how far you've come.
do you remember every sunset
since the arrival of the sun
or do you crave the blessed dark
now more than ever?
the depth of misery's embrace,
the calm it brings, the warmth it takes,
like being stripped of every part of being you.
would you still welcome the collapse
or wait for sunlight to break through?
this grave's too shallow.
do you still wait to be transformed
or are you finally brave enough
to be in charge of your own form?
before the old survival instinct
can dig its claws into your throat,
remember, scars are there to guide you,
not to condemn, but to remind you
how far you've come.

I looked down and thought about how I was made of paper
About how I fold and bend to the will of my maker
About how easy it is for me to be thrown away
About how I will burn and perish someday

But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so pale and defenseless that I couldn’t do it. What I wanted to **** wasn’t on that innocent skin or in that terrified pulse fighting against my blade. What I wanted to **** was somewhere else deeper, somewhere else quieter, and somewhere impossible to reach.

They say you never leave me
I know its true, but I'm not sure I believe it

Were you honestly there as
my life flowed away
Down the drain
with the shower water?

Were you really watching as
It all grew dark and fuzzy,
When even sight and sound refused to stay?

Were you still holding me as
No one else dared sit by the side
Of my living corpse,
As even I longed to leave me?

Were you happy to keep me alive as
I fought so hard
against the life you gave me?

Thank you for staying

I stumbled upon Descanso gardens last December. Felt neck hairs stand at intention. Wishes of the past linger unfulfilled like paralyzed dreams never to be awakened into life.  Fear of replacing the one impossibly interchangeable part of the story I wish be left forgotten.

We met for early dinner. He’s holding out for better and I’m so turned on. We walk the street for ice cream, only to decide I shouldn’t.

I keep my left hand in my pocket. Distantly, I think of getting pizza by the slice with you and suddenly I’m not hungry. He doesn’t like pepperoni.

I love his paintings. He’s an artist, too. I can’t, I won’t take him to the Getty. I want to feel all of him but I don’t want to hold his hand.
Damp blankets call him home to dry. Turning away as the sun sets, I stare at the dirt in front of me, so I know where I stand, present.

You aren’t there. I glance up at the night sky and look away. No more wishing on scars. A shrouded memory of a daydream I once had haunts today I wanted to have just before I woke to the life you never were.

I’m going to the Getty in the morning. Maybe I’ll bring flowers just in case. Or maybe a camera to take photos I will never want to see. Maybe I should just stay in bed and dream a life you’re still there.

Yellow tulips and Rembrandt long your cold piercing stare. We have a date tomorrow at the Getty, it will be lovely so long not to bestir. Bring your favorite pen, as to draw the best of intentions quietly running the palate of my cheek splattered about a cold white marble floor of permeating bitterness. Peering through windows unto the imagination of immortals, bright white fades to nothing

****** be the light of dawn
Now, in step…
Symphonic daydreams tread a measure
Twisted ankles, we graciously fall.

Only in shallow
Do I see the sky
As nothing more
Then way too bright.

Only in shallow
Thomas asks
To see my wrists
And the checkerboard of burns

Only in shallow
I'll take apart my head
And let the ghosts slip through the cracks
And drag me down with them

And when I get to the deep
Oh  hell, I'm nowhere now.

They say the fear kicks in
halfway down.
The breath you didn’t think you wanted
comes clawing up your throat,
the ground becomes too real,
and life—
suddenly, violently—
feels too short to leave behind.

They say that’s when it hits you.
That bolt of regret.
That desperate gasp.
That scream your mind makes
when your body is already committed.

But what if mine never comes?

What if I’ve stood
on this ledge so long
the fall feels like flying?

What if I’ve rehearsed the silence
so often
that even the rush of air
couldn’t pull a heartbeat
from this chest?

They say halfway down
is a revelation—
but my eyes stay shut.
My fists stay unclenched.
My lungs stay quiet.

I watch that horse fall
again and again—
a warning dressed as poetry.
That moment
where everything becomes
too real,
too late.

And I wish it scared me.

But it doesn’t.

Because I don’t believe
I’d feel that panic.
I don’t believe
my hands would reach back.
I don’t believe
regret would bloom like they say.

Because I’ve already fallen—
so many times,
without ever leaving the ground.

And maybe that’s worse.
To still be standing
and already halfway gone.

To look at life
through the lens of a last moment
and feel
nothing.

Because if there’s a view
from halfway down,
I’ve been staring at it for years—
and it never blinked.
And neither did I—

Pulling away, leaving behind
the memories, the love, the warmth, my mind

Picking up speed, escaping the past
the worries, the pain, the anguish, outcast

Accelerating, visions are beginning to blur
inside, screaming, twisting, longing for her

Speeding, the machine, vibrating it shakes
it might just be me, do I have what it takes

Fighting to hold on, I am hitting the bend
excitement, release, approaching the end

Sliding, screaching, tyres trying to hold
an instant of noise, pain, it's getting so cold

No longer the senses, no sight, smell or touch
although floating away, I remember so much

will I find her again, will she recognise me
did I do the right thing, will I finally be free