 and there will be no memorial built 
here in honour of what you ruined;
 it wasn’t worth the ash it left behind.

Ribs crack and flowers grow
Life, rising up from death
as easily as day from night

We are all wild flowers
who have no contract
with the word
and who pay no regard

but who whip and whirl
with the wind
staying rooted
yearning for more

Sometimes loosing petals
sometimes blowing away completely
We are our own collateral damage

lost to the universe, lost to the stars

Ten seconds of hurtful words can do damage for a lifetime

I lay you down on the floor
Displayed for all to see
How was I to know that
What you needed wasn't me?

What you needed was closure
And you craved less exposure
To the damage of reality
Yes, then you'd be free

But that was of no avail
To you, at least, my love
Instead you ended up falling
I hope now you'll rise back up

I apologise for everything
That I did and didn't do
I apologise in knowing
That I did this to you

Damage
Destruction
Death

       Never fixed
       No thoughts
       No cares

              For anything
              For anyone
              For everything

                     All falls
                     All dies
                     All down

Nothing Matters

Truth: damaged people
tend to do damage themselves.
Keep your eyes open.

Body aches,
muscles pull.
Feeling empty,
never full.

Mind races,
thoughts fly.
Tears falling,
hearts soaring high.

Caught in a moment,
lost in time.
Addicted to it a feeling,
a temporary high.

You're on top of the world,
then lower than your feet.
Feel like a millionaire,
but lose everything in a heartbeat.

Up and Down,
round and round.
Never being able
to find solid ground.

Aching for freedom,
but a slave to the rush.
Screaming in anguish
at the power of your lust.

It's hard to break free
when the high is so sweet.
But be careful to find it
for you may lose your feet.

And then there's the blood
But I can't feel my own skin
A knife in the hands of volatility
The sight of my own, estranged
Losing a handle on reality
Although it was never all that firm
I’ve lost the meaning in morality
As well as the meaning in this mortal boundary
Was the knife in my hands cause I'm shaking
In the mirror I stare, my vision is fading
Is it the end again?

The tiles are stained so deep in my masochism
A fitting match to this porcelain heart
The broken lines that I've utter may reflect
the lines that I have etched on myself
Cutting away the innocence or whatever was left
The damage is forever unending
Slipping in the broken pieces and bleeding
In the hours I’ve screamed through the pain awakened
Through the red, white, and black I’m escaping
In remembrance of what I’ve forgotten
Regrets that have could never be amended
Is it the end again?