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7d · 19
needle and thread
can only mend so many wounds,
can only mend
so many tears.

you've watched me, for years,
worrying at all our holes,
repairing them until my
fingers bled,
until my wounds became
too deep for stitches.

not that you'd tried to mend them
Sep 4 · 17
bad for me
unholy ghost Sep 4
pull my
marionette strings
and I will sing
for my supper,
do as I'm told
at the mercy
of your fingertips.
Sep 1 · 22
someone else
unholy ghost Sep 1
i'm watching the sunset
from the parking lot after work
and all the tendrils of all
the thoughts and feelings
in my head are lost to me,
close enough to see the silhouette,
too far to grasp.
i think of all of our sunsets
and i wish i'd held onto them,
those moments, a little longer.
lived them a little deeper.
we're strangers now, all of that
come and gone so quickly,
too quickly. and that's okay.
or it will be, someday.
the winds have changed,
and i have changed,
but my regret hangs in the
air like the purple in the clouds.
the sunset of you will
set one day and the sunset
will always remind me of you
but you'll become one of those
tendrils, the shape of something
that used to mean something
but unreachable,
like you were always
going to be.
Aug 28 · 26
unholy ghost Aug 28
the pieces of me,
the pieces i have left
don't really fit together.
collected over the years
from hundreds of puzzles,
i am left with an image
maybe designed by a
toddler or maybe a psychopath -
the kaleidoscope view of
somebody who couldn't
keep track of all the pieces
all the pictures
all the puzzles.
but i guess they tried,
because here i am
in all of my mismatched glory -
all at once a gift and an apology.
Aug 27 · 431
long gone
unholy ghost Aug 27
sometimes the crows
talk to me
and I imagine
you sent them
from your little
corner of the world

I pretend they
say "I miss you"

because truth be told
I miss you
Aug 25 · 37
ulterior motives
unholy ghost Aug 25
finally found your portrait
hidden behind your veneer
and your charm
and it is far uglier
than I could have
ever imagined

and all at once
letting you go was the easiest thing
I've ever done.
Aug 20 · 31
unholy ghost Aug 20
the thirst
the hunger
the echoes
of thousands of voices
screaming for relief
for patience
for salvation
the secret
wishes of the
mangled hearts
the wrecked spirits
the ones who have
given up
who have made friends
with the shadows
in the corner
made art of the
dandelions in the
sidewalks and the
****** fingerprints
on the window panes
unholy ghost Aug 4
some days the warrior
some days the worrier
and i'm never more
than the days your
absence hits the hardest -
when everything smells
like you, and i hear your voice
the clearest and the
soundtrack in my head
is the alternating verses of you
telling me you love me
and telling me to use a sharper
knife next time -

these are the days
i find myself the
most numb,
trembling, aching for sleep,
for an escape from the pain
that comes with missing you
so deeply
even after all this time.
Jul 14 · 41
hurt hearts
unholy ghost Jul 14
i'm tired of the triage.
i'm tired of bandaging
the wounds of those around me,
i'm tired of the shrapnel and
the pain and the feeling of
helplessness, watching
them burn and bruise
and bleed while i can
only offer bandaids
and well wishes. i'm tired
of sincere apologies that
don't mend the losses
and i'm tired of the tears
that never dry and the
need and the ache and the
void platitudes will never fill.
Jul 6 · 766
unholy ghost Jul 6
from the wrist

i tried
i tried
to write
to you

i swear
i tried -

i'm sorry
will never
be enough

will never
close the

the blades
never sever
the ache

the pen
carves anything
but your
Jun 25 · 35
nasty bones
unholy ghost Jun 25
the way depression
grabs fistfuls of my hair,
the bruises she leaves
on my skin, the cuts
and the bleeding on
the floor.
the way she holds my face
in her hands after
I've cleaned up the mess,
tells me what a good little
girl I am. how she
puts me to bed sometimes,
knowing one day I may
never get back up.
Jun 25 · 31
what it's like
unholy ghost Jun 25
i keep leaping
into that wall
hoping that finally
f i n a l l y
i'll break through.

but each time
i end up bruised
and ******
on the floor again.
Jun 25 · 37
unholy ghost Jun 25
you love me,
you love me.

you love me?

you do not destroy
the things you love.
unholy ghost Jun 25
it hits at the worst times.
the in and out flashes,
the people and the places we used to be.
it's like a pinched nerve,
a sprained ankle,
a sunburn -
the backwards ache of unrighted wrongs
and wounds that never healed right.
the constant reminders of
the loss and the longing
and the sting of all those things
I can't quite let go.
all of them. all of you.
Jun 8 · 48
unholy ghost Jun 8
yours is the
unwelcome ghost
i cannot bring myself
to banish.
Apr 10 · 65
unholy ghost Apr 10
between your anger
and my grief
we'll scorch the planet,
flood it
all over again.
Apr 8 · 64
unholy ghost Apr 8
sometimes fate
can only do so much
when we are fallible  
little human beings
with free will and
unhealthy coping

sometimes we
are handed exactly
what we need
when we need it
and we slap away
that silver platter
like angry toddlers
who don't know
Apr 2 · 54
unholy ghost Apr 2
one morning
I will wake up
and it won't hurt
I will make coffee
and the open windows
won't welcome in
the ache of hazy
the ghost of us
will finally be put
to rest and everything
will be alright.
Apr 2 · 36
unholy ghost Apr 2
wake up
to fill the time
make dinner

make friends with
the ghosts, clean out
the cobwebs, wear the
depression like

the monotony is killing me,
the echo chamber of myself is killing me,
the monotony is killing me
Apr 1 · 38
unholy ghost Apr 1
i'm trying to walk
on eggshells with feet
still bandaged from
walking on broken glass
and you wonder why
i step so delicately,
why i turn and run
every time they
start to sting
unholy ghost Mar 29
holding another human being hostage
because of your own feelings.
imagine casting them
in the roll of villain
because you loved them
into ruin.
imagine preying on the weak
simply because you are
imagine begging for sympathy
when you are the designer
of your own catastrophe.
Mar 25 · 53
unholy ghost Mar 25
the answer
to the
"what if"
hurts more
than never
answering it
at all.
Mar 25 · 34
unholy ghost Mar 25
I cleaned my own
blood off your knife,
mended the wounds,
you gave me.
still kissed you
when you left.
unholy ghost Mar 25
i've learned
slowly, too slowly,
that if you must ask
someone for the
same things
over and over and over,
that "i promise it'll
be better, it'll be
different this time"
are lies meant
only to buy more
Mar 23 · 30
unholy ghost Mar 23
i'd like to take apart all
of my pieces, unstitch
the skin, untangle the veins,
dismantle the bones -
let them clean, air dry.
let all the dust and the
ash settle elsewhere.
maybe then, when i
wear a body you've
never touched, will
my grief begin to
untether itself, only
then will i unshackle
the anger, only then
will the wall you've
built between me
and everyone else
come down.
Mar 21 · 48
not a poem
unholy ghost Mar 21
"you can take pleasure in something without the experience of happiness."

i tried to explain, once, to somebody i loved that i'd never felt happiness. that i wasn't exactly sure if i'd ever really felt anything at all, especially when it came to love and happiness. it hurt him. visibly.

"don't you love me?" he asked. "have i never made you feel happy?" and i choked on that, a little bit, because hurting him was something that hurt me physically. he didn't know that, at the time, didn't know that his hurt only hurt me more in that moment.

i've never had an apt way to describe the disconnect between loving somebody and feeling like i've never really loved anything, that i've felt GOOD without ever really being happy.  

i wish i could go back and change a lot of things. a lot of the ways i described things about myself, things that i've felt - because i've learned so much and none of it can mend the wounds that i've had and caused. if i could go back and tell him, "i'm afraid i'll never be whole enough to feel really happiness. i'm afraid i'll never be able to love you as much as i want to."

and yet. these questions, and these fears, have altered my choices and my life in permanent, unfixable ways. and that's life. we learn from the pain. we learn something from a single sentence on the internet.

every time, it's a slap in the face. but it's still a relief to have a better way to describe the feelings.
i don't have anywhere else to express this.
Mar 21 · 76
unholy ghost Mar 21
get over it.
get over the slices
up and down your wrists.
get over the bite marks
on your hands
because lord knows
your breakdown
shouldn't wake the neighbors.
get over the hurt and
anguish held onto like
balloons in a little
girl's hands, the ones
that say things like
"when is daddy coming
back?" and "I'm sorry
it still hurts
after all this time."
the one with your name on it.
the one with his.
lord knows I'd like to let
them go. watch them float
up, and up,
and away - but that little
girl is so tough, so bruised,
and her balloons are filled
with concrete. and we are
both gasping for air,
desperate for hands
that help instead of the
hands that harm.
Mar 16 · 47
sweet dreams
unholy ghost Mar 16
I have the scar
to show for it
this time,
faint and
pink and married
to the blue of vein.

the zipper of hurt

Mar 11 · 44
unholy ghost Mar 11
my pieces are all held
together with scotch tape.
sometimes not even that.

go to work.
do not bare skin.
no one would ever suspect  
the thousand piece puzzle you were
on the floor
the night before.
Mar 1 · 47
unholy ghost Mar 1
i want better than this person i've fallen into. indecisive, disastrous. damaging. disappointing. one boy wrecked me and i've wrecked everything that's come after. including me. mostly me. i'm tired of hurting people and i'm tired of being hurt. i'm tired of swinging from one extreme to the other. i'm tired of finally getting back up only to be knocked all the way back down. i'm tired of taking care of myself and bandaging my own wounds after i'm done bandaging everyone else's. i'm tired of the empty, hollow pit inside of me. it just gets bigger. worse.

i'm just ******* tired.
Feb 26 · 111
black out
unholy ghost Feb 26
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

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

I didn't do it
Feb 24 · 48
states of being
unholy ghost Feb 24
i wish i could remember the
day everything popped, the
day the fissure ripped me in
two - broke me into pieces of
Feeling and

or maybe it was just like
poison in the water, not
enough to destroy but enough
to sicken - to warp the
sensations, the perceptions -
hot, cold, hate, love.

how happy and empty
seem to be the ends of the
extreme with no in between.
how it can change in a moment,
how the turning of the planet
manages to yank the ground
right out from under me.

how quickly the fruit sours,
the heart hardens.
the gardens turn graveyard
and i am left once more
with the wreckage of all that i
once loved, burned to ash.

maybe i am the villain.
maybe i am the virus
infecting all that i touch.
Feb 23 · 105
unholy ghost Feb 23
the irony in loving
cold hearts is
one day becoming
the cold heart that is
i'm sorry
Feb 20 · 48
the black
unholy ghost Feb 20
not dead, just
cold - the absence of
life. like the
ghosts of trees,
in winter,
blown bare of
leaves -
all that remains
the silhouette
of an existence.
Feb 20 · 46
the wall
unholy ghost Feb 20
-forgive yourself for not
knowing better at the time
-you cannot heal if you
pretend you are not hurt
-time heals all wounds

it's hard to look at myself in the mirror,
to describe how the glass cracks when
the mirror in front of me is clean and the
only cracks are the ones in me getting
deeper and more fragmented with every
obligatory idiom thrown at me.

i hold out my hands and they are clean,
pale, unmarked. and yet they are raw,
bleeding, holding all the pieces of me
that don't fit anymore, the pieces that
i am terrified of losing.

"you'll be fine, it's not forever," and
yet. and yet i am still bandaging the same
wounds. they heal. slowly. painfully.
the skin turns shiny pink and then they
reopen, violently, viciously.

and still, the mirror stays clean. i look
clean, safe, whole, healed. and yet.
i have grown tired of the placating words,
the placeholders for something real.

i want hands to hold mine, to take the pieces,
to help me fix the mirror. to wash the blood
off my hands. i'm tired of holding the hands
of everyone around me while they ignore
the dried blood. the bruises.
Feb 19 · 261
leave it alone
unholy ghost Feb 19
the burned
hollowed out

the emptiness and
the ache

hands full of bruises
full of blood

gardens don't grow
when you plant them
in ashes.
Feb 13 · 40
unholy ghost Feb 13
i have built a home in myself
after all these years
and what peace it is to know
that no one will burn down
what i call hime
ever again.

(and what a quiet pain it is
to still crave the home in you.)
Feb 9 · 45
unholy ghost Feb 9
i tried to **** myself
one year ago

and today the soundtrack
in my mind

is "use a sharper knife
next time."
Jan 11 · 72
unholy ghost Jan 11
I learned how to swim
when I was very young.
fell in love with the
water. the oceans, the lakes,
the pools, the puddles.
free, open, weightless,

I almost drowned when
I was very young.
trapped, contained,
the tendrils of death
growing in my three
year old brain.

eventually, I fell in love
with the water again.
it's not a free, weightless love -
more like the melancholy
of loss and love that
never returns.

and I suppose that says
a lot about how I fell in
love with you and sank
and sank and sank
and almost drowned.
how you are lost to me,
uncontainable like water,
and how even so,
I love you still.
Dec 2019 · 73
unholy ghost 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.
Dec 2019 · 69
unholy ghost Dec 2019
I feel untethered to this life,
this moment, this body,
this time of existence.
I am my own shadow,
the faint whispers when
it gets too quiet, the
ringing in your ears
and the feeling you've
been here before. I am
also the feeling in your
chest that you shouldn't
be here, that the whispers
aren't just your imagination
and the shadow has been
unstitched, tiptoeing just
a millisecond before you do.
the feeling of unbelonging,
unbalance, improper existence.
I am not meant to be here.
I never was.
Dec 2019 · 55
unholy ghost Dec 2019
wake in the early winter morning,
let the cold settle in your bones,
serve the quiet reminder that
all things come to an end eventually.
the silence of snow and the howl
of wind are the two hands that
say both goodnight and welcome home.
the sudden winter storms will heal
if you let them, but they'll also
steal you away when you
get lost in the night.
don't allow yourself to be
swallowed by the ache of it,
by the barren silence of it all.
Dec 2019 · 63
universal like this
unholy ghost Dec 2019
the trajectory overlaps
suddenly, inexplicably -
asteroid to planet.
the collision is loud,
volatile, permanent
the planet continues
to rotate on its axis
a little sideways, never
really recovering
from the explosion, while
the asteroid continues
on its albeit altered,
but never halted,

we are planets, like this.
turning and turning
in the same universe,
never crossing. it's like a
hand to hold, the moments
before and the moments after
nearly identical: at one time
we hadn't ever touched,
and afterwards it's like we never

but you are still scar.
there's still the ground zero
where we collided, brutally,
beautifully. once, never again.
Nov 2019 · 55
unholy ghost Nov 2019
sometimes you can't just walk it off.
sometimes you have to rebreak the bones
before they'll heal right. sometimes
you have to sew the cuts closed
and sometimes you pick the scabs over
and over again before the itching stops.
sometimes they become faint scar,
injury really only you can see. sometimes
the scars are so thick and dark that
they become the most noticeable part
of your body.

sometimes we heal.
sometimes we don't.
sometimes we say goodbye
over and over to the ghost
in the mirror, watching the
scars deepen with every
desperate breath.
Nov 2019 · 80
Stages of Grief
unholy ghost Nov 2019
     things were never supposed to end
     like this.
     my body remembers you,
     like surgery, like scar.
     the imprint of loss doesn't fit
     when I was never supposed to lose you
     in the first place.

2. Anger
     the hands.
     the fists.
     screaming to skies that don't listen.
     apologies are nothing when you've
     shoved me into the villain role
     knowing all along you broke me in the first place.
3. Bargaining
     i'd give anything to have you back.
     i'd given anything to never
     want you back.
     and it's always right there in the middle.
     knowing you're no good for me,
     knowing that you could have been.

4. Depression
     the whole body ache. the
     imsorryitsamess I am doingmybest.
     the way they hold your hands and tell you
     it gets better, you get over it, you stop wanting
     you stop wanting. one day it just stops.
     it's the way they can't see the bruises, the battering
     because the outsides look fine. the outsides smile.
     the outsides are a good employee, a good friend.
     the outsides are a much better actor
     than i give them credit for.

5. Acceptance
     it's like marking a page in a book,
     setting it down, never picking it back up
     again. tragic. the movement of life. it sits
     on a shelf, months, years. you forget the plot
     the characters, the motion. your fingers run
     over its spine every so often, thinking you'll
     come back to it. it's how you never think the end
     is the end, how it burns, how you forget the last
     kiss, the last I love you, the last everything. how
     eventually, the sting of those lost memories stops
     stinging. how you forget you ever started the book
     in the first place

and it's how someday you do pick up the book
again, you do, and it all comes rushing back to you.
the circle of the stages, how each one becomes
a familiar visitor you welcome in with warm coffee
and ask how they've been. they don't ever really
ask you. for awhile, it's like getting hit in the stomach,
lost for air. eventually the visitors go elsewhere for
coffee, and you never realize when you've finally
put down that book for the last time.
Nov 2019 · 336
unlived lives
unholy ghost Nov 2019
no matter what happened
we were going to have an ending.
dry forests burn quick
and lightening will always strike,
and we were always going to have
an ending.
Nov 2019 · 65
unholy ghost Nov 2019
loosen the laces
that tie me to you
  me to us
    me to them
      to anyone.

letting you go has been like pulling hangnails,
like removing limbs. I've learned to live
limbless, nursing ****** fingers.
nobody but me
changes the bandages.

they say time heals all wounds.
time does not heal
all wounds.

open wounds turn scar,
pink and shiny, then the
naked skin of old cuts. but the ache
lingers long after its healed, long
after each and every one of those
cuts has been sewn shut.

every now and then, the nerves sizzle
and your name flashes across my mind
bright and violent like neon against the black
sky of night.

and then you're gone again. just another
scar among many, still the only one that ever
really burns after all this time.

time passes,
another wound opens,
another name
in the flesh, another scar.

I'm so tired of healing wounds.
Oct 2019 · 54
unholy ghost 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.
Oct 2019 · 116
unholy ghost 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?
Oct 2019 · 42
real things
unholy ghost Oct 2019
it's the snap,
how quickly things
change. how quickly
things end. it's the
way the silence follows
the kiss, the way
the bruises always follow
"I'll be better
this time."
it's how often
goodbye goes unsaid
and the holes they
leave behind. it's how we talk
about closure like a healed
wound, but how reality
will always be another door
slammed in your face.
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