she numbs the smell of cigarettes
with bleach and tears
and she tells me that she doesn't know why
she cries at night
but i know that there's something
that hides behind the light
as her shaking hand reaches out
to flip the switch
i know that she is scared
i ask her what she is thinking
and her lips freeze in an o
and she tells me she's uncomfortable
and that her thoughts are made of nightmares
and codeine mixed with seroquel
and blood on her favorite t-shirt
and she's too scared to tell me
why
her lips are chapped and peeling
her eyes are screaming
so loud that
i can hear it ringing in my ears
and she asks if i can hear them singing too

anjelica says she likes to play games
and she tells me we can have fun
but where is the fun
when she's always just about to run
she asks me to dance
dance
and i realize she never had any chance
to save herself
and my mind says how i should have saved her
i see her in my dreams
and i don't see the cherry tree
along the cobblestone walkway anymore
rather i see dead roses
scattered across a dirt path
and the roses are painted with blood

anjelica screams my name
she asks if i still write about her
she asks if i still love her
she begs to know if i still know her
she tells me she stopped loving me
she tells me she never knew herself
she tells me she tears my poetry because it is
too real
and i realize my dear anjelica
is not
real

she is a thorn i would
bury into my own chest
so that she is near my heart
she smells like cigarettes and bleach
there are tears that stain her cheeks
and mascara that runs down her face

what's wrong with me
i hear her say
and i would love
to tell her that
she is perfection
in the form of a mortal
but i say nothing
and she says nothing
and i can feel the silence
weighing on my head
and it weighs her hair back into curls
and my mind shouts
to know why we do
nothing
i beg the world for something
she tells me she is not alive
and i realize once again
she is not real
anjelica will forever fill my poetry
but anjelica does not
speak

she does not speak to me
unless she needs
more air to breathe
she does not speak to me
she looks at my eyes
with her burning eyes
and we create a new language
that neither of us know
she says she is okay
and she is not okay
she is broken like a lamp
that has fallen off a building that touches the sky
she is not real
anjelica exists only
in my poetry
but she consumes my thoughts
with her charred lungs.

i still have dreams of her
but she's different now
renewed somehow
¿happy perhaps?
that's quite the stretch
her eyes no longer scream
rather they sing of
daylight and bubble gum kisses
the dark circles
that had burrowed under
her eyes
were uprooted
and gone
her smile is wider
and genuine
her teeth no longer reek of
cyanide
and paper cuts
her lips no longer curl sadly
around each punchline
rather they wrap around each word that
exits my chapped lips
her lips are no longer
chapped
instead they are soft and whole and healthy

she straightened her hair
and chopped it to her
shoulders
as though each of her problems
dropped
with her delicate curls
as though her past would be as lost
and as irretrievable as her hair
she tells me
that she's never felt
better
and i know that her kind of better
is dropping everything and running
and turning into a cold brick
because once you're a brick
the only pain you can feel is when your bones
chip
i fear i've lost
my dear, Anjelica
to this destructive
"better"

she straightened her hair
she straightened her hair
she straightened her hair
and it's cookie cutter straight now
chalkboard flat somehow
she keeps it on her shoulders
her eyes don't scream
and in my dreams
i see us dancing but
this is not a dream anymore
who am i to escape to
now that my dear, Anjelica
has a light gleaming in her eye
and that same eye
is whispering to me of
dreams
dreams
dreams
and life
wonderful colorful life
and she tells me
that her favorite color is
yellow
because it symbolizes
hope
and i begin to realize
that perhaps she is
"better"
and perhaps this is for the
"better"

but i am selfish
and i am petrified that
i do not understand
this new
Anjelica
this happy
Anjelica
i do not know her
she was the only one i knew
and now i am
simply lost
for how can i
write
about a stranger?
i am the
stranger

she paints yellow flowers
on her window
and she lies down
and she sleeps
as i sit there
i see that
one thing has remained
the same:
she still looks
damaged
in her sleep

her skin is soft like flower petals
and it smells like
cigarettes and Nag Champa
her hair is always
sitting on her head
in a loose looking tight bun
and her makeup is always
less is more
and her teeth poke out from
behind her pink lips
with a smile
and a laugh
she tells me she laughs just like her sister
but an octave higher
and i want to tell her
that her laugh is beautiful
and hers alone
but she would not listen if
i said that

her skin is soft
and my hands shakily caress it
and i know my palms are cold and clammy
and sweaty
but she says nothing
and so i say nothing
and we sit in the silence
of waiting for the other
to speak
but her lips curl up
and over her teeth
and she smiles at me
with her yellow-cigarette stained
canines
and she tells me
she feels beautiful today
she feels okay today
but she does not really
and i can see it from the way
her almond eyes stare into mine
as though she is digging
my heart out
so that she can take a bite
as though she is scavenging me
for my okay
for my beautiful
but, anjelica
she is my okay
and my beautiful
and she holds
my happy
in the palm of her empty cupped hand

and she tells me she wants to shrink
she wants to fade into the black
as though the only something she hears
from my mouth
anymore
screams to be attacked
and i try to help her
and she told me she was better
but i know that her better
is turning into a cold brick
and she turned into a cold brick
and now she is stuck
unable to move
unable to scream
and she tries to move
as i had tried to save her
but i cannot save someone
that doesn't want to be saved
but ****** i wanted to save
her

my dear anjelica hides now
she hides behind the chopped bangs
that cloud her eyes
she hides behind her newfound slang
and her pile of lies
and she lies to me
she cannot tell me
her thoughts
she says that they are too
scary
and that they even scare her
but what i find the scariest
is my fear of losing her
and if she cannot speak to me
how do i refrain from losing her
she is like a cherry tree
blossoming under the suns beating rays
and losing petals
as harsh winds blow
and i am standing here
waiting for her to grow
waiting for this to grow
into something more than
strictly nothing

i wrap my fingers
around her wrist
and pull
because there is more of a world
to show her
than she would like to see
and i tell her
that she will be safe with me
but she does not believe me
for how can you be safe
when you aren't even safe by yourself
i do not want to whisper
sweet nothings in her ear
i want us to speak somethings
because all we are is nothing
all we are is nothing
but my dear anjelica
i want her to be my something

she is the world
and she holds much more in her hands
then she could ever imagine
and her skin
smells like cigarettes and Nag Champa
and i wonder if she loves the smell
as much as i do

i change the pronouns
in my poetry
from me
to her
and no
do not be mistaken
i am not her
and she is not me
i do not know this lost girl
yet i do understand her

i have dreams of her
she has eyes that scream
with bags sinking beneath
plump with everything
that she
hides
her hair is unkempt and wild
she tells me her only goal
is to finally be as free and wild
as the drooping loops
her skin is porcelain
and i fear that i might drop her
that my rough touch will not soothe
and that she will break

her cracked lips part
and she says her name is
Anjelica
a pretty name
yet seemingly
too clean for the broken doll

bruise is a pretty shade on her
she has red scars
that chase the dip of her back
and
her voice fills any empty room
as though she is
fighting for a place to speak
as though she is
fighting the silence

i walked slowly and uncertainly
to her room
my feet moving out of instinct
dancing along a cobblestone path
with white cherry blossom petals
scattered like my rambling thoughts
i reach her door
and place a shaking hand on the ****
i twist it and pull it open
moving slowly and cautiously
as not to wake her up
but i am afraid that
she looks even more
damaged
when she is asleep
i reach my arm over her
and she stirs
her stained mattress heaves
as though it's carrying
a burden much heavier than she

her eyelids blink open
and her cracked lips part
as she asks if i'm here for cigarettes
i apologize repetitively
quietly
softly
because i am scared of anger
and she says it's okay
and that she understands
but darling i do not think
your mind could comprehend
how i need them
how i need them to breathe
how they are the air that i breathe
how i breathe them much more simply

i leave with the cigarettes
tucked in my dress
a burn in my hand
and i leave
my dear Anjelica behind
to the destruction of her dreams
and i must confess
i am haunted by memories
and i hoped she held the key

i changed the pronouns in my poetry
from me to she
and i swear they are not about me
but i see myself scrawled in the ink