I build castles on flesh and carve moats into my skin,
I wage war with myself and I know I'll never win.
I whisper secrets into rivers and let water wash them away,
I'm too naive to leave, but I'm getting scared to stay.
I think of death too much and I miss you so often,
It's nights like these where my bed feels like a coffin.
I'm coping with a pain, and I can't tell you when it started,
"I'm sorry" is etched into my skin, the words of the broken hearted.

I'll follow you anywhere, even if I'm scared
I'll follow you anywhere, though I know you never cared

Kingdoms keep secrets, and hearts grow heavy,
I was broken long ago, I want to cry but I'm not ready.
I think I'm going crazy now, my home feels more like a hell
I'm trying to get back up, but I'm so far from where I fell.
So I repress, try to protest, all of the miles I have regressed,
And I digress, I confess, but I still feel so ******* upset.
If I keep your letters by my bed will it help me sleep at night?
If I keep you words in my head will it help me feel alright?

I'll follow you anywhere, even if I'm ******* scared
I'll follow you anywhere, because I know you'll always care

Red drops and red lips
Open heart and broken bones
Blue skin and no flow

It is too late -
The thick stench of sin has set root in my marrow
And my bones have begun to rot.

I can feel myself breathing blood,
So I crane my neck until I hear a bone snap.

I try and try to run to the toothless moon
Spilling screams and red satin,
But the long hallway leads nowhere.

A wolf at heart,
I rip the tainted skin from my fingertips
And breathe life through the wound.

I wish I could see God
Falling from his mighty perch

Just as I see the devil
In the stained marble of my bathroom sink.

i felt like slicing you open, razor thin
and while you are asleep, to crawl inside of you
to take residence in the warmth of your flesh,
never to leave, never to separate
to merge with you as the wounds grow shut.

dust pirouettes before the eyes of the sun,
sinking softly towards an ocean of its own.
heat’s forceful palms press against the sand,
disturbing the air’s careful disposition.
but he is not watching the rich colours melt overhead.
he pays no attention to the ripeness of the horizon.
he watches her,
a grace so light in her bones it feels strange to compare
to the weight sinking in his throat.

he tells her of the winds,
the way they re-carve a desert,
its dunes reborn.
he tells her of the aajej and the harmattan and how
it rolls and rolls,
producing showers so thick with sand
they were once mistaken for blood.

at night his fingers trace,
a vague map he once had memorised,
against the plains of her skin.
her veins cutting through her wrists like rivers,
each blemish a town unvisited,
and the hollow between her collarbones,
an oasis still unnamed.