.
     Our stance strong,
     our conviction -
     unwavering,
     brandishing knives
     with blunt tips.

                           But our hearts fail
                           to acknowledge
                           the shallow
                           and feeble breaths
                           that hide behind
                           cracked ribs.

I woke up today and brushed my teeth.
I looked out the window as I did and saw you.
Not outside but through the shy reflection.
It was dull yet I am obsequious when subject to your essence.
I saw you hugging me but never felt it.
Only the cold floor keeps me company as of the time you left.
It’s been about 1521 hours or 63 days a 9 hours.
But the minutes are still ticking and I can hear them.
They rip the air like a jet breaking the sound barrier.
The sounds resonate within me.
I absorb the time as it passes and I feel as though I age quicker.
The stress added onto my grey hairs.
Sometimes I think I see an Old man by me when I pass by the mirror.
Except he’s unhappy.
Or perhaps its the melancholy feeling of outliving your undead wife who would not marry you because you cannot tell the truth.
What truth exists for the man running from his past?
If you run fast enough will you escape your past?
Or can you leave it behind without taking a step?
What is the past?
What is the present?
Is now the present?
If it is bygone to now?
In which case you have not left since because you never came.
The awful part is I felt you then and feel you now.
Though you never were and no longer are.
These thoughts rush my mind like a train with breaks that broke.
The tracks only lead to the dead end you’re not at.
Just before I feel your arms around me, the sunlight destroys your reflection.
Now I know you’re really gone.

tonight i'm dead again

the ghost rustles through my bones

taking out every broken piece

take out the tape and glue,

pay heed to try fixing me

 

the ghost mutters a word

and my skull cracks in two

"why do you hurt?"

my fingers simultaneously break

ghost weeps

and my bones hurt to ash

 

ghost words echo and vibrate

"i love you", i say

ghost speaks

and i plan my next funeral

 

ghost suggests silence

but silence burns

and while this burn

won't **** me

ghost will and

i welcome death

my grandmother used to tell me not to lay in the grass for fear bugs would eat away at my soft skin. i tried to explain this to you, but you tugged me along anyway.

we laid there on the soft green hill, our gazes directed towards the dark sky and stars overhead. it was calm and cool; you mentioned loving the cicada’s music and i replied that i cannot hear them.

we counted the stars as they appeared;
first one, then three,
then five, then more.

i couldn’t find a pattern in their seemingly random design but you were certain that was the big dipper shining so brightly.

you asked if what we saw was something special.

i looked at you, red
lips curving into a smile
as i answered
“yes,
yes, it is.”

Where am I? It's like home
but it's so dark,
so dark and so empty.
I can still see the temporary tattoos
of your fingerprints on my flesh,
the nausea pooling within me,
my tense body screaming
for you to get away from me.
The way you heard another word
as my lips spelled out "No."
Now you sleep wondering
where you went wrong
and I lie awake wondering
what the hell gave you the right
to tear apart my flesh
with manipulative hands. I am only
half a woman.
The other half of my flesh
is swarming with searing
hot agony, agony which is quiet
and shows itself
in wild, trauma-worn eyes
and a drowning
heart. I should feel
angry but I only have vacancy,
and my mind is filled
with nothing except the dust
you left in my bones
once the cold, loveless
touch had left my body.