It's a rush in the morning
Throwing on clothes
I didn't take my drugs today
I'm essentially ******
That's what that means
I could've worn my trench coat
But anxiety's a *****
I'll just dress in black
From head to toe instead
Raining down like tears
Falling from my bitter mouth
The weather is forever
My biggest ******* mood
I could black my eyes
And slit my wrists
But I'll iron my bangs
And slip on my vans
That's what Ohio is really for

Can you prove my existence?
Can you do it for sure?
A photo, a memory, a poem, a score?

What proof have you that you exist?
If you ponder that inquiry,
You’ll find something is missed.

We see what we think we see,
But what is the reality?

We know what we think we know,
But what is real, and what’s for show?

Found in the dark,
You were not alone,
Somebody killed you
In your home
You were only six,
You will never be seven,
But everyone is pretty in heaven
Beauty queen,
You won the crowns,
It did not help when they held you down,
I think of you,
It makes me crazy
23 years,
You’re still a baby,
But, somebody knows what happened to you,
Because...somebody did it
The world may never know….
Because...somebody hid it
RIP JonBenét  August 6, 1990 – December 25, 1996
©B L Costello 2019

the sun rises out of your pocket
that's how I've always known it
you empty the lint along with the golden threads
and weave them gently into my sleep addled eyes
when I wake, you're gone
but I know you've been there
I can tell by the way the chair is facing the opposite wall
the shoes on the floor have taken the shape of the last step you took
and your ghostly perfume still lingers as a full figure of air
dashing through the vents just to come out the other side
full-fledged and yet fleeting as I make my breakfast
you rattle the walls and that's how I know it's time to take out the trash
the black vinyl plastic bags seem to melt under the heat
just as I do when you tell me that love is problematic
but you've always been resourceful

she felt nothing, she felt
everything,
she felt the ever present emptiness
slowly gnawing
clawing at her insides, whispering the
relief that could come from succumbing
to its comforting abuse
the caress of an icy blade against
the frantic veins on her neck
that raise themselves every time
she breathes
and her chest rises, only to fall
after all she'd fought against,
after all that she fought for
the blurring of her vision was the last
thing she remembered about him
she wanted nothing to do with his seductive charm
but he was already a part of her, she
brought him every where she went
he used to leave handprints in deep purple paint
around her neck
now, he dug his fingers into her
subconscious, leaching,
bleeding her of her potential
she could feel him, and she feared his reappearance daily
she waited for him
to leave a bouquet of dead roses on her doorstep,
to draw the red morning dew from her wine colored lips
to leave a trail of blackened marks on her hips
to tenderly wipe the tears from the eyes that he made swell
she spent more time trying to convince herself she was well
than she spent outside
most days
she lived through a haze,
and when his ways would alter
after he kneeled at the altar,
she would hold on to those brief moments
so when the honeymoon was over,
she could hold up the frozen and broken
memories of him sober