Youre nothing sick and sad
Eyes dark as old blood
Skin pale and cracked
Breath of vomite and bile
a voice that makes ears bleed
Skin and bones is all you are
Disgusting and vile
Others may not see it
I know its true
Remember when I loved you

.
Odd boxes,
Patch the room.
Small plates of food
Half eaten, dusted,
With leftover crumbs and papers.
The phone never calls
And shades are drawn for days
Only opening for small, dropping lights
That move in the eves.

I can
Not look at all the photographs I took
Of us
Even though I want to,
Even though they lie
Close to me
With my unmade bed, on the floor
Always falling,
But never to sleep, without you,
Empty.

She tried to block
everyone out.
She told herself she wouldn't
allow anyone to hurt her any more.

She lied.

She knew, deep down, that the walls
she prided herself on - the ones she
claimed she topped with barbed wire
and electricity, were really just small
white picket fences with far too many hinges.

She knew that there was a
“Welcome” mat sitting at the door
to her heart that had been caked
with the dirt from the previous men
who had walked all over her.

Yet it still lay there, cheery and
hopeful as ever, that one day
someone would walk in and
make themselves at home-
maybe someday someone wouldn't
end up walking right back out.

She was naive- blind sided by her
own dreams that one day things
would be different;
that one day she wouldn't have
to hurt any more. She dreamt that
she would finally meet someone
who wasn't like everyone else.

Someone who would stay.

Her dreams would never come true;
but no one had the heart to warn her
of that-
even if they had she would have
disagreed, even though
subconsciously
she would have known she was
the one who was wrong.

Her heart may have been weak but
her will was weaker.

She never had the strength to
protect herself; or to build better
walls; or to burn the welcome mat;
or to lock the door.

She’ll never know
how not to let people in.

So instead he greets the
with a smile and dives in
heart first, granting everyone
a chance to get inside
and destroy her, every time.

She’ll never learn…

.
Gentle sounds that jar as fog rolls in—
Blue Jays knock and forage in the leaves,
Days turn to nights in a cold winter rushing,
Atop a hill overlooking my disappering village,
Darkness is expected as always unwelcomed,
My guest that will not— not come— as I wait,
To hear the lone emptiness of a fog horn blow
From out there, incoming, pray old harbour
Bay. Is it an omen of souls landing or lost?

You were my gift,
Soft, sweetness, little one,
Eyes of moon and ocean
Hills of creation, of shadow
And bread.  In your nakedness
I fled the earth and bathed
In starlight and dust at the end
Of the forever of the sky.  
In that silence,
Of exploding cosmos and vapour,
I fell, feeling in your smiles the suns
Decay, I felt light beyond
Its barrier, and was decimated
In the gravity of the neutron
Blue of floating eyes in separation.
Your faraway orbs were lost
To me in the frozen dark energy
Of shunted light and the cold
vacuum of space.
It was my birthday
And you were set on leaving.
It was my birthday
When I nearly died.

Winter burns bright with the fumes of summer, but it’s still just as cold as the hearts that left me in the solemn, snow-filled days of yesteryear.

How did a girl keep me alive? Why am I dying without you? Why can’t I breath anymore? I loved you more than I loved myself and now I’m lost in a grave six feet under. Your eyes kept me out of water and now I’m drowning in a sea of my own darkness.
I’m terrified to love because of you. I’m terrified to call another girl mine.
What if they don’t taste like you did? What if their smell doesn't intoxicate me? What if they’re just like you and decide I’m not good enough to love?
I loved you with all I had and now I don’t have anything to give someone else. I want to love again. I want to forget about the almost year we spent together. I want someone to call me theirs again. I want to have a happily ever after. I just never thought you would be the one keeping me from it.
I never thought I would be without your arms, without your good morning texts. What if they don’t text me in the morning? What if their arms don’t make me feel safe like yours did? Why does that have to be past tense? Why are you past tense? Why am I still writing about you seven months later?
Why can’t I let go and love someone else?
Why am I so scared?
Why do you make me scared?

They say our bodies
Are like canvases
Waiting for us to become artists
To portray our lives, for all to see.

The canvas that I own,
Is not any less beautiful than yours

I have marks from the world,
And hair dye running down my spine
Pink and purple lines trail down my thighs

Sighing deeply I stare in the mirror,
Is my canvas tainted?