night falls and i can’t find my way;
without you by my side;

love, reach out and take my hand;
i’ll bring you to a sunset land;

where we can see the twilight of the stars;
and forget all about our scars.

Blood is the only story I can tell.
For a fragile and damaged brain gives no cure,
and either chooses chaos or new birth.
My soul was the only currency I could sell.

Now I am empty and unleash the monster within.

So, deeply, I fell in love with slashes of red.
I gave no mind to life or death and thus
laid my wrath to carnage, sinning again and again.
And by my mirth, released the hungry wolves.

I was exulted at the sight of them.

After, I traveled to the brink of Hell’s chasm.
Staring into the pit black as obsidian, I jumped.
Torment and misery had been my only companions
and in the face of great heretics, I was welcomed home.

I was born from sin and so stained from the beginning.

A funeral is my mind.
Where former lovers
and silver-tongued liars
attend their wake.

I spare no life when I can take.

An invitation from God
is what you’d need to depart.
But there is no God to be found here,
only your grievances and faults.

Stand steadfast and ready,
my reviled lovers and liars.
You’re in my dark abyss now
and you’ve taken your final bow.

Your procession has arrived.

In the beginning…
I remember that once I was a calm sea
I had always let others dictate how my life should be
But thanks to you, I’ve awakened to the harsh realities
That the only person who has my best interests at heart is me

You may run your mouth, spew your hatred behind my back
Your trivial nonsense will get no rise out of me
For I am now a wrathful storm hell bent on revenge
So I bring with me the power of lightning and thunder
And with the promise of never returning
I pull you under

Now that you see who I really am
Should you test my limits once again
That will be the last time you ever see the sun
Because I am the rage you created…
And I am done.

We all broke our rules for someone unkind,
Lust and pretty words can make you blind.

Sometimes echoes of past mistakes will slip beyond the dark line,
Do not cling to old memories while making new ones this time.

Begin to trust that your instincts will guide you true,
Decide to choose yourself instead of letting others choose you.

I am the pretty thing that lives under your house.
You left me there to rot, to be forgotten
like a flower that's never been watered and withers.
So how ironic must it be
to see a single rose bloom from my grave?

I am the pretty thing that stands next to your bed,
watching your chest rise and fall.
I bend down to whisper in your ear
and though you may have taken my voice,
the air coils and delivers my message.
Standing, I withdraw to the shadows.

I am the pretty thing whose face suddenly appears
in the dark space of your twisted mind
where you thought you buried me for good.
Gasping for breath, you wake up drenched in sweat.
You wonder if you're being irrational or going crazy.

I am the pretty thing that came back.
How lovely it is to make you insane!
You look beautiful in that straight jacket,
surrounded by alabaster walls with no windows.
It's only when you’re finally captured that you drop all pretense,
professing that it’s my blood that is forever stained on your hands.

I am now the pretty thing with a dagger in my smile.

When the sky dons its robes of indigo,
I slip into a tranquil reverie where
shadows lengthen and soften,
and mirrors hold whispers of ancient stories.
A gentle breeze dances through the forest like secrets.
It’s a lullaby for a weary soul.
A gentle reminder than even in stillness,
there is movement, a world in transition.
As I stand on the threshold of day and night,
I think about all the fleeting moments
from my past self and embrace the twilight.

Love, like petals of a blooming flower,
Roses of rubies, lilies of pearl.
A skin as though of jasmine
that August evening…was it August?

I created you in a hazy vision
when my mind was drunk with sleep -
Are you a dreamer too?

i dream of oceans and half moons;
lips against my ear, whispering empty promises;
hidden power dripping between the scars;
forever tattooed on my body;

in the end, i sigh as i finally, finally fully bloom;
no longer a mystery.

you were black when i was white;
you were the moon when i was the sun;
you were a one hit wonder when i was on repeat;

you were dark when i was light;
you were bleak when i was a silver lining;
you were a silent film when i was in living color;

darling, you were merely a crack in my armor that i filled myself.

i no longer wish to be exceptional. be boring. be ordinary. do not stand out. be real. be authentic. cleanse your mind and body and start over. it’s never too late to start over.

i only wish to exist, that’s all. it takes a lot of strength to exist when sorrow, disruption, and misery follow you around, swirling like a black fog that constantly engulfs you. it takes so much willpower to see through the fog that when i stumble out or gasp for breath, i realize that ordinary IS exceptional. to survive the absolute hatred of being forced to live, i only wish to exist, that’s all.

there is no love;
only contempt.
there is no paradise;
only purgatory.
there is no ecstasy;
only sorrow.
there is no solace;
only agony.
there is no hope;
only melancholy.

here, there is nothing;
only decay.

i am a sickness with no cure.

the first time i became acquainted with death, i was 24 years old. i didn’t quite understand my thoughts back then and it scared me back into submission.

the second time i became acquainted with death, i was 32 years old. it was today. i was driving around a curve and a large white van zoomed around the same curb on the opposite side, halfway in my lane. the van was so close i could make out what the driver looked like; late 20’s, golden blonde hair that was layered, swept back, and landed on his shoulders. he also had a goatee of the same color. i had no reaction; only this deep sense of calmness that it was going to be all over. in that split second, i welcomed death as if i had known It my whole life but It was lost to me long ago. in my mind’s eye, i see myself reaching out - to what? i do not know. i only knew, deep down, that if i kept reaching, death would take care of me. i see myself sighing with tear stained cheeks. finally, finally it would all be over. no more infinite, uncontrollable sadness. no more back breaking work to simply be able to exist in reality. no more disappointments, to myself and others, because i cannot control these feelings when i, “have no reason to be sad. no reason to be depressed.” the peace i felt in that moment formed a sob of relief in my throat. and the ****** up thing is that my mother…my beautiful, exceptional, beloved mother, was in the car with me. that ****** up thing is me, i realize, coming back to the present. i am ****** up and don’t deserve to be anyone’s daughter or aunt or sister or friend. i am a sick, twisted thing. and i am scared for others for the first time in my life.

then the van quickly swerves back into its lane and i am alive.

Whispered words and stolen glances,
gloved hands clasp, fingers laced.
Hidden lines and hopeful chances -

In dim-lit parlors, a warm embrace.
Out of the shadows -
A flame.

These days I’ve been looking to the past, to all the women before me. The revolutionaries whose words helped shape the way I see the world; the way I see nature; the way I see simple, ordinary pleasures of life become extraordinary.

These days I let my pen flow freely across the page. I look to all the women before me for guidance because I find myself afraid to speak my own truth. They teach me with words how to live presently, never looking back because there’s no room for mistakes to reside here.

These days we’re on a first name basis. With wide-eyed clarity, all the women before me allow a short glimpse of them as they once were: bright young things full of hope with a cigarette loosely balanced between faded red lips and hands that move deftly over a typewriter. The room is filled with cigarette smoke and incense. I can almost smell it now but the vision is gone with the wind.

These days I seek out: Zelda; Sylvia; Anne; Emily; Joan; Virginia. To all the women before me, I have found you. They’re no longer a black and white still photograph or a short film reel. In those moments, they stay forever young etched in time from decades ago.

These days I welcome you all in my waking dreams. To all the women before me, you are not lingering ghosts being passed by unseen. You are not remembered for how you left this earth but for how, after all this time, you still remain unchanging.

you slipped away;
just like a memory;
lost in time;
like summer vanished;
without a goodbye

when the time comes, do not save me.

there is no saving when the mind and body  gives itself to the darkness willingly.

sadness is one single tear;
eyes closed;
letting its wetness drip down the contours of your face;

sadness is a creeping, seeping feeling;
it fills in all your edges and curves;
then you meet the gaze of your own reflection in the mirror and finally see;
the emptiness;

sadness tightens its claws and finally smothers what precious light you had left;
and it doesn’t let go until you promise it relief;
one cut, two cuts, maybe three?

exactly how much more pain can another single tear be?

there is a hole;
in the middle of my heart;
reserved for you;

i may be broken and in pieces now;
but when we finally reunite on another earthly plain;
that missing piece (you);
will fit back into place;
like you were never missing to begin with

will this deep fervor of sadness ever end
the cavernous darkness that can bend
my thoughts against rationality?
me, thinking fool-heartedly
that i could ever outrun the madness in me;

so i hold my breath and drown my mind;
i’m merely a ghost, a shell, an empty vessel of nothingness;
out of time;

in the last few seconds before unconsciousness takes me as its prize;
i think of how i could not find one single reason to stay alive;

but now there is no fear
because i was never really here.

be gentle with yourself;

your scars tell a story;
of survival;
of bravery;
of a new frontier;

your wounds will heal;
it may take some time;
but those scars are important roadmaps
to your body;

be gentle with yourself

in the emerald colored sea;
that is where you’ll find me;
when the sun shines down;
i’m awash in crystalized light;
and i hold on with all my might

in a circle, they chant, “something wicked this way comes”

they are correct;
i am wicked;
and i am coming;

i arise from the ember and ashes;
teeth like fangs;
claws as fingers;

i wield power spoken true by revenge as they whisper, “now you become chaos. you are destruction.”

finally, i speak:
”who’s next?”

if i had it all figured out;
i’d bring you in closer;
i wouldn’t push you away;
my dearest lover;

with the moonlight pouring;
we’d dance until morning;
to a love that is soaring;
as we stroll along the street

i rage and rage so much within my body that i surely must combust;
however, this is my war and i must decide how it ends.

i think, it ends like this:
my eyes closed;
storms, ecstasy;
the cusp of autumn as summer withers;
my eyes open;
and i forget for a moment;

i want to live in this strange afterglow even as the darkness descends and extinguishes my light;
but i will continue raging and fighting even as i ignite.

my heart beats triumphantly;
at what it has found;
it has been decades;
since it has skipped a beat;
since my breath caught;
since i tripped over words;
since butterflies in my stomach;

and through all this, i say:
thank you

i am the vessel that carries my grief;
you come in waves;

you are a familiar scent that comes from nowhere but lingers for just a moment;
you are a slight, cool breeze that grazes my forehead when i’m warm and cozy in bed;

14 years later, i fear that i’ll lose the sound of your voice (i haven’t);
i fear that i’ll lose the sight of your luminous smile (i haven’t);
i feel you.

though your footprints cease to exist on this earthly realm, you transcend time and space;
if i had known that the last time i hugged you would be the last time, i would’ve held on a little tighter.
if only, if only, if only.

i am persephone in red;
i cannot be touched;
i cannot be reached;
i am the cold that settles in to your bones;
i am the earth that you so brazenly walk upon;
i am an incandescent body of light in the night sky;
i am dauntless;
you will never see me coming.

pitch me straight into the darkness;

when you’re in the darkness, nothing exists;
not a pain so deep that it will literally take your breath away and you collapse on all fours because you ***** and can no longer stand;
not a pain so harsh that it feels like tiny little needles are stabbing and pulling every inch of your soul out of your body, inch by every ******* inch;

then, the heat:
there is not a place on or in your entire being that is not reverberating with heat;
you know that kind of heat, remember?
it’s when something terribly horrific happens and these non-flames (for surely i’m burning up on the inside to be this hot) slowly begins from your feet, to your neck — where you begin to sweat — and then the realization and truth hits you right in the face;

being in the darkness means my pain no longer exists.

so when the time comes, do not save me. there is no saving when the mind and body gives itself to the darkness willingly.

i would like to rise;
high above the alcove;
towards the swirling blue sky;
beyond the clouds and mist;

i want to touch the moon;
and taste the stars;
live in constellations;
and sleep beneath galaxies;

who shall I share this dark abyss with?