Melted and mixed into your body,
my insides shake.
In the way that tickles the pieces of stardust sneaking along my blood.
The breeze of your breath on my neck blows the gray locked away out of my bones.
I've longed to remember what I felt like in color; so my veins comply to your touch and send splashes onto my skin like a canvas dry for paint.
Your kiss is a dangerous whirlwind that will soon blow away with a piece of me.
And your love is a looming tempest.
I'll gladly give myself up for your breeze.

Your jargon seems to be precise,
but I know your deepest language.
My lips know the ins and the outs that drive you mad.
Your insides nor your outsides will ever shed the taste I left within your bones with my tounge.
We'll call it a blessing.
We'll call it a curse.
You may call it a lie;
But we both know its the naked truth.
You're digging through her heart,
but of course you'll never find me there.

I meticulously pick the cracked and peeling fingernail polish from my fingers.
Staring down.
Focusing on anything but your eyes.
The beating of your heart like a metronome,
setting the rhythm of the room.
You've whispered me your secrets, stumbled in love with my evasive glances, blotted out my smudges and redecorated them in your mind.
I am your thrift store find,
a treasure, nonetheless.
I put my head against your machine of a chest,
My mouth shape the empty words into something resembling truth.
My hungry soul is a picky starving child.
Not so innocent,
I greedily collect hearts in my hands and groan as they grow heavy, too afraid to give them back.
Yours is the freshest.
I am the one weathering your heart.
With my silence. / With my tears. / With my selfishly stolen kisses.
I want to tell you to run away, but my own fear of loneliness paralyzes my tongue.
"you're beautiful, you have cute feet, and I love you."
As you slip a delicate silver shackle around my neck.
The tiny silver heart dangles above my own.
I want to tell you to run away, but my own fear of loneliness paralyzes my tongue.

He told me he loved my long hair,
the way it framed my face.
Accentuated my green eyes.
A sort of beautiful nesting place.
And so I cut it off.
He told me he loved the way I loved Jesus.
My faith was inspiring.
He admired me.
I was what he believed.
And so I stopped praying.
He told me he loved that I was chaste.
So pure.
his ravenous heart found a cure,
between my legs.
And now it's his.
He hated cigarettes with a passion,
I smoked them all ****** and ashen.
He thought it was endearing,
the way I cringed at vulgarity.
My filthy mouth was once a rarity.
But my new favorite word was ****.
He hated drugs,
and so I did them.
He loved me,
and so I didn't.
I pushed and pulled and twisted and fought,
until he didn't know who he loved.
And so he forgot.

Hot magma grief crawling up my throat, spews out my mountaintop.
Slow motion consumption,
smoldering lava of sorrow breathing for the first time.
gasp
for
air
A world of color turned soot soaked black.
Submission, there is none.
No rest for the wicked or the anguished.
Unhurriedly and deliberately,
obliterated.


Everythingmovesinslowmotion.
Yourworldstops
all else carries on.
Anditdoesn’tmakesense
What lays in the wake of grief?

Disrespectfully silent.
For such a geography shifting event.

You may beg,
plead,
wrought to your knees,


The landscape of my heart vast,
The volcanic mass of grief left behind something inside,
What?
  
Melancholy ash.
Birthed of lava.
Agony.
Anguish.
Gloom and
Purgatory.
Heavy in my chest.

Holy Tribulation.
Despondent.
Dejected.
We're in hot water now,
Boiled in a breath uncaught.
distraught.
Third degree, cremated.
Solomons wife.

Enraged.
Incinerated.
Vexed.
Unyielding.

A kind hand cauterizes my weeping wounds only for a moment.