Balloon head girl...
With eggs for eyes and
Sharpie lips,,
Don't cry your egg white tears
For me, or let
the yolk leak from holes in
Your diabetic fingers...

Snap your blouse back on, with
The buttons right up
to your neck, a throat with
3 imprints, but
2 hands and  
1 threat

and he was a champion,
basking in the light of
a king and his victories///

lost between two walls of glass
and
an ocean full of something he
(just)
        can't
                quite
                        remember
.
.
.

a spaceship his battleground,
but also his home--
with mornings
consisting of no dawn, no
neighborhood and no blood
shared
between two//

locked up--
with a window full of sky,
and many roads
diverging,

And he cries,
looking at the stars, not knowing
that
the stars cry for him, too.

Sadness grew
        a flower in my heart,
With big blooming petals and
A long winding
                         Stem,

And as your fingers
        reached down my throat
                                                  to tug at
It's roots,
it regressed into a n g e r,
and
shriveled (all) away

I want to be
the
Cruel type of
Beautiful--

with my lips dripping
Blood and my dress
Trailing jewels,
My insecurities hidden between each
Fold of silk, saying
"I can **** if I must//"
but I won't

The kind where
after crying  
my eyes are red-
(Not from sadness
But)
from anger and dissociation,
and people fear what I have not said--
With my  
heart stitches torn open, and ink
Seeping through

and I'll never have to
Apologize.

don't cry,
little me...
youll shed your calloused skin
one day,
hatching out of
your candy-wrapper cocoon
of dreams and ribbon in
red,
      white,
               and pink,  
.
.
.

so
give your jaws a rest,

undo your sewn on smile,
with your
skin collapsing on
your cheekbones and
empty eyeholes,
worn,
tired, and d u s t y
.


you will be fine.

I have been in love, before --
I think
.
.
.

The kind of love where
Your heart
squeezes
in your Chest
and you
Feel like you're exploding
From the inside out and
You cannot hear
Anything,
Anything at all/but them


and it was real--
I tell myself.
My friends tell me.
They told me.

As real as being young could
Be...
The kind of real you get from sobbing and laughing
While your stomach melts your
Heart and your brain fries to
Bits
.
.
.
From their smile..,
Or their frown.
:(


But
I don't remember crying--
Just forgetting
.
.
.

How
one day my lungs were back to
Normal size and
My brain no longer
Screamed...

And (how) they weren't
in the obituary section
of the news.

will you talk to my corpse
after im dead?
.
.
.

ask me things like how
was your day?

tell me about
each and every
person
youve replaced me with?  

and ill have changed...
you know?

you're so quiet now
.
is what you'll say,
but i won't respond.

and maybe you'll cry?
the way i cried after you broke my heart--
into
p i e c e s

all while saying sorry and
what not?

and will you tell me the truth?
like the old days, when we were
kids

what caused you to do it?
ill think to ask,
.
but wont...

was it me?
or the first night
you went drinking?

or
will you just pretend that it wasn't
you
who killed me?