what no one has ever told you about the devil, is that they aren't real.

my mother gave birth to a rose with pure innocence. clementine, raspberry, oh! look how sweet she looks like. the glow she produces, everything her fingertips touches becomes stardust, and her stares can feel bittersweet - get burned or ache for bonfire inside your home? either way, you will discover how hungry you are for the thrill and torment.

beneath the pillows is the pain - how easily forgotten, but it will never stop regardless of how many white dandelions she will plant at her backyard.

her bones marbled amongst the other, calm a crocodile upon its attack, distance - that's what she's good at. i wish this dampen cloth made from grief does not cloud her judgment. she made too many ruined choices, embarked on a journey alone once or twice, sew the torn sheets, spilled four caffeine - and still, all she knows is how to look at the stars with tearful eyes and buttermilk aroma smile. naïvety. a great trap, i suppose.

   ; don't you know how much i want to drown those lovely sins? it makes me think of the galaxy i once felt, and like metamorphosis, it turned into wishful skins, then slowly, burned into ashes as i try to nurture the wooden skulls. i shouldn't have done that.

will you light an aggressive fire for me?
look what you made me do

... the devil, perhaps, it's within us.

Absolute bliss
Sinking deep into the blankets
Sighing into the pillows
After a long, stressful day.

She pins her hair back
twenty-three and resolute, baby on her hip
and says goodbye forever
Her eyes catch on a single point, somewhere
in the hazy distance and she sets to it
makes a life
gets **** done

There’s no time to consider,
to touch the centre of the windstorm that compels her
it only winds her tighter
and because there’s laundry to do, and she likes things
neat and tidy
she carves herself up into glistening pieces
and leaves them there—
in the hot Paraguayan sun
in the endless cold Prairie snow
when her children disappear with terrible secrets
She skillfully wraps each fluttering fragment
and gives it away, no longer her concern
God will take care of it
lucky *******
and I am left with none,
or one

I’ve only ever had a part of her
the one that read the rules and promised
clean clothes, a roof, full stomach—
her threadbare heart
elsewhere

Maybe she’s tired, like I am now—
my own list in hand
To feel is the most demanding
of tasks

maybe if I close my eyes,
if I stop thinking
Maybe the world will stop turning with me,
like a friend

And in this magnificient pause,
in that glorious stop,

maybe we’ll breathe.

My eyes
Politely ask for sleep
It pains me
But I must decline
I have things to do
Places to be
But I also would like
To stop and dream

the more you open
the can of worms
that is your vulnerability

the more i realize
how you see yourself
and how i see you
and
your
sparkle

while you hold
firm in the face
of my tears and frustrations

you respond to yours
by withdrawing,
by retreating,
by ignoring texts and
holding your breath

i retreat as well.

communication terrifies me
i have always avoided it
until now

i am more scared of
what would happen
if i kept quiet.

i oh-so-often want
you to know

i can see you building
yourself back up
from rubble

pulling through life
is the hardest thing
you could do

and guess what,
you’re doing it.

your beauty radiates
from every smile,
every kiss,
every breath.

you’re the only one
who has told me i was beautiful
and i believed it.

when i listed my diagnoses
you joked about taking notes
but it wasn’t a joke

you took those notes

they sit, whirring behind your eyes,
reminding you that perhaps
our brains work in sync

“unspecified” we laughed,
something bad happened,
i just don’t get the nightmares.

i haven’t really told you
what that trauma was,
exactly,

you’ve seen me shut down
because the idea of you
drinking that
stuff
was too much

i’ve lashed out at
unexpected intoxication

but the wheels spun faster
when i told you what we share,
when the anger bubbled up,
“how didn’t they know sooner?”

but in reality,

we function poorly
individually

but together we balance -
i make plans so
we can be impulsive

you hold me closer
when i shiver at night

Have you ever felt your brain filled with fog?
A thick smug that can't seem to dissolve
That is what I call mentally drained...…………..