I remember the days it came so easy
The lines falling into place
With rhymes as sweet as melody

All the pain translated into words
All these tears into lines
What easy days those were.

Many years later
My pain burns silently
Looking for an avenue
But I remember not the language of the pen - the song of the poets

Now, I know blood. Scar after scar to make the voices stop
Slice after slice to make the pain stop
But I feel it. Louder after every cut.
The scars tell of that noise.

Tell me where can I go
What can I do
For this pain to finally stop

we can live as if nothing exists to control us - nothing plans to stop us - nothing lives to defeat us - nothing strives to define us.

we can live - just like this.
without shape or name or linearity.
we can be what we are.
can we not be what we are?

Yesterday I swallowed a tiny glass capsule
much like that
I've been walking around in for years
amongst these picture people.
My palm clung to walls made sticky by the heat,
skin to pane,
I could not bear to let go.
I wanted to enjoy their stapler smiles
but the fog made it impossible to see.
I only called it what it was
when I breathed it into the glass.
It was always there.
I wished it would fill the whole thing,
wished I had a match,
so it would serve some purpose.
So my capsule becomes gray and troubling
against its paper background.
So they stop and stare,
Look at the girl in the bubble.
I think she's suffocating.
Like it's a revelation.
Like Gabriel himself hand-delivered
tiny glass pills for them to swallow.
Let me be their spectacle.
Let me be the object of their pity.
Let me be a one-woman-glass-capsule miniature show.
I'll be their tired metaphor.
I'll choke on shimmering shards so they can watch my blood color their roses.
I'll drink until I'm heavy with turpentine.
I will destroy myself.
I will make it clean.
Tiny glass capsule
in my wooden palm
who did you once hold?

I want you to ruin my life
and maybe yours at the same time

I want you to tell me you love me
even if you don't
because for a moment it could be nice
to just be in the wrong

We could sit amongst the rubble
talk about the meaning of it all
as if any of it matters

I want you and I know I shouldn't
I'm just searching for validation
while you look for an exit sign

But, maybe it'd be nice
to set it all on fire and fall for a line