it all feels like disease and i want to strip my bones raw; manic
(sugar rush deity)

what am i to you… what are you to me, aside from endearing silhouettes; pixie
(mumbling shy songs)

in an ocean of violents in bloom we speak artificial prayer; dream
(cloaked in starry-eyed acapella—thats what they think, no?)

i surrender to your clarity and intensity and charm and beauty that my hands are too numb and dull to touch; girl

and then comes wrath: a dewy vileness teetering on the brink of your 9th life
now hell has harnessed my chest, for it is with deep regret and shaky sobs that every opening and crack in my body emits rotten remains of our silent war…

but there are still heartfelts i never mustered up the courage to let go of:

thank you for tip-toeing around broken strings to reach out once more, twice more
thank you for enduring my futile voyages through resentment
thank you for soaking all my insanity in like sunlight and excreting back out a gentle rainfall

what a pity

spent the last few years idling in a thin sense of self;
amid outstretched pores looking to photosynthesize more eccentric disposition
even though i know you know my woes consecrate through the spirit, through the veins
what i have shown you is thicker than blood–better count your blessings

so HA! neglect wont erase the ways ive molded your mind
its a gift, to
ditch reason for compassion
to breathe vanity
to breathe immortal sorrow…

my most absurd suggestion yet, now listen closely:
when the tips of my fingers freeze over, let sleeping mountains lie
do hate, but dont devour it;
holy holy holy holy hold the past like a knife
apologies for my insincerity but you must understand…
****, what is left of me?

trembling and then the blade clutters aloof, to and fro and to
i cower from the vision of my wicked phantom,
skin stretched tight over my bones–yet do what He says, for
He makes ruin a honey-like intoxicant
omega three, anti-this anti-that, acronyms galore,
each a little dose of layers of
Him, unraveling atop my fragility

desperatus, credere potes
mortuus, vivere potes

devoted to no God, except those that resemble me
i place each of my egos on the altar, and try to forgive myself

there rests a serpent corpse:
he began to writhe under my woes,
now his callous flesh chips away akin to an ancient statue
what's it like to no longer feel?

all existence is to exist, to exist is to procreate
vital enough to let sin seep into the soul
it is under that philosophy that mitosis cocoons my being
regenrate, rebirth, and rejoice!

I AM:
everyone you've come to love,
i am what you seek in the rest

i am each and every phantom that has glided through you and left traces of immortality, fused to the nerve and bone marrow

desperatus, credere potes
dortuus, vivere potes

a very disjointed woman, but a woman nonetheless--
then i realised i still hadn't answered the question, because femininity is a lifelong ache

though.. an ache i can deal with these days, as opposed to
the way it would shoot through my veins and corrupt my heart
i apologise for being a product of my own suffering  
i really am sorry for only writing good poetry when the knife cuts deep
you have no idea how much i'd like to convince you i'm deep

in
rehabilitation from phantasms, but the truth is
right now i'm a woman that can only speak on anguish
because she doesn't feel it
numbs herself to it because she isn't real; or
a jagged piece of what she used to be (she's! not! me!)

if i allow myself to digress,
no words would make it to the surface
they all get eaten up by the beast in my belly
and spat back out as another ghost of the self

who am i outside of that vicious cycle?

if destiny were a thermal lens inside of a telescope that shows where people are really meant to be then i am completely certain that you and i would appear as two red dots right next to each other but i can't allow anyone to touch me again for the rest of my life so i throw up a wall and despite its fearsome might the string between us found a way under a way through a way over the toxicity high above the venom like a spiderweb weak in appearance strong in durability we will always be connected it may sometimes feel like a nagging splinter that you must yank out of your flesh sometimes i am that way to you sometimes you are that way to me and separation seems ideal but we are really a strand of silk weaving in to and around the other creating a complex knot impossible to undo we are the product of so many things of pain of beauty of mania of gloom of numbness and if tangible it would all manifest into a piece of floral embroidery spelling both of our names and i often feel like you are the architect of my ruins you absorbed the dust and cracks and built me back up to a place of glory a place of greatness i wish i could do the same for you i mean youve said countless times i made an almost revolutionary impact on you but im a bad seed i decompose and pick you apart along with me when i cant get my way or when im jealous or when i feel insignificant i had a nightmare recently in which we met at a party in the city of angels or rather fallen angels because everything was frightening and loud and not once did you look me in the eye i begged to talk to you but you were consumed by frivolous tropes everything i have at times hated about you in reality all came together and i was left standing there lonely as **** watching you indulge i wanted to grab your attention with any bit of eloquence i could muster but i failed and stuttered and failed while you slipped away into a world im not worthy of and this is my fatal flaw i cant love without loathing we will never be pure this will never be wholesome but sometimes we feel a trace of it sometimes we see a glimpse of that ethereal plane we want to reside inside and im not sure if it really exists if it can be achieved if its just another distant dream but for now as long as you and i are pulled by the same gravity to the same core of the same planet then that alone is magnetic and nothing can take it away from us besides death although as we know im stuck inside a vicious mental cycle and eventually start to feel as if i really am dead as if im not really here as if i dont truly exist and i admittedly have always taken comfort in any indication that you feel the same way because i **** at loving and the chance to feel less ugly takes over renders me incapable of showing empathy and understanding and gentleness instead i relish in a wicked pleasure knowing we are both not okay this is me this is what im like and so purity cant be ours it rests in an abyss while corruption thrives right here in my mind in every single thing that i love you for is a deep resentment that i cant pinpoint the origins of perhaps it has something to do with the belief that i must not have fingerprints because touching people never leaves the mark i want it to and despite our distance i have dedicated the past five years to touching you emotionally spiritually i can only do that with art i cant do it with me why be me when i can be the artist and move you tremendously the problem is i expect you to be the artist too i expect you to create out of nothing i expect you to be nothing and perhaps i am nothing i have been nothing i will always be nothing until unless you decide to instill worth into me sacrifice parts of you save me a place of residence in this fourth wall you have built teach me to speak all things you have spoken teach me to see things like you have seen them teach me to create things like you have envisioned teach me to feel like you have felt more so endured i remember the first time you decided to be vulnerable with me and i was happy because you had only ever been gilded whilst i am six feet under i can only ever see you when i crane my neck and is that sick that more than ever i wanted i want you to choose me over everything you had just woken up from a nightmare you wrote to me about your fears though i was doe eyed though all i had to offer was a strained rub on the back though i was still her back then i was