I'm so glad you never knew me then,
When I wrote out my pain
With more than my pen.
Bravado and brandy,
Always going dancing.
It was fun until it wasn't.
I was fun until I wasn't.
I was young until I wasn't.
I'm trying to de-age,
Find some youth,
Grasp some juvenile joviality,
Iron out the wrinkles despair and desperation
Have etched into my face.
I wonder if I met you then,
Would we have ended in the same place?
I was sprinting in a marathon of my own design.
I know you could have kept pace
But would we have had the time?
You say you would have died
And that means I'm meant for you.
But are you sure that loving me,
Even in the Now,
Isn't killing you too?

Glass dome full Of sticks,
stones grown in a broken home.
Windows; mirrors cracked

Glass dome full Of sticks,
stones grown in a broken home.
Windows; mirrors cracked

sometimes she does not recognise herself
she is not the same person from five years ago
back then, things like innocence were real
infedility was something other women practiced frequenty
other women
disloyal women
not her though

she feels tainted, stained
irrevocably ashamed
marked with a poisionous cheater's kiss
she wants to go back to wedded bliss
she is desperately looking for some way to fix it
to find some sort of reprieve

she stares into the ***** mirror
hearing the whisper of her old friend, Fear
telling her of the art of sabotage
an art she wishes she'd never mastered
what can I say?
vows were made to be obeyed
when she broke those sacred promises
her soul shattered just the same
so when she looks into that mirror
her reflection is a stranger
she wants to be anyone else
not this unfaithful mess of a shell
so she smashes that glass into tiny shards
it's time to move on
time to make a new start

you keep being told
that you are
worthy of love,
but you keep
on refusing
what you deserve
because all that
you've ever known
is pain.

confounded
and always so lost,
you don't even know
if shedding your
years of tears
is worth spilling
onto the floor.

inflicting pain on your own,
before anyone else does.

maybe i leave it all till the last minute because some gritty part of me loves the rapid pulse of pulling back right before the truck turns the corner and blows through the stretch of hot asphalt i was just lying down and burning my skin on. it tears down the road, out of sight, and i’ve still got all my limbs intact. maybe almost failing feels a bit like cheating death, like how breathing feels after a contest of who can hold it longer in the motel pool, or how good a glass of ice-cold water tastes after downing a bag of potato chips. there are plenty of hours in the day. i could wake up at six or sleep in till noon and it wouldn’t make much of a difference. i’m just a girl who loves the taste of scraping by.

As the early morning sun is peeking
behind the mountains in my backyard,
I begin to romanticize a day where I do not doubt,
a day where I do not indulge in self-sabotage,
a day where I believe I am capable of achieving my childhood dream.