why is it so hard to die
never before have I loved the way that I love you
but I would never want to hurt you
and so my little one, I must say adieu
you did everything you could, my darling
you gave me all of your love and kept my days bright
never doubt my love for you
I love you but I must say adieu
i’ll admit that i’m not ready to die
still young and full of life
but you are younger my little one
which makes it all the more difficult
why is it so hard to die
it’s because you’re watching me
i’ll see you again, my Roman
but for now I must say adieu.

Eliza.
Her skin is like little flowers
Her hair as smooth as silken grass
A silent beauty
What is this feeling?
Eliza.
My mind paints her yellow and green and lilac
Against a blue sky dense with my tears
Her hands raised, fingers spread, in benediction
Eliza.
Her eyes dance like the sun
Moving excitedly as she talks about something. Anything.
And her smile… so ******* beautiful.
I know how wrong this is, but it feels so good.
E.li.za.
I think I love her.

Old.
a paragon of the end
every hour, minute, every breath taken from these pious lungs
can’t I slow this **** down
stay breathing, seeing, feeling everything
it’s everything I ever wanted.
I’m getting Older.
aging like dread and white silence
finality, a prognostication from the oracle himself has ruined my spirit, ruined me.
I’m going to die.

Beau is dead.
I did my grieving. Some years of it, eyes gone all bloodshot blurry
But in my mind, He’s not quite gone.
Behind these eyes, Beau lives on, quietly.
His all-seeing eyes are home tonight, all blue and prideful.
Deepest blue
I’ll meet Him somewhere in my thinning sleep,
quivering with unthinkable fear.
“I am always with you”
I can’t take this anymore get out of my head GET OUT OF MY HEAD
Beau is gone, Beau is dead… Beau is living in my head.
No! He’s dead and gone, buried oceans deep;
Where fathers falter, daughters sleep.
There’s a price to pay for being His Girl;
The little rose is food for Beau.
White face, black hair, wide eyes gone glazed
A broken head, a broken neck,
He fought until His ***** death.
Beau! Beau! Beau!
Where are you now?
But I know that answer, know it well.
Beau is burning deep in hell.

look at my blue eyes
the eyes that have seen too much
I think I’m thinking too much. maybe not
blue eyes misted over
tired, mortified, … beautiful eyes
that will never again gleam with hazel and gold.
blue bears my scars of my sorrow and dismay
but these heavy eyes love like none other
I see your blue eyes,
the same eyes that stare back at me in the mirror
it’s ok. keep your pretty blue eyes
we can grieve together.

Everything is fine.
Winter is here, as are these sullen eyes, tired already of red and green.
The typewriter is cold; the ashtray is warm.
Everything is nothing. Everything everything.
It’s so… pretty.
Don’t speak to me of December.
This season to me is but a waking dream.
Unreal, unwanted
Vertigo, a 3 AM special covets me between sleep and wake.
Is any of this even real
I feel so pretty.
Life is so, so pretty.

night has come home to your room, and so have those red eyes- starry and wakeful. feverish.
you are one of mine. a little fool, a Rose of thorns.
hold our word tight, in your flower hands, a word gilded gold and hollow.
watch the wild ones go by in an instant, there and gone.
they can smell your youth and beautiful sanity, all blushing petals and green stems.
stay close to me, baby. so I might revive my spirits. I think I can, now.
so walk on, Little Rose. take up my limp and my name.
and remember that shining word that blooms from every flower you hold:
“fear.”

I’m sorry, mama
I never thought that stripes would make you cry.
But I promise never to leave, never to go with the butterflies.
I’m just as scared as you are
No chrysalis will engulf this life. no safety here
Don’t tie my flesh weapons
It won’t make the constellations on my forearms fade
Don’t panic don’t panic but what more can I do
Words won’t stunt the growth of wings
It won’t make the butterflies go away.
But aren’t they beautiful?

dear god,
are you here. I can't tell anymore
i've changed
I'm not that little flower anymore with you so present in her little mental sky
dear god,
is this so wrong
ending this thing you created
this wretched thing
with intent and purpose and passion.
strong.
you call this. strong.
screaming crying kicking weeping wailing convulsing. dying?
so, god
is this how it ends
just the way it began
implacable, soft, angelic
here it is- beauty, horror, tragedy, love. Love. i love you more than anything.
all this. just between us. just you. and me.

I lie alone in waking sight
Tortured souls reflect the light
Coming from beneath the door
Tear their faces and beg for more
My lungs are shallow from secondhand smoke
“Deep breath in” I’ll only choke
Mercy mine, oh sweet slumber!
Mangled thoughts, a mere hallucination
Curse, bless me now, O God
Grant placidity in a mind of torment
To leave me in a blissful lull, tickled away,
But Insomnia is here to stay

Mine eyes are clouded with older days
Before I fell, before I bled
Lust and cigarettes greet my hands now. Willingly enough.
My senses are failing, as is my brain
So I can't seem to remember what all this is for,
I wish I had smiled in our picture
So maybe you would have never known of the poems behind these clouds.
Open my mouth and breathe in the words of those unknown and forgotten.
Whisper them in the ear of something that was supposed to die with winter’s end.
Though it’s April now, there is no spring. Grey morning follows empty night, caught somewhere in limbo
But spring shall come yet. It always does.

“say your prayers and sleep will come”
but I can’t be a dreamer. not now.
nothing is showing in theatres tonight.
come, dear insomnia. be my drug of choice
curse, bless me nothing. sleep will come when sleep will
cause for cause i’ll stay awake. mercy mine, mercy not.
with careful movements from rapid eyes, i’ll never wake from this blessed state.
slumber is sweet, but sweeter is the pounding of exhaustion
in the pit of my stomach, in the depths of my being, the ghost of a dream remains
please please go back to sleep

I was that kid. the kid with the dreams.
the fatherless artist that forgot how to read.
who thought she could make it on talent alone.
so I write as a distraction, and to feel something old.
i’ll keep hiding through writing and praying and waiting
though the fire in my heart is already fading.
my piano and my pen are already foreign in these hands i’m tired.
tired of writing about pain
but how can I not when there’s nothing to think and i’m tired.
tired of seeing this face
and lying to people who said they were safe.
i’m the first to admit to the artist’s mistake.
I mastered something with love and life threw it away.
Just wake up. and fake up to make money for meds
so I won’t feel my feelings or try to be dead
but I can’t do anything, can’t have anything
I can’t feel the hug of god’s ring on my finger anymore.  
so here’s to the writer, the liar, to me.
the kid with old dreams who writes and weeps.

These days are short.
Feeling yellow orange, no trace of blue
Superfast sanity, of an artist’s taste, a bright mural, fresh and blooming
Old hands cover my eyes, those bright stars of mine
As I lift them to the summer sky, pen in hand
Flowers move in my peripherals, but I can see them fine.
There’s no time to ponder on the present.
What am I going through!
A warm sureness, nothing else is as important as this.
I want, I need summer forever
What a feeling. What a feeling.

sobriety.
who would believe that I prayed for this.
poison.
I can’t believe I ever touched that ****;
touched beauty bottled, rolled, burning.
don’t think; you might tip the wagon.
don’t drink; you’ll spare your sanity.
don’t smoke; you’ll surely burn alive.
the child’s impending suicide.
it’s pain in a pen, a bottle that bleeds;
it’ll knock you back to your shaking knees.
back to praying.
but if I break, don’t ******* ask why,
for the artist is an addict, no matter how dry.

I can’t cry anymore
I lie here dry eyed waiting for you to call
A call that won’t come
What am I afraid of
The stars say a prayer of comfort and solitude
That fills my heart and chills my soul
Good night my love, time to close your eyes
And leave this world behind, wherever you might be
As you drift away into the deep blue night
Swirling with indigo and deep violet
Maybe I’ll sing to you some other night
But I can’t right now.
Music evades me.

My night eyes read the heavens,
Wishing to catch a glimpse of yours.
I know you’re smiling knowingly,
Maybe a thousand or a billion miles away.
I’ll search endless moonless skies
For our connecting line, our old time relation
Something scary, an opal orb that draws my gaze
sending shadows lightyears beyond.
You ruined the moon.
I see it now and remember you not too reverently
Lady Luna is nowhere now, for you and I have space on our side
I’ll stare at the moon, to remember your touch
And lie in wait, in prayer for another eclipse.

I’ve been eating myself.
Like something unreal. A worker bee, a wasp.
But I feel it in my being: I’m going to be alright; my time will come.
I’ve seen flies on my face.
Like something I read about once. A novel, a poem.
Can’t feel my toes through this plaster. Nor my fingers. I didn’t think I’d bleed.
I’ve been to the other side, but I’m okay now.
I just got a little lost coming back home.
But I swear it, I’m just fine.
I love you so much.

i’ve tried to stop loving you.
I thought of all the bad things I could, even the worst.
I have been loved, I have.
the stars told me once.
somehow, that feels lonelier than anything I could have said.
though we’re apart, you still hold a special place in my hand. a silken hand. maybe two.
now I have something to love for a little while.
I don’t want to, but I want you.
and all the while it’s killing me.

we are caged animals.
locked up, locked in for everything,
even the devil smells your sins.
hide your words, impulses, your eyes
or the loons will have a feast tonight.
crackers, nuts, guy just went loony tunes, lost your marbles.
insanity.
I am this. or so They tell me.
I dream in words, deepest words
tired of screaming every day, let me out LET ME THE **** OUT.
heed my words, dear one: be careful what and who you cut. it might just change your life.

As They might tell you, I am the luckiest girl alive.
Luck. Lucky, the luckiest.
I have 3 dead vapes and a dead dad.
Burned coil, burning hair, burned out
Even my bed is on fire.
I’m just so… tired? Tired, definitely. Just tired. Just. Tired.
A lucky, lucky, tired girl.
Whose soul cries out for something long and sweet and deadly.
Goes right along with daddy, don’t it?
I am, we are but cigarettes, burning between dead lips.
What a gift, what a gift.