I creak in this cold.
Calm, china-doll-like purple hands
Icy veins
Fingers Frozen
To my zipper,
Chatter
Of my teeth reminding me
Of my callow views
My doll-like skew
On everything.
— if I broke, i'd shatter,
And I could glue myself back together
Full of cracks.

I don’t think I see you anymore;
I don’t see anything besides the
Dangling red-stones and reckless curls,
Sun-kissed smile shivering for more
I cant comply to.
I don’t want to lose you to the life you can’t give up and I lose myself every other day to
Monotony. Maybe
You could end that?
I’m tired
And blind
And I can’t stop seeing your hidden sort of side—The one that glances at the person you wish I wore
And writes of all the sensuous aspects of the world.
See these fake words you assign me, I am not a crisp morning
Or beckoning sea breeze entangling you in lust and mystery—I’m frozen.

I don’t know what else to say now,
Standing in the un-lit streets of memories unwinding—holding close the heart I guess I broke—Staring at your shifting soul,
I wonder who I would have been without you
And who I will become once you are gone.
Love-Locked looks I hide inside,
Beside my permanently damaged sense of pride.
So instead of any other sad display
I’ll tell you
You look more beautiful every day.

At least he’s eating lunch today.
Scrambled-egg-sandwich smell of telling me to worry less—
I never do.
“I can’t do anything”
“My mind is gone”
I suppose life is splitting through your bones,
But don’t worry,
Spatula in hand,
waving fates away like flies amongst an endless strain of pain,
He tries to stand
Against the demons eating him
Away.
But hey,
At least he’s eating lunch today.

She left the gate agar
And the sun crept in to steal my time,
Adding the ever-careful wrinkles round my eyes.
Dead strawberries withered with care
And Rainy, ****** skies weighed down  with weeks of meager, longing stares.

Is there more I can hold in the folds of my fingers?
Drip through the cracks, I fumble.
I wish I could see my darkening eyes...
And hear the seeds of my labor
crumble

Today, I am the antithesis of beauty.
I rot at the roots of my hair and I reek of falsified overconfidence.
Today, I have no right answers. I stumble over feelings, cling heavy on each word and fall face first in explanations no one needed.
Today, I walk like lumber. I am doubtful of my passions and my body and my stride.
Today, I am the antithesis of beauty, I deserve to be alone.
I think back so painfully on how light my body traveled, simple traipsing passes of sidewalk lines and inclines I simply mastered.
Today, I stare my own eyes down—
How dare you ever think you had a right to smile? I have to have a **** that everyone can see,
I am a desolate piece of half-self someone alone amongst the sea
Of perfect people and lovely lives.
I spew forth all full of frothing lies to make it seem as though I do not hate the face I gaze with.
Today, I am the antithesis of beauty
And I cannot escape my own painful accusations.

All at once
Or nothing at all—
I’m falling—
Blackhole kind of lovely lines
Cutting cross my angled fists
These endless daunting lists I fill to burn.

The deep-set abhorrence
Of standing alone—
Where is it from?
I stand on dead grass
Staring dead eyes in the face in the glass reflecting off my screen.
I look mean, dead angry eyes and my brows too dark—
I look mean;
mean and alone.
On dead grass in dumb boots
Waiting for too many factors
To change
Before telling myself
To move on.