i placed my head against your chest
and my ears were filled with battle cries
your heartbeat pounding like war drums in the night
i've heard stories about the armageddon in your head
you furrow your brows and clench your fist in your sleep
your pointer finger twitches with anticipation when the room is too quiet
i can only assume it’s muscle memory now
a war has been waging in your body since the day you were born
a war has been waged on your body since the day you were born
you didn’t ask for this
who would ever ask for this?

If I can identify the problems with
the actions that I take, and the moves that I make
mere seconds after flapping my lips, or
twisting my lips, then

why do I do what I do?
I don't know.
If you're asking whether I think
it's a good thing, or
a bad thing. . .


How long   is it before
"just what I do"    delivers
you to prison walls from paradise?
How far   is too far, to
let my personality drag my brain around?

If I'm self aware, I'm on the borderline.
Control me, will you, my rampant ways?
I have you centered in my sights better
than I ever have, and it's now I think to tell
myself, Action must yield choices more
than Piety or Wantonness. As a for instance,
if I see myself clearly, can I drop the gun
as long as I develop disclosure and transparency?

I'm ******* you, I already know my answer's yes.
From my experience, honesty invites
the utter end of communion,
and from this, you inherit an abject loneliness.

The devil must be
My producer
Because my thoughts
Are only composed
of Evil
In this world
Of lies
I was born
A deceiver
No need for
A redeemer
Because my
Cause is lost
And if you tally
Up my points
My life is at a
Loss
Misfortune is
The only thing
I've been blessed
With
And pain is my
Only gift
If you take away
My reasoning
Darkness will be
All that I have
Left.

Sticky scent arouses my head
Through my spine and down my neck
In my chest is where it goes next
This stickiness is now everywhere

****.

I don't like being called "good girl" anymore.
Not because I don't like the way you say it, or why you're saying it. No.
I don't like being called "good girl" because of a man.
I met him at a party, my friend ditched me.
I was watching everyone around me relax and have fun, but I was so tense.
He must have picked up on my weakness, like a predator to prey.
He handed me a drink and kept me company, he said I looked nervous.
He told me to relax and to take a hit off his joint.
I didn't want to be there anymore, but I tried to take his advice.
We sat on the floor near the double doors and he told me I still looked nervous.
He said I had no reason to be that he'd never let anything happen to me.
I just laughed because he only just met me.
Next thing I remember I wasn't feeling too good, my head was dizzy...no cloudy, and the floor was the ceiling.
I remember his eyes on me, so hungry.
I remember his hands on me, whereas mine were incapable of moving.
He couldn't meet my eyes and I couldnt remember where we were or how we got there, but it wasn't by the double doors anymore.
I remember noises, the dim lighting around us, I tried to focus on anything and everything else.
I was screaming, but I don't actually know if the noise came out.
I remember the hot tears that slid down my face as he slid over my body.
I was a toy, I couldn't do anything, I was a puppet to his whim.
He stoked my face occasionally and said I was a good girl, that I didn't need to be nervous, that I was a good girl, to just take it.
I remember wailing, his hand covering my mouth, my lips bruising, my body throbbing.
I haven't seen myself the same since, there wasn't anyone I felt safe with, not a hand that didn't feel like his.
I get sick at the thought of him, at the thought of that act he forced me to commit.
I didn't know his name but I knew his face because it haunts my dreams.
I scare easy now, I want to hide but sleep can't even save me.
I didn't want to be a good girl, I never wanted to be a good girl.
So please...please.
Don't call me one.

Something isn't right
I can taste it on your lips
Feel the tremor through my fingers
Resting on your hips

You are scared of me
Scared what I can do
Someone else has hurt you
Now you're scared I'll hurt you too

Lovers learn to love each other after the sun rises
True love can learn to love again after something traumatic

Her eyes are weary, but she’s wide awake.
She can’t seem to shake this feeling away.
She knew what you were, but had to learn the hard way.
She broke out of the asylum.
Night terrors still haunt her in the dark.
Blinded by her dreams.
There’s a disease in her garden.
She had no choice except to abandon all of her sins back in autumn.
Here in the shadow she cries.
Every night she holds on for dear life.
Barely making it out alive.
Here in the shadow she only just survives.
In a bed she doesn’t want to sleep in,
In a world she doesn’t want to live in,
In a universe she doesn’t want to exist in,
Is where she lies.
She wants to pull her stomach over her head and swallow.
The weight is adding to the baggage she always carries.
It’s not as strong as all of this tormenting sorrow.
She suffered through the invasion.
Her soul forever paralyzed.
If she ends this now, she’ll never feel anything again…

your hands are on me
you made me bad
disgusting, rotten and
wrong
you spoiled my innocence
my ability to trust
you erased my childhood with your
hands
all i can see is your hands
everywhere they shouldn’t be
they’re suffocating me and you’re
evil
you’re **** near evil
you’re just a memory
i hope you burn, bleed, drown
choke

A rush I used to feel, stress that seemed much too real
On this time I look with nostalgia, but from a rerun I may not salvage

Sleep always escaped me, an hour here and there how great that would be
But my greatest enemy perhaps - loss of control would cause a relapse

On rising I was oft unsure whether my thoughts were pure
Ready to fight, I felt I’d been up all night

My body is white and shakes with terror,
The effects of adrenaline caused by fear, countless times in the first year

My members swing as if to fight, acting as if they’re in fright
In addition to this, my tics are amiss

My vision is foggy and gray; I guess I can see halfway
And the edges seem dim, so in this misty night I remain; this is nothing to disdain

Thoughts which are surely not mine, images race with speedy pace
They clearly have no logic, I wonder if this result is neurologic

Sudden terror I feel, but alone I am and this alarm is not real
My sanity I check, glad I did before I hit the deck

My insides churn and swirl, I almost want to hurl
Soft and tender I am inside, it wants to come out the other side

My limbs I sometimes feel; if not lost, then here and seem unreal
Surely they are not mine; they haven’t felt like this since I had a child’s mind

Perhaps from my body I’ll detach, and float up here holding for a rematch
A chance to process what’s happening down there I guess, this is such a mess

Always on alert, with blind death I will not flirt
You’ll never stand behind me, this is my new reality

I know you’re real, but an orchestra I now sense; your legitimacy is concealed
This weird world appears strange to me, a lot smaller than it used to be

Oft I feel generally ill, I fear that **** me this great general will
A day or two sick they say is normal, but after a year or two this became my normal

They say exercise is good for the heart, but I think palpating like this is not smart
Sitting here still, now at a hundred and fifty – on its final race it may be

In circles I tend to walk, my bearing I’m trying to clock
Wobbly I stand with my head in my hands; I must look like an oddity

My thoughts drifted to life and death, what was more serious than breath?
Life I must content to preserve and defend, what is more basic to comprehend?

More than daily I faced my God, on the brink of death I thought
Powerlessly mortal I always felt, now immortal I tend to feel

Pleasant memories from this time are few; I wonder if I even get déjà vu?
Of this time I have little sense, was this for my defense?

If you wonder what good came of this, look to God without whom I’d be in the abyss
And that’s not all: accepting death repeatedly, to face the enemy I am free

Intensity of this degree I may never enjoy again; to wish for this I feel I am crazy
This is broken, can’t you see? A prisoner who doesn’t want to be set free!

A life filled with adventure took its toll, always testing my heart and soul
On the other side I am now, fighting boredom and that event – but in a way, I feel dead anyhow