If I somehow
***** this up, and die
in some stupid, boring, clichéed,
romantically tragic way
while I'm still sort of
young and
sort of attractive, and
you are, too,
I hope you
**** on my grave,
howl profanity at the couldn't-give-a-**** sky,
and curse me inside-out
for being
so derivative and
predictable.

Sometimes your choices may deceive you
Don't complain..
They are your choices..
Choices to be written on your grave

Green grass and
sunny days.
Overhead,
the squirrels play.
Birds in the sun and
fresh soil dug.
A brand new stone
of grey.

In doom and despair
She smiles as if to laugh
A bulge of fangs underneath
Hidden but in plain sight

A pain felt deep
Like a needle piercing
But yet I am calm
As if in the eye of the storm

Blood creeps and crawls
A song on the surface of my skin
A choir draped in crimson
Singing a melody of crows

Fate can be cruel
A love looted
At the point of a stiletto
She knew where to strike

She drove it deep
Into skin, into soul
A chasm so fathomless
What an abyssal *****

I was butchered
A pine box aroma
I can feel her eyes
Piercing me as she shovels dirt

I spent my day
laying roses on the ground
where my sweet brother
asleep forever beside God

I used to play games
Where I'd walk on the ceiling
And pretend I was a fly
My hair would climb down
From where it rested on my spine
And walk the corridors of my childhood home.

I used to play games
Where my closet I'd be cleaning
As I watched my parents cry
As the skeletons came out
Slurring and shouting
And clawing at the heart
Of my oh-so-fragile mother.

I used to play games
Where I would die while sleeping
And on my single bedded coffin I would lie
A knock on the door followed by
"Are you okay?"
My parents made the most repetitive sounds.
"I'm fine," I'd whisper, clawing at my own grave.