you can pour it out unrefined.
i can hold it for you,
the mess made by your love,
one i verbosely write about,
but, never truly understand.

darling, we can just figure it out,
as we go places and stay
within each other's hold.
for better or for worst,
i am your willing capable mold.

when she loves,
she spills over.
she makes a mess,
a mud puddle.
so, lover, be creative
to stay afloat.
if you must bring
a boat and a paddle because
the way she loves drowns—
heart always full, lungs out of breath.
your ribs expand
to take in some air.
your sigh, despair
of loving instead.
maybe like her old flames, soon, you too
would wish
her love burns less.
but, she is meant to engulf all,
like the waves that hit the shore
with unrelenting energy.
she is meant
to be consumed
by the whole of your body.
no, she cannot water down her love
for you, for anybody.
and so, lover,
just hold her steady.
any less is unworthy.

i strip my skin, to show you my flesh. and i am met with tears and apologies muffled by your sobbing. i would cry with you, comfort you, tell you how good of a person you are. but now, my scars revealed again, i point at you shamelessly and i tell you it’s your fault. where sympathy and pity was, i only hold resentment. maybe in a few years i will have clarity, a new perspective, and i will feel guilty for how i was, but not now. you complain about your burdens and i take them on. the weight of it all.
everyday i feel it, my body, dropping a little lower. my feet once stable, now cramping under the pressure. and so i cut myself open and i tell you of my bruised body, but still. you can only cry and look at me, without ever doing anything.

Thwack my heart,
Vacant feelings.
You used up every last
part of me.

I'm so ******* jaded.

I dote on you,
while you take ample amounts
of me.
I don't know what's left to share.

I'm restless.

I sleep in an untenanted bed
with creases that leave little of you.
Hollow eyes,
staring at me when I rouse.
Hoping I'll be there for your last
days awake.

I feel lonely in a full house.

Meeting at the lowest,
four walls to keep us from killing ourselves.
Was starting again,
first day of school like your parents did?
Was it a bond,
Or did our demons tangle?

This is a mess I have to clean, again.

you will die this way.

trying to handle all of this mess,
trying to keep it all even though it is too heavy to hold.

it will seep into your soul
until it becomes too much to deal with.

it will bleed
and smear red onto the walls.

and you try to clean but
really you are just pushing it
further into the crevasses.

and you try to organise
but really you are just moving things around.
moving them into their new graves, to gather dust and to rot.

and even though you have hidden it,
it is still there,
the decay is still happening.

the mess it still
buried and decomposing
behind a curtain.

you need to cull, and burn.
throw out and throw up all of the things you are carrying.
rid yourself of the weight you hold so tightly onto.

let it go,
set it aflame,
laugh at its ashes as they settle into the fabric of the curtain.

you don’t deserve to be confined to a life
carrying it all.

it is not your job to carry the universe,
you are not atlas,
you can put it down.

i promise the world will not end.

powerless scream
and big old trees
invaded my home

you live in my soul.

the rent that you pay,
it isn’t enough
for the mess that you make,
you damage and break

the trees stop and stare,
my home is a mess,
because you live there.