My agressor had my face
Ran my fingers
On my cheeks
But I was weak
My swollen eyes
Absorbed how
And I fled
I began running
I never stopped
I haven't stopped
I don't blame the world
And it doesn't blame me
I don't run from it
I run from what I've seen
Of myself
The one in the mirror
I guess I like running
The burning feeling
You get in your sides
Makes me feel alive
Even though I'm a lie
The one in the mirror
Knows & watches
And I know it's true
That I am in fact,
A lie
But the one,
In the mirror
Is the one that
Faces it

You changed your clothes
right there in front of me.
The dust no longer clinging to your skin
like little specks of angel dust
Smiles fading into harsh words and tears
whether there's an audience or not.
A love stained like the sleeves of my shirt,
mascara-streaked and frayed along the seams.
I still can't handle real life.
Those inbetween moments where you're in his bed.
Where you're writing love letters on Valentine's Day
even though you hate it.
Your broken boy is still in pieces at the bottom
of your toy chest. Voice warbled from dead batteries.

She rummaged around in my soul,
as though looking for a pen in a handbag,
and i was left wondering
how words had such a power over my being.

Left drained and fulfilled
Life's intentions bloomed inside me
and at once i felt at home in a darkened room.

Do not panic,
please breathe deep,
I beg you to hold your tongue,
I too have words to speak,
   no one to listen,
       and little faith in Prophecy.

I am alone again in the dark.
I can smell the scent of my own fear.
My heart in cinders melts out from my chest,
If you were to touch me right now,
We would blend into one.
But you do not,
As you have not,
for such a long time now.
I never expected it to be fair,
But how perfect if it had been.
If our own disfigured selves were fit together,
Puzzle pieces that had gone missing suddenly found again,
Filling up the obnoxious gaps present in our lives,
Our picture completed,
leaving us in complete happiness.

Tepid times, as the grass,
Covered in little, tiny
Dew drops, sways in
The hot wind of
The orange summer sky
I run my red tinted fingers
On your sticky warm face
In the almost dead
Vegetation
I close my eyes
Feeling the heat coat me
As your hand
Slips from mine
For you were just a
*Mirage

I saw her there
and stood amazed

Her beauty pierced me soul
and could not cease

My only fear-
I cannot tell Birds from Bees

I'm lying on the carpet
Staring at the ceiling
As though I'm waiting
For a scene to begin
But nothing plays
Like the void within me
It remains empty
Blank and hopeless
I'm congested
      Everywhere
And the music is on replay
Fences hold me in
As I'm falling apart
Tears have become
My blanket
The sediment covers my face
A guile of salt if you will
And here I am
Lost forgotten and gone

You put the syllables
in your pocket,
exposed to the sky
choked in blood and salt
and I knew you had me
wrapped in blankets of
paint
even though

you ran out a long time ago.
Even though, you have done
this a million times.
Even then,
you manage to
keep the flame
blue.

[ Thank You ]

I can't put  my finger on the trigger
of what drives my soul
to shoot fire upon
the cracks of your back
where lies have been told,
and puppies lay when
there is no one else to
curl up to.

This is a war
with paintbrushes and ink
swelled up against your wrist
like the tide crash of a
thousand acidic water droplets.
consonants strangle vowels
falling from the accident
that left your mouth
beat up with words and whispers
and things no one
ever wants to listen to.

I hear them.

These are just labels
that don't need definition
just all the same subject
that gets caught between
the questions you ask and the
answers I can't seem to find.

But,
I know we plan on being peaceful
and the hours between us
isn't absence.
I'm fully awake,
at the sound of your voice
and days from now
we will listen to what
we say in places of importance
and light will shine
down the river of your arms again
and tomorrow, will  be  better
than the ones before yesterday.

The fire will paint itself,
the bandages will
be the canvas.

A cupid with a golden head
A smile on his angelic face
I had to shoot him dead
Before he put me in my place

Because I've been a bad girl
I haven't loved the way I should
My paper heart began to curl
I burned it so no one else could

But in the laws of love and lust
Such things are punishable by the death
He was sent to arrow the unjust
But I was waiting, eager breath by breath

Sitting in a rose garden, quietly debating
His light foots steps began to ring
Every move I was anticipating
He reached for his bow, as I drew the string

And I killed him with his own arrow
A shot right through the head,
I've never had to love again
As soon as I shot the cupid dead