I want to tear into your flesh.

To taste your disgust, your hatred, your sins, your dreams, your horrors.

I want to feel you in my bones… replace my makings with yours.

Show me where it hurts, show me where you want me, I want to feel you in my veins.

Desire, desire, desire

Dear death,

I have met life,
He wants me to fight,
But I'm so weak-
So can we meet?

I was the first to fall in love
But it’s inevitable that you’ll be the first to leave.

You the shepherd, you the abattoir, you the quiet, you the roaring sea.
I, your dulcet lamb pure and credulous in nature.

Unbeknownst to me, I followed you to the slaughter house, there you would take all of me.

My heart, my soul, the clay that formed my being.

Strung up on your thread only to be cut down once you had taken everything you wanted from me. Because what would be bread without meat?

As I felt the cold sweet solitude of the mezzanine floor finally I could truly be at peace. Watching the crimson from my flesh and bones seep into the earth-like soil welcoming the rain after a year of parchedness.

I had accepted my fate, I had accepted you…

I still dream of you sometimes…

The great hills in your green eyes as you took in my figure like you saw what I could not.

Your gentle nature and the way it flowed through your fingertips, from a pen, to a brush, to my skin.

You're gone now but I still feel you watching me, your soft breath against my face as I sleep.


I've cried for you many times but that night I wept like a widow in the dark sheets.

Because you stare at me from the wall across our bed but now I lay on the floor.

You no longer move to lay me to bed you just stare.

No more warm skin, no more sweet promises just ghostly figures and still air.

What’s wrong with me? That’s a question I pose to myself every day.
Because the way I feel just isn’t right.
Because when I look in the mirror I see another person inside me.
She is me, I am her, but we are not us.
She’s always been there since I was a little girl.
She’s all the 'bad' parts of me I tell myself, but I know that’s not true because in many ways we are equals.
She hurts when I hurt and cries when I cry.
But unlike me, she can recover from the pain as quickly as she felt it.
She likes to whisper lies to me when we’re alone because no one hates us more than her.
She told me that I’m the reason we are what we are.
But when will she see that I am her, she is me, and we are one.

I'm trying to find myself
But I don't know where she is
And she doesn't know where I've gone.