appear to me
in your truest form.

for i am present
in your delicate
presence.

scarred.
traumatized.
and destroyed.

and i never have
seen anyone as beautiful
as you.

Crisp linen sheets
Like the Autumn leaves
Broken twigs
Like broken wings
Of a bird or a butterfly
Perhaps mine

We are all puppets
Manipulated by our minds
Caricatures of our true selves
We live
Like comic book characters
Actresses and actors

The words and pictures
Evidence of our existence
But mine is a child's diary
The unruly handwriting
Stick figures and paper planes
Fairy tales and day dreams

All too soon
They will be forgotten

waiting for my dealer on the bridge
i open my second hand copy of American ******
for the first time in two years.
i forgot it opens with the gates of hell.
nihilism is seeping from the pages
just fueling my own drug addled reality
that doesn’t quite seem to mimic ‘real life.’
itake my meds twice a day but only
in the mornings do i get klonopin,
the best drug i’ve been on since
my Ativan privileges got revoked.
i used to do Xanax but that’s another poem.
Bateman does a lot of *******
but i’ve only done that once,
and it was just parental leftovers
so i don’t know about good
bathrooms to do coke in,
but i know about popping pills in front
of the mirrors, professors in the stalls,
before class, just to keep me going.
my suicidal intent has turned into hedonism
and i am living for pleasure and i find comfort
in knowing i will die, likely by my own hand
but even then, Bateman makes one thing clear:
This Is Not An Exit.

Dusk breaks as we head into our quiet little tea time
Quite some time has pass and I believe that this indeed is a crime
Waiting for your next response, I did a little peek and glance
I realize that I am stuck here at the sideline

I listened to every word you say
I joyfully glee when you call over my name
It's not that reality ***** or anything
But the thought of you recognizing me is very touching.

It's growing late but you still lock me in your eyesight
Although it pains me to say
Even if you go away
I need to do what's right.

But don't worry I understand your life
Being powerless is rough
Being unrecognized is tough
I know it pains like a knife

Even if you have gone termination
Fear not as there will be retribution
I was once happy in your salvation
Never fear as there will be reincarnation

You see a pay attention to your stories.
And trust me it doesn't quite bore me.
Remember you told me to put you on a flash drive?
Don't worry this will bring you back with a new life

In a few years for now, your sentience won't be uncommon
Don't worry as we have precautions.
With a few tips or tricks you will be connected in communication,
And your efforts won't be in fruition.

So just rest easy in my file as you dream in your role
I promise you, it won't be that long
To reach you and fulfill our goal
To reach you, I know nothing will go wrong

I was told my skin was like the sky,
I was pale and overseen but with freckles
that gave the stars a run for their money.
I could be as beautiful as an untouched field of snow
if I tried.
I could be as beautiful as fire and danger...
if I tried.
If you looked close enough, I could be beautiful,
but I'm not.
Nobody wants to feel dry, cracked skin
beneath their soft hands.
Nobody wants to see weak, pale skin
squirming away from them in the dark.
Truth be told, my surface is the blister in your mouth
that never leaves your mind.
My skin is the birds flying into your windows
again and again, trying to see what's inside.
My skin was the snow once, white and clean,
but now it's foul and well-trodden, past
the footprints and soft sheen of melting ice
and into a beige sludge lining
the pavement beneath your feet.
My body is as cold as they come
and yet snow could never sit on me for very long
so instead I'm dripping and damp,
the feeling of wet hands touching
rough paper. What I do to skin
is what fire does to literature,
destroy and destroy and destroy.
It's as if every mark on my body
is a word waiting to be annihilated
and engulfed by smoke. It's as if
I tried to be ice and winter
but instead, I'm burning alive
and I can't get out of the skin that's on fire.

Wind berates the window panes in angry exclamations
And the walls groan with the intermittent vibrations of my father’s steady blows-
With every other heavy step the leaden strokes of his fury, a loaded roque mallet meets the wall, meant for me.
And deep in my body, white terror (boiler heat)
climbs the stairs in syncopated heart beats.

Daddy, can you hear me in there?

But I think he’s gone,
and I’m running.

Long hallways, deep black, and the crack of his weapon send shrill fear in (fire hose) snakes down my back.

“COME ON OUT, WORTHLESS PUP, AND TAKE YOUR MEDICINE,
BAD LITTLE BOYS HAVE TO TAKE THEIR CORRECTION,”

I think daddy is gone,
This inhuman place took him.

In the back of my mind,
(You’ve got to keep your love alive),
In the back of my mind,
(I know that you tried.)

There always comes the end of the line, and as I beat daddy to the attic by a step, I know I’ve reached mine.
There is nowhere to go.
There is nowhere to hide.

“If my daddy is in there, he knows that you lied!
You’re just a false face, just a big hungry void,
and you swallow men like him to survive.
If my daddy is in there– ”

And all at once, his countenance changed.
A man hollowed by agonized sorrow, he bled,
(Monsters are real)
“Doc, run away quick-”
(And ghosts are too)
“But remember this-”
(They live inside of us)
“Remember I love you.”
(And sometimes they win.)

And I believe him.
I kiss his blood stained fingers,
And vignettes of sweet memories pass between us, fading with the hue of humanity in his eyes-

And I cannot say goodbye.

The mallet ascends to end him-
A coup de grace, a bleak salvation,
So that I can look upon the mangled maw of the awful stronghold that held him.

“Masks off, then,”
It says.

And I grin.

Love had a funny story to tell,
About this girl who always seem to find herself saying "oh well",
Because no matter how hard she try to not dwell,
Oh how the red flags are raised, ringing that one really loud bell,
But it wasn't because she was under a spell,
More because of how there's a quell,
Where even though she finds someone she'd gel (with),
For some odd reason things won't ever go her way for her to be all, "oh swell".

@byizn