Should I pick up the broken pieces,
or pretend they're not even there?
Right about now I'm dying for a cigarette.
Maybe I can smoke out all the words unsaid from my putrid lungs.
There's a sick satisfaction, knowing no one can save you.
A friend told me that every fifteen cigarettes causes a mutation.

Good.

Maybe I can smoke myself into a different person who's okay without you.

“I want to buy a pack of Marlboro reds and smoke them one by one.
Twenty little friends to calm my nerves.
Twenty times I’ll count which memories I’m burning away.
I’m dizzy from the nicotine, but thinking more clearly now.
There’s a sick satisfaction
in killing yourself slowly.
I want to understand the songs
about needing a smoke.”
1:34 p.m, Monday, March 9, 2015
- j.d

I’m sorry i tried to make a home out of you
used your bones as shelter
hid my insecurities under your skin;
my jealousy under your tongue
I’m sorry i wrote all over your skin to reassure myself that you still loved me.
I’m sorry i tried to light a fire in your heart to keep myself warm
And when you left,
i felt homesick
your words bled through my heart and cracked my ribs
nights of walking home alone trying not to throw myself into traffic.
This morning a friend called me and he noticed my voice sounded different and i told him i was smiling, because i was thinking of you.
He asked about you and i told him,
i told him you were a lesson i needed to be taught, you were adventurous, spontaneous, and i loved you.
I told him you were like that one song that you never get tired of no matter how many times you listen to it, i told him you were that great.
In the end he noticed my voice was different again and i told him it was because i wasn’t smiling anymore.
I’m sorry i tried to make a home out of you;
when you are so much more than a place to hide.

the flame burns before us,
and you sit behind me.
not at my side,
not in front of me.
and in this you are like my guardian again,
although i've never needed anyone to protect me.
because that's my job.
i am my own shield.
but here you are.

you're voice above me,
body behind me.
and it's not intimate.
you barely notice the way my rib cage shakes,
the thunder in my veins every time your words resound.
and inside, there is a war.

because how could i ask you to walk
into the depths of this sea,
into this storm,
with this youth in your bones,
and the steel in mine?

sleep now, let's sleep.
and if only you were next to me again.
if only.

You told me that there comes a time where you give up on yourself and when you do, your body gives up on you too. Tell me about the nights you would give anything. Anything to bring them back and see them smile one last time. Tell me about love, who would you call at 4 am when you're broken into so many pieces, you're not sure you can be put back together. Why don't you remember the colour their eyes? Tell me about the day you lay in your bed stealing all the synonyms of 'lonely' out of the thesaurus and writing them all over your body, tell me, who's name is on your mind when you're on the bathroom floor with blood stained arms and throwing up everything they ever said to you.

Your eyes remind me of the fireworks and the bright lights that illuminates New York City during the New Years. Your touch resemble the hypnic **** that occurs to me just as I’m about to sleep, making me jump. Your voice makes my blood rush to my head, making my face the color of the gore my nose sometimes bleed. Seeing you smile is like looking at that fiery star in the sky, what we often call the Sun. And every night, I fall into my bed; just like how I always fall for you every end of a day.

~
*can also be found at my blog; orionmaciah.co.vu