i think you deserve a soft epilogue,
my love.
you are a good person
and  you've suffered enough.

I could not find ballads or books
that spoke of the feeling of losing a friend
its not like a tsunami
that crashes into you all at once  
No
its slow like cancer
the kind that doesn't appear for months, years
it’s a stab of pain here and a headache there but manageable
then suddenly it strikes and sinks its teeth deep into you
coils like a snake wrapping around your heart
inside your ribcage
poison seeping into your veins
turning blood to fire
and all you can do is wait.

P- pages torn from books coated in prophesies  
R- razor blades slice through memories
O- open wounds drip crimson blood upon chalk stars
P- pen drawn runes coat your skin drawn in black ink
H- haloed in holy fire angels descended with knife blade wings
E- eyes gunmetal grey rimmed with puffy red highlights
T- they call you proclaimer, gods words carved into your bones.

so take my dog tags and I'll take yours

and if we die in this brutal ****** war

don't tell them we switched

let me buried under your name

and you under mine.

you are not violet
you are not hands filled with morning light
you are not  tears pooled in corners of my eyes
you are not broken coastlines
you are not chipped fingernails

you are rain the soft type
that slowly eases into a catastrophic storm
and causes a typhoon that sinks entire villages
you are the type of rain that trickles into a river before it floods

we were created for each other
truly
not Adam and Eve
but Adam and Lilith

i was not created
from your rib
i was not created
to appease
your toxic masculinity

i was created
from the same clay
as you

equals
in the eyes of god

If you are so committed to being perfectly lawful
that you would do everything you are told
never thinking for yourself
you're not good, you're obedient.

[people generally think blue eyes are pretty, but his were not.
they were not cornflower, sky, baby, indigo, azure. his were iceberg, squall, hypothermia, eventual death.]

in order to write poetry that doesn't spiral into despair
i must listen to the birds
and in order to listen to the birds
the war planes must be silent

To be born
your body made a pact with death
And from that moment all it tries to do is cheat

I did not ask to be this
This hideous creature of crimson soaked skin and snarling voices
But this prison of flesh is the only gift you ever gave me
So I will stretch this skin until I fill every crevice and crack
And I will wear it until you regret that you created it.
You made me a creature to be feared.
So fear me.
-prefect little creation

if you want to learn
what someone fears losing,
watch what they photograph.
- that explains why he never took pictures of me

she has little innocent demons inside her eyes
they recklessly play with matches.
setting nerves alight
chocking her brain in billow smoke
and yet I’ve never seen sparks so pretty.

My English teacher said
The opposite of love
Is hate.
But it's not hate,
It's apathy.
Hate still breathes,
It's fiery, raw, and real.
But apathy?
Apathy is a void
Where nothing's left to feel.
No anger, no tears,
Just empty.
So if you ask what's worse,
Hate or apathy,
I'd say apathy,
The silence,
The hollow space,
Where nothing is felt
And nothing is left
Between us.

I wanted to be born as a star
but someone had a different idea.

That's how I ended up as a street lamp. I die too soon and flicker too much. But yesterday I saw a moth trying to kiss me. It almost burned her.
I have heard stars do not get this luxury.

Fire turning anything and everything in its path to ash that is how some say the world will end, others believe it will end in an exquisitely haunting ice age but they are wrong it didn’t end in the world being engulfed by blazing flames and choked by thick billowing smoke clouds, it didn’t end in a ice age that slowly froze the very sea and turned everything to eery sculptures of ice . It ended with the raw devastated scream of grief so heart wrenching that the stars fell one by one into the icy darkness of space. The sky bled; darkness rose where the stars once were erasing lights across the once glowing planet and then the change. Instead of griefs broken voice there is silence. Silence that swallows the world whole, that screams but no sound follows,

Icarus soared through the sky
Towards his god
Blinded by love
The sun rising painted them in blazing reds, oranges and pinks
He flew into apollos fiery embrace
I can make you immortal
Apollo whispered with sun-soaked lips
How ?
Trust me Apollo whispered
grazing his burning hands along the wings of wax
And Icarus fell, feathers alight in flames
wax tracing burning patterns of hell fire
along his arms and down his back
he plummeted into the seas embrace
the air from his lungs tearing out of is throat
Icarus sinks sight turning to blackness
Now immortalized in tragedy
Remembered forever for loving a god

The moon hangs over the earth
A dead thing
Over a dying thing

'You're a heap of flesh and guts and blood in a wax museum.
The only thing real. Sickeningly real.
Crimson and warm where the others are pale and cold. Revoltingly red, nauseatingly alive.
You're a child in a graveyard.

i. there is old blood crusting under your nails like rusting metal and you don't know if it is yours or someone else's but he looks at you like you are something holy and you forget about the sins crawling in your bones.

ii. he finds you in an overflowing bathtub - head between your knees, nails carving ****** moons into your skin; later you tell him yes, sometimes shower water against porcelain sounds like gunshots raining on your skin.

iii. your name is a whispered prayer that spills from his mouth and he repeats it over and over like a mantra; he breathes words you recognise from a dream and they condense in the frosty air between his lips and yours.

iv. he tells you that your bruises look like galaxies and holds you like the world has cheated him of you for far too long. tonight, you run out of names before he runs out of kisses.

v. hazy-gold sunlight sieves through the moth-eaten curtains and frames his face and you can't stop holding his cheeks in your palms because he is here, he is here, he is here, and you've long grown tired of wondering why he hasn't left yet.

"i was written by a man" this "i was written by a woman" that.
i was written by myself because no one had the energy to pick up a pen and do it for me. i wrote myself with scavenged ink and put myself together bit by bit with agonizing scrutiny because no one wanted to write the details

Stop looking at me like that,
with pity in your glassy dead eyes.
all I am to you is a tragedy, right?
Stop it.
Stop ******* looking at me like that.
Do you hear me?

I will break you with my bloodstained teeth.

I only ever thought there were two types of love,
the kind you’d **** for (till blood coated your arms )
and the kind you’d die for ( gasping their name with your last breath)
but you my love
you were the kind of love
I would live for.

the feeling of powerlessness
that turns good men
cruel

-you know the oldest lie in history? is that power can be innocent

***** burns my throat
but your name hurts my head
so i would rather black out with a hangover
then stare blankly at my hands
trying to forget what its like to touch you.

I did what any rational person would do
I reached up to the sky ever so calmly and tore the stars apart
It rained blood and iron
That clung to the air as thick as glue coating everything in red .
Blood soaked mouths parted to reveal crimson stained teeth.

you were destined for glory

the fame and privilage

i was destined for war

to be the gun with no name

-fates been playing the long game with us love

As Icarus fell, he laughed. Because for the first time in awhile he felt something.
He felt the wax burning his skin.
The wind rushing around him.
And the sea acting as cement.
For it was Apollo the sun
the Anemoi who controlled the winds,
and Poseidon who witnessed his last moments.
But it was Thanatos and Hades who took
him to his new home. Where he could live a new life in the underworld.
And thats what they don't tell you in school.

A dog that weeps after it kills
is no better than a dog that doesn't

my guilt will not purify me

one time he and i were sitting in bed and i said "where do you feel stuff?" and he said "what do you mean" and i said, "here is anxiety" and pointed to my bottom left rib where the spiders start. he pointed to his throat. "it's here for me."
i keep anger in my breastbone, he holds it in his hands. i feel sadness on my shoulders, he feels it in his lungs.

hero's aren't fearless
hero's are brave
bravery requires fear
fear is born of loving something
loving something so undoubtably
losing it would break you.

that how villain's are made
when a hero loses what they love
there minds break
they have nothing to live for
except revenge

This is a story about two boys
The taller one has a gun tucked into his waistband
And thinks the bullets are meant for him
The older one has a record player in his head
He sings along to the same five songs
They know each other
Down to the color of blood
And the sound of bones breaking
But they are strangers
The one with the gun keeps forgetting the words
And the boy with the music Won't let him shoot

Someone once said rage is still it just sits there this heavy dark thing in front of your eyes making you feel nothing but the hunger beating in your empty chest . So your forced to face it and open your mouth wide to swallow it whole. But rage is a thing with bones and blood and screams that turn into flames, so you chew on it take in all the sharp bitterness that makes your tongue and mouth and words go numb you don’t even know when it reaches your throat because its already in your chest.

this is how it ends....
not with a bang
but a whimper,
and the ringing of cruel cruel laughter.

they call you a patriot
and brand death between yours brows.
you smile and sing for them.

young, corrupted by tragedies of war and exile
alone in spite of himself
boy made of ash and a honey soaked dawn
rust on his hands, in his throat, in his lungs
bright-eyed, rough edges, scraped raw and twisted with time
where is his soft epilogue?

I have survived far  far to much to go quietly
let a meteor take me call the gods for back up
my death will be grand
the land will  fracture
the seas will roar
the sun will eat it self

i wont glorify or romanticize heartbreak
for me it was a kind of death
and i was forced to keep on living

most days my demons are silent
but when they talk
oh god
How they scream

they call you useless
and paint bruises on your sides.
you nod and stay silent

veins to young drowning in amber liquid
stashed in duffle bags to pour down throats
bibles pages rolled to form cigarettes
clutched between burnt fingers
throats exposed as smoke pushes of mouths
with scarlet smiles made of red teeth and ****** lips
god gave up on us years ago  
bones bent under a chapel ceiling
ghosts spread inky fingers inside my chest and strum my ribs
nights and days lost in a blacked out haze
god asked to much of them

Hope is not a delicate bird.
It doesn’t have colourful feathers or comes.
When you need it most
Hope is a starving rat
An ugly thing
With broken glass claws and yellow pointed teeth
That carries diseases like rebellion, revolution and change
Were ever its tail flicks they drop
It snorts pesticides like coke
It survives in our world
Able to find a way to live were nothing else can.

you are so much more
then your fathers son
you are so much more
than the wars you have won

she's like glass they said

shatters at the smallest touch

crushed into a million tiny shards

she's like glass the said

break her and your the one that bleeds

unclench your fists, my love, the war is over now.
(i've forgotten how to uncurl my fingers from the trigger.)
be gentle, my love, the war is over now.
(i don't remember what it's like not to have gunsteel in my bones.) come home, my love, the war is over now.
(i'm back at the place i left but home is gone where i cannot find it.) sleep, my love, the war is over now.
(the war follows me into sleep. i'm afraid i'll never leave it behind.) kiss me, my love, the war is over now.
(my fingers still drip red and i do not want to stain you with them.)

teach me how to be at peace again

tell me how the world ended
which time?

- too many times to count