I will not forgive

I will not let bygones be bygones

I will not bury the hatchet

(how can I bury a weapon
when it is still embedded in my spine?)

no--

I will write poetry instead.

When someone calls me
beautiful

I never know how to
believe them.

⚠️Trigger Warning: The following poem contains subject matter pertaining to substance abuse⚠️
~

A benzo
A day keeps the
nerves
at bay

⚠️Trigger Warning: The following poem contains subject matter pertaining to suicidal ideation⚠️
~

When one cat is dying
the other cats in the household
will sometimes keep their distance
from the dying cat

because they cannot bear
the smell of
death.


I wonder if that’s
why
so many of you
had abandoned me at my
most terminal.


Could you smell the murmur of
death
I wore above my collar bone
like Eau de Parfum?

Could you smell
the impending suicide?

You couldn’t wait to
put me down—

not for the sake of my
suffering

but

for the sake of yours.

{bad luck}

⚠️Trigger Warning: The following poem contains subject matter pertaining to self-harm ⚠️
~

The inconquerable crusade
of the razor

plucking at my nerves
like they are violin strings.

My fingers go numb.

I promise myself
this is a song
I will never sing again

(but, oh, how I love the music).

"I believe in you,"

whispered the moon

to the tide.

As I was a child,
Unlike the normal mass.
I wanted to be the nightingale
The best in class.

A habit I planted,
In the Garden of Eden.
Watered by the grief of my past,
As it grew taller, the fruit sweetened.

I had sinned,
Profited from competition’s demise.
Stole his talent,
Grew in age but not that wise.

What enables, divine
What disables, human.
Got out of luck and empathy,

In apathy, like an ungrateful yeoman.

Couldn't wash the mirror,
Need to wash my face.
Blinded by my addiction of fame,
Embryonic, falling from the summit in rage.

Now I am a pavement artist,
Pride and sin hath a fall.
Living with and like stray,
Failing my life as the nature called.