She loved the water, but not as much as the water loved her. Reaching for her, struggling for embrace each time she set foot on it’s shores. The lake was vast and held beauty and life of all kinds, but it wanted nothing more than this girl. The girl who marveled at the water’s beauty even when the wind was stinging and harsh and no others would venture away from their homes on such a day.
The lake left her gifts. It collected the wastes and trash that others had abandoned at it’s soft edges and transformed it into treasures of all sorts. Broken bottles, once with jagged edges, were now jewels of the water’s making. Gifts for the girl, they were strewn about the sand.
Each time the girl followed the shore the waves would reach for her feet longingly. The girl would giggle and bound away from the approaching wave, afraid to wet her shoes on such a cold day. As moments passed the girl would venture on, drifting nearer to the water, searching for treasures along the edge of the sand. Each time she did, the lake would reach for her. Again she would giggle.
They played this game each time the girl came to visit the lake. The lake loved the way the girl’s laughter rode on the wind, but as time went by the lake grew more and more blue. Not in colour, but in spirit. Reaching for something it loved dearly without embrace. Only summer brought hope that the girl would venture away from the shore. The lake understood, but oh how the it longed for the coming of summer warmth.

i.

i watch people die.

the romance moves slowly
on camera film; a lover
crashing through pvc
to kiss pavement,
windows behind relay
a tragedy captured
with ***** lights.

ii.

i transcribe scripts
to my bathroom mirror.

i see no Winslet.

green in my eyes
mark an imperfect creature,
no feeder's hand to bite.

i speak to my reflection
in self indulgence.

iii.

i don't have a role to play.

who i am is minors and leads
of movies shaped by the past,

but gas on the celluloid
makes the memory blur.

feelings died with the character
dead in the past.

iv.

i just watch people die.

casablanca;
temporary love rejected
when the bone and
the heart shatters.

v.

i don't know who i'll become.
i don't know if i'll become.

Grab your supplies,
two needles, six alcohol pads and
the Wonder Woman bandaids you bought
to feel brave.
Remind yourself to buy a box for mom
next time you supermarket shop.

Curse under your breath,
its left thigh week and
you know the left thigh really hates T
Message your group chat,
Ask them to pump you up
so you can ignore needle induced palpitations—
are my ribs caging my heart or protecting it?
Refocus yourself; now is not the time
for existential thoughts

Fill the syringe with the eighteen gauge,
and then drop that sucker into
the ancient bottle of vanilla coke
filled with used needles.
Change to the twenty-five gauge,
refresh your music page.
Is it a Queen or All Time Low shot day?

Wipe your leg down,
not once, not thrice,
but five times—
As you stare between the needle,
your thigh, your needle, and again
the thigh.
Count to three,
One,
Two,
Three,
and in it goes,
not so bad—it never is.

Repeat every Sunday.

I                                                        if
                               asked
you                                                              loved                                                  me
        
      razor-blade                           silence
    
  the  
                                                                  blood
                    stained
                                                                              my                                           sweatshirt

left                                    
                behind—
                                                                just
                                                                        a
                                                                              cutter.

I                                    
              never
                                     mattered
                                                                                                to                                   you
                                                            anyways.

           You
                                              left                    me                                                   alone
                         in
                                                the                                         dark                                            of

your                                                  room.

Love, four letters. How many words can be four letters?

Four letters to lead woman pregnant.
Four letters short of proud, regretted.
Four letter adjective miracle to earth.
Four letters added to she, rebirth.

The numbers game got lame it's gain was vain and plain insane no stain on Name.

1, like the ultimate golf swing.
1, second beating the buzzer.
1, master stroke, Picasso.
1, up beat frown on Model.

Need my pain be so dramatic? Why oh soul, are you downcast within me. Rejoice and delight in salvation.

A picture paints a thousand words.
Why won’t you stop shouting?
I’m already close.
My stimulus can’t take it.

i am an animal,
a thing once born
in a Garden,
hissing at this
bronze statue of you,
my venom dripping
down pierced palms.

i am an animal
searching in the
wilderness for you,
hungry, half-mad,
walking to-and-fro,
wondering if my blistered
feet mean anything to you.

i am an animal
drunk on the
blood of you.
i drink up your essence,
the taste of smoke &
honey clinging to my tongue
even as i choke on your name.

i am an animal,
but i still pray to you &
your empty shrines;
a habit, a ritual, i say
to no one in particular; somewhere,
a bird caws three times.
“liar, liar, liar.”

i am an animal
& i rest in the shade of a
white broom tree waiting for
the sound of wings. i awaken
at sunrise to feathers in my
hair, hunger and thirst
gone from me. i weep.