1.
Tell me…
Tell me that you won’t leave.
Tell me that you care.
While you whisper sweet nothings into a stranger's ear.

2.
Tell me...
Tell me that you could, maybe,
Just maybe,
Like me back
(If I gave you my world)
But don't,
Don't.

3.
Hold me...
Hold me for a moment,
Then let me go.
Say it's for my freedom,
But it's truthfully for yours.

4.
Style yourself as my dream...
Then let me fall
From the sky,
From the glory.
Into the soil,
Into the mud.

5.
Tell me…
Tell me what you know I want to hear,
Even if we both know it’s a lie.
Tell me.
**** me.

Five twenty Texas.
In the morn
Fore the busses test their horns.
As a train rattles next to 377
Before I hit 7-11
Where I bet a dollar for a million
Sometimes two on a billion.
Never won once
****** little *****
I'll win tomorrow.
Cause I'll be up drunk for
Five twenty Texas

A casual conversation turned wrong in my head
and you haven't a clue the pain you've caused.
Fun facts about ourselves is what we seek.
               Tell me five things I like
you request
and I rattle off a dozen items, categories.
                Now you,
I playfully demand.
                Five things about me. Go.
You spit out two quickly,
then stutter back to the first.
I watch, confused, as you falter.
A third stumbles out and I flinch inwardly.
Cute clothes? I ******* hate clothes.
I have no clue why you'd say that,
pick something so completely
    off
as a gift for me.
You're actually really hard to buy for
you try to reason with me.
And I'm offended.
I lay out a myriad of options quickly
that anyone with a passing knowledge
could pick up on.
Any item to do with
literature
art
crafting
cooking
would do.
How do you not know this?
I thought you knew me better than anyone?
You know that I have this weird obsession
with globes, can't resist running my fingers
over their surfaces, dreaming of traveling
all along them in reality.
And yet you make no mention of them.
Or typewriters. Or sewing machines.
My two biggest gifts I've been begging for.
And I am heartbroken.
It has nothing to do with material goods.
I thought you knew me,
and apparently you don't.
And I realize also, you couldn't
name even five things.

the smell of old alcohol lingers on my sheets, less potent that of your cologne but it still brings back memories of 2. your face is all i can see in this swirling whirling darkness. 3. i swear i can still feel your hands wrapped around my waist holding me together but they are not there. the only thing you have a grip on now is my 4. heart, beating louder than a runaway train because of cloudy memories of your 5. taste overcoming me. you were so sweet, all that was left in your absence was the melancholy taste of loneliness
i never knew love could be so ironic

Flood on me
Drown me deep
Gasping for air
Daunting mystique

Impaled vulture claws
Tearing out vein
Captivating ****
Wretched in pain

Injected in the arm
Poison me slow
Agonizing sediments
Driven in the hole

Trapped in the wreck
Impaled by the steel
**** drunk driver
Can't really feel

Long way down
High off the bridge
Rejecting my mistake
Dead on the ridge

it's one o'clock in the morning
and it smells of drugstore perfume, daisies
mixed with something attempting
to be sweeter than sugar
when its truly salt
swirled together with
arsenic and my vapid feelings.

it's one o'clock in the morning
and it feels like static, like the fuzziness
on television screens and the
sensation of the wires in my
brain snapping from this exhaustion
that was never there till i
gave up on the phantom innocence i'd been
clinging to in the hopes it
was still clinging onto the shreds of
clothing at my feet.

it's one o'clock in the morning
and it looks as though everything has been
painted monochrome. it's a series
of hazy greys and blurry whites, but
it's mostly a black delved so dark
i can't see anything through it; it's
not transparent enough to even
glance at the stars blinking down
toward the earth because the nighttime
won't let me see anything but mysteries
and untouched memories.

it's one o'clock in the morning
and it tastes like blood, so much
blood. there's metal on my tongue
and it's everywhere because there's no
knife anywhere, just this transpiercing
pain in my stomach and my lungs are
being sliced open and the gore of my guts
is spilling onto the tile floor and there's
blood covering my hands and my
face is cracking against concrete and
i'm puking rainbows again
and it tastes of heartsickness.

it's one o'clock in the morning
and it sounds like nothing. it's
the kind of nothing that
everyone notices: the breath that
stops when one gets the news
that their loved one is leaving
them for good, the nothing after
a performance that's left everyone
contemplating the universe and love
and whether i actually want to
live at all, the silence following
the coffin being shut. it's the nothingness
of sobs and heartbreak and
death. it's the sound of
loneliness - particularly mine.

Day one, first tear.
Day two, come here.
Day three, sink in.
Day four, reality shock.
Day five, lost mind.
Day six, let's end this.

-Kathia Mariana Landeros