i.

your ribcage is not a ladder
for demons
to crawl their way up your body

ii.

your eyes aren’t black pits
in which everybody can see
every part of you reflected

iii.

remember that you are the only person
who can look in the mirror
and see you staring back,

iiii.

you cannot creep up on yourself

iiiii.

and just because blackberries
taste sweet
doesn’t mean they won’t rot
over time

iiiiii


It’s okay to feel like the roots
that anchor you
are mangled underground

pour every part of you
that you still have left
into the calamitous,

let it take everything

but the spider leg scars scattered
down your arms
and cracked glass smile
with the edges that cut

leave everything translucent behind
for the sake of familiarity with the dark

my body has become a scrap heap

there is a black hole
where my organs used to be
pulling everything in,

my hands are built to destroy
so I break my own bones,

sharpen my vocal chords
to play the tune of destruction

we crack our own mirrors
because we like the
distorted, smiling face

broken parts
remind me I’m not whole any more

Sometimes at night, I think I can
hear the blood rushing around my veins

there is an ocean inside of my flesh
that erodes the rocks that form
from the sediment of my thoughts

I can hear the waves crashing
and churning,

put your ear to my chest and hear
what I keep inside me,
what is drowning me from the inside out

I bleed like a villain who
has clawed redemption
from his veils with his fingernails,

the blood of forgiveness
purged from a sinner,

we gouge at broken hearts