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solus Jan 2015
-
come here and kiss all the
parts of me I cannot stand;
tell me how much you love
all the things about me
that I abhor. hold my hands
and tell me all the things
in life you want to do with
me. lay awake at night with me,
when we are both borderline incoherent,
and tell me all the stories
you keep hidden under your ribs.
take me on long walks and
show me all your favorite places,
and your least favorite so
I can kiss you there and tell you
how much I love who you've become
solus Apr 2018
I drink my brain
into coma
so maybe
I can get some
silence
some rest in
the catacombs
of my soul
I drink because
maybe this
time I will wake
up from some
years long
dream a better
version of mysef
or someone
entirely new
I drink and
it hurts
solus Dec 2014
The toes of my shoes jut out over the edge of the building.
The ground is so, so far below, but I swear it calls my name.
My blood aches for the feel of the fall,
My nerves hunger for the impact, for the ending I have
Decided to write for myself.
Someone down there sees me, I see his mouth mouthing
Words. I know they are "stop, no."
But all I hear is, "please, go."
I let one foot hang off the side, carve my name in the air.
I am ready, I am ready, I am ready.
My heart beats a ragged bruise against my chest;
I call it anticipation. I think of all the no ones that will
Read my last words, I think of all the no ones that will grieve
For whatever remains of me after I have gone.
It has only been one minute,
Two minutes,
Three minutes.
I'm waiting for the bells, the two o'clock bells,
To tell me it's time. I was born at two in the afternoon
and I will die at two in the afternoon.
I do not allow myself to think about my life.
I am closing that door. That body of thought is not mine anymore,
Nor is it a friend. I am holding hands with death, he is
Inviting me across the street. Maybe we'll have tea together
At 2:01, maybe 2:02.
I check my watch; it's 1:59.
I'm counting down the seconds. I feel a certain relief, a certain
Spring in the ***** of my feet.
My freedom is ten seconds away.
Five.
Two.
1,000 feet
I take a deep breath, fill my lungs with it, and I leap.
The air whistles in my ears, it burns my eyes.
I cannot release my breath.
500 feet
It burns, it hurts, it aches; life did not ache this badly.
I cannot control my body, I am not grace,
I am not freedom, I am not free, I am not relief.
I am not nothing.
200 feet
I am something, I am human, I am exhileration,
I am love, I am pure, I am able, I am worthy.

100

50

25

10

5

I have made
an irreparable mistake.
solus Sep 2020
I am tired.
tired of working all of my
day away, tired of the give and
the give and the give and the never get
only to come home to
empty cupboards
and past due notices.

I am tired of the depression,
the anxiety, the scars on my wrist
and the ache in my brain.
tired of the what ifs and the
why nots and the carousel
that never stops spinning.
tired of feeling like all the tendrils
of me are wild animals
I will never tame.

tired of being told to grow up,
to get over it, to let it go.
tired of being loved for the idea
of me rather than the
person I am, the mess and
the mistakes and the broken
pieces I have painstakingly put back together.
tired of being told that version of me
isn't cutting it anymore.
tired of being loved on the pedestal,
tired of being left on the floor.

tired of being the bad guy
when all I am is tired of begging
asking, needing, screaming
for help. for more. for better.
tired of forgiving and never being
forgiven.

i am
tired.
solus Dec 2014
I woke up to a mouthful of ash again
because you let that pack of cigarettes burn
all night long and I forgot to
blow out the candles and
you're holding my wrist so tight that
we're both on the verge of cracking
but I know I know you're just holding on
so maybe I'll swim even though all I
want to do is sink, even though you're
the one with the anchors around your neck
I'm sorry your spine is bent
but you're still keeping me upright
I'm sorry you're lost and I threw away
the map I'm sorry I can't glue the world
back together for both of us
I'm sorry I wake up most mornings
unable to breathe
solus Jul 2021
it must be
so easy to hurt
so easy to harm
you learned
to handle me
so easily

that i barely noticed
until you were the one
to tell me, my abuser,
that this is abuse.

what it is to love
somebody who hurts
you, what it is to love
them like they don't.
solus Oct 2019
the inevitability the inevitability the inevitability
the pushback
the loss
the grieving the anger
the inevitability
the distance
the wounds
the healing
the wounds
the hands the harm
the scream
the whispers
the whisper
                                                                how are you still like this?
solus Dec 2016
you broke me, you know.
it doesn't matter, though.
I've never really been whole
but you left me more of a
battlefield than I've ever
been, and it wasn't until
I was looking at the wreckage
that I really understood
the casualties. and I hate
you for it. I hate that I stand
on the precipice of happiness
and wholeness, and all I can
really see is that battlefield.
all I can really feel is that
vast terrifying emptiness
and not enoughness that you
drowned me in for years. all
I feel is the terror that I'm
going to **** this up,
because I'm not enough. that
I'm going to be left behind
because I'm worth nothing
to no one. and god I never
want to go back to being that
girl I was when I was with you,
the girl whose worth depends
on who she's with. I hated
her. I hated how she catered
to your every whim, I hated
how she swallowed her pride
and her heart every single day
so you could feel good.
you ****** me up and
I don't know how to undo
those years of degrading and
shame and cheating and
lies and anger and misery
and it's the ******* worst
story in the world. the girl
who stayed in the terrible
relationship, and now,
staring down the barrel
of something good,
all I want to do is run.

******* for that.
******* for everything.
solus Dec 2016
I emptied myself for
so many of you, only
to realize you were
more than happy to
see my bones
at their barest
and leave me in
pieces, carrying
away the parts that
matter most and leaving
me nothing
in return.
solus Oct 2016
while I sink into this
empty bath
the air is at a dead silence
and I wonder why you left me
here and
the water slowly
fills all the empty spaces
and I wonder
I wonder
how long before
it swallows me whole
solus Feb 2018
I always
want
to  slip into you
like a dress
it's a lovely
little dress
but no matter
what i do
it's a bit
too tight
in all
the wrong
places
solus Nov 2021
i think of you,
your little shape,
the outline of a
life never meant
to be.

it's alright, most of the time.
you were never really
supposed to be mine.

your little life was already so hard
for both of us, and it would
have only gotten harder.
we would have only gotten
sicker.

there's a good chance you wouldn't
have made it anyway. there's a good chance
i wouldn't have either.

but i grieve you. who you could have
been. what our life would be like now.

i wanted to want you.
i really did. i almost let you stay.
almost.
solus Feb 2019
comes out when you're
quiet, when you least
want her - fingers. claws.
the blood drips down
your thighs. the
rumbling of your
mind become shouts,
become cries. she feels
like drowning, she feels
like trying to pull yourself
out of a cement mixer.
feels like the rain and
hail and blocks
and blocks of locked
doors and blinds
pulled tight.
solus Mar 2021
i think
i made you
too
much
space

when i let you in

i think in trying
to let you make yourself
at home

i gave you
real property

put your name
on the deed.

you
don't live there
anymore

don't visit
don't write
     and that's okay

we've long since
gone our
separate
ways

parallel lines

different
people

but what a greedy thing
to do

leaving
like that

but still keeping
your little plot of land.
solus May 2018
do you remember the first time?
the grey skies? the gentle morning light?
do you remember the first time you
held my hand or the first time we kissed?
do you remember the rush of the airport
around us yet how time seemed to slow
between us? the softness, the sweetness?
the tender tension?

it is not you I miss, don't misunderstand,
but that feeling. the crossing of oceans, the
constant newness, the always evolving
landscapes. I miss the permanence of
destination and the impermanent swarm
of airports. I miss the anticipation, the
adrenaline; the longing, and the opposite
of longing.

I miss the time before the violence and the
blood. it's like we, the us, began to die, but it
was slow and corrosive, an awful heaviness,
an eternal decay. I was too scared of a mercy
killing, and you were far too selfish. when
we finally... finally let go, we let go of a
mangled unrecognizable corpse.

I didn't think to grieve the loss. I didn't think
to honor the grey skies or the gentle morning
light. didn't think to say goodbye to the
anticipation or the longing. I cursed your name,
your demons. I smashed us to bits. swallowed
the demons. it was so much easier than feeling
anything else, but what a brutal cocktail. no
wonder I haven't really let you go. no wonder
you haunt me. I never laid you to rest.

I never laid us to rest.
I still don't know how.
solus Apr 2018
your shirtless anti-christ
the cigarette hanging from
the corner of his mouth

while he tells you sandpaper
sweet nothings he leaves the black
smears of his tobacco fingertips
left along the curve of your hip

and you breathe him in like
divine, let the smell of him
settle in your lungs like cancer
he is love he is life he is
here only to destroy you
solus Aug 2018
maybe there are some of us
who are not meant to be
shared with other people.
we are always too something -
too much, too rough, too
quiet. maybe we are born
solid, instead of in parts. we
are born without soul mates
because we are already whole
on our own.
solus Aug 2021
if i had a portrait
like dorian gray's
i wonder what it
would look like.

i do not look like
my world has shattered
overnight more times
than i can count

and while my scars have faded
quite substantially with time,

they'd probably bleed
through the portrait -

the blood running down my wrists
the blood running down my thighs.
solus Nov 2015
the questions the questions the
answers the answer
is not what you want, is
not what you. asked for
little worlds made of dust. and disolved
powder into the body of water you're
so thirsty. for something more than.
the need bleeding from your lips,
the urgency dripping from your.
fingertips carve love letters into my
skin is on fire and our little ocean has
dried up and we've disolved
into. dust thirsty for answers
when there aren't even questions.
solus Mar 2017
I stitched my bones together,
repainted my skin.
and yet somehow
the monsters still creep in.
solus May 2018
love becomes
afterthought
a heartless
endeavor,
a knee-****
response,
becoming
synonymous
with goodbye
and hello
until the word
hello fades
from memory
and the last
I love you
is your last
goodbye.
solus Nov 2018
thousand piece puzzle -
you lost the box, no patience
to count every piece. but you
try anyway. diligently putting
the corners together, trying
so hard so hard so hard
to make the picture again. but
it's hours and hours of work;
your knees start to ache, your
fingers plucking tirelessly
among the hundreds and
hundreds of identical pieces.  
the further you get, the more
you realize you never once
looked at what picture this
puzzle actually makes, and you
realize how many pieces are
missing.

your fingers plucked diligently
at all my pieces, trying to fit
them together - not by memory,
but by feel. you tried. we tried.
I showed you where the pieces
should go, how ours could fit.
what a pretty picture we could
make. but, my love, you kept
trying to make a picture we
were never destined for. and
now the living room is filled
with thousands of pieces, so
many unfinished puzzles.
solus Oct 2016
sometimes the broken pieces don’t fit,
they don’t go back together
like perfect puzzles made of glass.

sometimes you try to put the
pieces back together, and you come
away with ****** fingers

and jars full of jagged edges
and missing shards,
nothing like the pieces of art they once were.
solus Jul 2021
if you ever wonder if i miss you
too

i do.
solus Sep 2020
pull my
marionette strings
and I will sing
for my supper,
do as I'm told
at the mercy
of your fingertips.
solus Mar 2018
palm
to skin
mouth a
wandering
expedition
hollow of
my throat
valley
of thighs
fingers
plucking
the rhythmic
verse of
my hips
taking the
breath
from my
lips
undone
unwound
untethered
skin to
naked skin
solus Aug 2021
first, your absence.
second, the wounds.
third, hindsight.
fourth, the betrayal.

grieving your loss,
reliving every ugly moment
without the blinders -
the anger, the anguish,
and i wonder how
it is i am supposed to
do this. to miss you,
to hate you, to see you
for everything you could be,
everything you've become,
to worry about what you
still might do.

i don't know how to carry
all these things and i don't
know how to bandage these
wounds, i don't know how.

i am tired.
i am so tired.
solus Dec 2020
I am not the person
I ever wanted to be.
I've become a laundry
list of mistakes and
choices I never thought
I'd be in a position to make.
my losses are tallied on my
body in ways I never expected.
I have let love in in all the
wrong places and sent love
away at all the wrong times.
most days, I am at peace
with the wreckage I've made home,
but some mornings, when
I see the box under my kitchen
table, still addressed and ready
to be sent, it eats at me a little.
I find the stuffed animal still
hidden in the bottom drawer,
and it eats a little more.
the empty perfume bottle,
the t-shirt in the closet, the
dog-eared book, all the little
remnants of everything
I've left behind, everything I've tried
to forget, pull the shades wide open
and I can't escape the regret.
letting him go. letting you go.
at this point, I don't know which
hurts worse. the carousel of misery
that turns and turns away in my
head, and all while
he kisses me
goodnight.
solus Jun 2019
unraveling
slowly but surely
the threads spread
all over the house
you've tripped on them
so many times but
you hardly notice
you hardly notice
how the skin hangs
from my bones now
and you hardly notice
the whisper when i speak
you hardly notice
the threads on the floor
how they spell your name
and how little I have
left to give.
solus Aug 2018
do you remember the siren in my throat?
the howl of her, the empty vessel?
do you think of me sometimes,
think of how often my fingers
unmade the buttons at the
collar of your longing? how I
unlaced the cement that held
your damaged pieces together
into something resembling
personhood? how you painted
me with the blood of your amnesiac
sins, how I came to be the shrine
of all your broke and all your
bent? do you ever wonder how I
look now, draped around new
frames and coaxed by honey
that drips from new fingers?
do you ever miss those nights,
the half-light of the bathtub, the
shrine of bare thighs and the
drip drip drip as you watch me
melt into something black and
shimmering on the surface maybe
like blood maybe like nothingness and do
you desperately try to take handfuls
as I slip away like sinking ocean down the drain?
solus Oct 2016
between the lines of us,
affection dissolved –
I love you I love you,
I do.

but what happens when
love blends with anger?
what happens when loyal eyes
wander?

what happens when lonely
ships drift into distant shores
because the other islands
have long since emptied?
solus Dec 2016
I spent the better part of our
four years wishing for a miracle
so we could have our happy
ending

how funny to find my miracle
was waking up to realize
I deserve better

and to find that my happy
ending should be much
more than an ending

and that I need no one's
company for that
but my own
solus Oct 2019
trace that lie into my skin
the one that whispers into my ear
something about forever.
leave the line a slice,
a line of bruise,
like tattoos of every "I'm sorry."
a body full of them for every compelled
apology, a stain for every
"I'll do better
next time," - the way
you tried them on like shirts
you never intended to wear.
solus Apr 2018
the calm rumble
of your heartbeat
against my temple
is enough to silence
a thousand storms
solus Jan 2015
I hope you fill me
before I fill this
notebook I hope
you fall asleep
next to me some
near night while
I scribble away
about how there is
no better addiction
than the way
you sigh my name into
my skin
solus Mar 2015
I write letters
on napkins and bills and receipts.
I write letters because
there are things I can't
won't
say out loud. nobody's ever
going to read them
but at least I put the words
somewhere besides the
empty caverns of my own
soul.
solus Aug 2019
hungry little heart
thirsty for love you
haven't ever tasted

thinking it's so sweet
like chocolate and lavender

but i'll tell you this, the
aftertaste is bitter and black
and it's the only thing you'll taste

for centuries.
solus Oct 2018
plucked
the flowers
from my ribs
whispering,
love me,
love me not.


they left blood
smears across
my skin, left
dead petals
at my feet.

left me the
altar of love
that will never
be mine.
solus Feb 2020
my hands
slipped today
cut my finger
on the blade of
a box cutter

the bubbling of
panic, the bubbling
of blood

the pool of it
the mess
the flash in the moment

of pressing that blade
to the skin of my
wrists

it is the oddest sensation to
feel both relieved that

I was too cold
that I was shaking
that it hurt
too much

and disgusted by
the weakness -

and somewhere in
between

regretting
I didn't do it
anyway.
solus Feb 2019
the roses
died. little
shriveled
petals made a
path out of
our garden
and into a
graveyard.
our names on
the stones,
love me,
love me not
.
an undoing,
of sorts. a
****** in
another.
said goodbye
too early,
buried the
bodies too
late.
solus Sep 2018
we fall like shards
of glass, scattered
by circumstance.
the pieces cut up
our fingertips and
the puddles of blood
on the floor feel
like oceans when you
realize they are infinite
mirrors of infinite versions
of you and none of them
will ever touch. in some
distant universe, there's
a version of us that did
everything right. didn't
wear the wrong shoes,
didn't fall onto the wrong
mouth, didn't swear at their
mother. they don't know this
barren pit that's become of you.
they are happy, and
you've scarcely
visited that concept. it's
foreign. it's terrifying.
solus Nov 2018
chest is a graveyard
full of the ghosts of all
those that i have loved;
every rib bone a eulogy,
fingertips a prayer.
you'll find me on
my knees, begging
for forgiveness, for
rebirth - untying
every nerve, disconnecting
every bone. undress
this body, bare this
soul and you'll find empty
canvas, empty promise,
empty glass.
solus Dec 2019
the hollow
nothing fills -
the shadow of you
lingers, leaching
every last ounce of life
out of me.

the apologies, the anger
the rage, the hate, the love,
the fists and the holes in
the walls

the painting hangs in the
living room, the one of the
ghosts who still loved
each other.

and the ache, and the
longing, and the loss

it's battles and wars
and some of them are
victories and some of them
are losses and in the
end we both lose.

your hands -
all the places on my
body where you touched me,
all the places in my
mind where you bruised me,
and all the places in
my heart where you killed me.

recovery is a minefield
and all the parts of me I lost
still lay on your bedroom floor.
solus Feb 2018
left my body
in shallow river
and city
grew from
these bones
solus Oct 2016
everything is on the table now

matches. kerosene. pen.
paper.

I wrote to you. I swear,
I did.

I wrote your name over
and over until my wrists
ached.

couldn't ever get much
further than that.

you know something, though?
I can't even remember your face.

I remember the scars on your arms
and the freckles on your belly.

I can hear your laugh, I can feel
your skin beneath my palms.

but I can't remember your face.
and it all feels so meaningless now.

because I wrote you that poem once,
and I know you never read it.
the one where I loved you more with
each passing night and I was so afraid
you weren't even missing me at all

and it's all so different now. so much better,
and so much uglier.

I can't lie, because you're right. because
you know me better than anyone.
and it's a god awful feeling to be tired
of someone you love. to not remember
the lines of their face, or the light
in their eyes.

I owe you more than that. I deserve
better than this.

and the ****** up thing about all this babe
is I still haven't written you that letter.
I still don't have any answers.

because I'm empty and angry and
you're lost and lonely and we're miles
apart. might as well be universes.

and I have this fantasy where everything
happened so much better, it happened
right and we were better people and
god it's so beautiful but it's just a *******
fantasy.

because it's four in the morning and
that **** table is on fire
and I'm here typing away at some stupid
poem you're never going to read and
you're waiting for my response to your
gut-wrenching messages.

and I don't understand how we got
here. I don't understand how love
has to ******* up so badly, how
loving someone so much can
never be enough. how you can weather
storm after storm and disaster
after disaster together and still be left
with empty hands and broken hearts.
solus Nov 2016
you carved a cavern in my chest,
a hollowed out tomb for
every ghost you ever loved.
solus Oct 2016
I used to make wishes at 11:11,
I used to pick up pennies,
holding them tight for luck.
I used to believe in fate.
I used to believe that good things
happened to good people.

there's a word for people like that: naive.
because, "the truth is,
baby, the world is a cruel place."
he told me he was saving me,
sort of like saving a suicide
victim from a moving train.

because he told me he loved me,
because he told me the world was mine.
because he told me he'd do anything for me.
and I believed him.
solus Jul 2019
you will always be a part of me
and I both hate you
and love you
for that
solus Mar 2020
I cleaned my own
blood off your knife,
mended the wounds,
you gave me.
still kissed you
goodbye
when you left.
solus Nov 2017
you tear me apart
piece by piece
yet how peacefully
you sleep
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