.some thoughts get so loud thatyou cry out for them to leave;they scatter like birds startledout of their trees, before landingagain where they wereand after a while,you just have tolet them sing
.you pulledall the strings;now i connect morewith the puppet thani do the puppeteer
.your heartalone shouldremind younot to beatyourself upyour pulseshould remindyoukeep steady
.i shudderwhen you speak;your words arecold when theytouch me
.some people are deadlong before they die -there's just no burialor cremation,no funeralfor the spirit
.you were a passingstorm, a tornado scribblingyour name in the sand
.everything i hold deari hold too tightly;i am so sorry you weremarked when i had tolet you go
.and if you evermanage to get inside myhead, i'll wish you luck
.does a weedever wonderwhy it isn'ta flowerdoes a treeever feel likeits roots areholding itdown
.i dug up thepast again, thosememories viciousand snarlingi set them looseinside the houseand now we haveto leave
.he stood on the shore,and told the sea he loved her;the jealous wind tore hisvoice in two
.you were life's newwork of art;small easel bonesand a blankcanvas of skinbut he ruined you over time,added the brushof a scaror two
.hell isthe devil's chest,an empty red cavernhe's simply tryingto fill
.you’ve gota lioninside,a heartfull ofpride,and you’renot lettinghim roar
.and like a stone atthe bottom of the riveror the sea,i think life might just beflowing right past me
.you're afraidto let anyonestoke the firein your chestfor fearyou will burnthem alive
.and god-i saw the moonleaking into the sea,a great big silvery slickon the wavesand as i held my hands upto the hole in her side,she smiled and soakedinto me(gentle, gentle, she doesn't have long)
.love grewand died repeatedly;she tore it out atthe root
desolateyou are a broken house with smashed windowsand ivy growing between your fingersyou are fragile and with everycreaking footstep on the stairs you pray so hard that you have let the right one inthere will be people,people with minds so blissfully ignorant thatthey walk right through you and do not see the splintered furniture residing within yourbody, you are invisible to them,and sometimesyou wonder if you are even therebut then there are other people - people worth staying standing for,people who will walk in and gently run their fingers along the parts of yourself thatyou forgot were even there,people who will explore your anatomy likeit is an undiscovered world. let them find the stale cup of water you leftbeneath your bed 5 months ago,let them find the brittle treasures you hidein your fireplace, and how you masochisticallyadore the way that you could justcatch on fire at anysecondbut do not let them break you,not ever again.
Heart Sold.i stand before youmy heart druggedpride swallowedas all i wantis your everinfectioussmile.
Keep your secrets, wolfgirl.I have been suffocatingon the stars of my pastlike horny gentlemendo with innocent lookingwolfgirls at 3am- their bitefearless as thieves.My lilac lungs are breathing indust and the tears of Saturn’snameless moons,while the rest of me -well, shes warm off wineand poems leftunfinished.
What I Can't HaveI wanted wings To wrap me gently In such a wondrously beautiful embraceAmongst the stars and angelsSo I delicately ripped flightFrom the butterflies surrounding my windowIn the hopes they could fly me away.I wanted to feel loved To feel the doting heat Of a lovers breath on my neckAnd grasp on my heartSo I kissed the sunAnd held it ever so gentlyAgainst my breast tillIt burned me awayAnd I could reminisce in its loving burn.I wanted to be wholeWithout flaw Without ugly bones to trap my soulWithout a lifeSo desperately wantingEverything it could never have or beSo I embraced the seasSubmerged my entirety My being Letting its infinity ConsumeAll that would be left of me,Till I could only Wash among its waves
Cancer has a smell.Old classics,lilac air-fresheners,the half cup ofpeppermint ice creamthat’s beensitting in your freezerfor weeks, and cat litter.He won’t eat anymore,but there arepiles and pilesof dirty dishessitting in the sink.He’s slowlydisintegratingbefore your eyes.You can wrapyour whole selfaround his tiny bonesnow.You can hold himlike he used to hold youall those years ago.And you are angry.You try to findsomeone,or somethingto blame.You hate doctors,and you hateNovember now.November meansbirthdays, diagnoses,chemo treatments,and realization.You have to force yourselfto stop crying,every day.This is the one personwho’s always had faithin you.He’s read every poemand hoarded every awardyou ever won.You ignore statistics,because rosesthey alwayssmell nicer.
I can't write poetry for dead girls.there are toomany pills in thisworld and toomuch misery inthe human heartbut that didn't meanthat you could justup and leave whenwe both know itcould have gotten betterand i miss you likea wolf misses her packor a goddamn dragon missesher fire and i'm sorrythat i can't give youa bouquet of jasmines(they were yourfavorite, after all,because that wasthe only princesswith a pet tiger)because poppies aretoo cliche and i'msorry i wasn't therewhen all you neededwas a hug and for someoneto whisper "it's okay,you're perfect enoughfor me, don't listento that junkie bitchwho just happened togive birth to you" and didyou know that i'm still waitingfor a reply to that oneemail about the world'sbest puns because fuck,there's a stubborn partof me that still refuses tobelieve that you're gone.
Ghost ShipYou still ghost shipThroughMy Subconscious.I've been waitingFor youTo drop anchor.
Last WordsIn the beginning you never want to let her go,and so you don't for a long, long time.You commit to bobby pins underfoot, mismatchedplates stacked like landmines,long hairs that circle and clog the drain, filling the tubwith stagnant water.You tell her something that you love about hereach night before you fall asleep,until one day you look at her and realize that youdon't know what to say anymore.-“I am not happy.”You whisper this to yourself once and then try to say it louder,but the words won't cooperate.Maybe a whisper is as loud as this thought can exist,or maybe some words weren't meant to be spoken aloud,but you still think them, and yes,you whisper them to yourselfwhen she isn't listening.Perhaps this is what you should have been telling hereach night as her hands searched for you in the darkness.-This isn't happening, you think,unless it is.You wonder if you owe her something,like your heart, maybe, your red hooded sweatshirt,
She Was With the StarsThe amber girlwas preserved perfectlyand her silky hair and porcelain skingleamed like a doll'sBut the scientists weren't able to keepher soul burningbecause though she was in theglass case filled with chemicals and fluidsand they were desperately trying to pumpoxygen into her lungs,her mind was still up in spacewith the starsSo the sun was extinguisheddespite the cries and mournful screamsbecause they hadbroke herand the many who looked upat her light and gloryslowly began to rot awayAnd so not a single thing was solved
.just try not tothink ofthat memory, that onewolf that callsfor the restof the pack;you'll spend allnight howlingwith them insideyour head