How ?

How do you forget something that’s so integrated into yourself? 

How do you rip the memories from your flesh without bleeding? 

How do I tear out the emotions without killing that small piece of myself?

 I’m burning for an answer, but I always end up with more questions.

Angels & Constellations


There’s cracks in the bedroom ceiling. 

we looked up from our place on the ground as we slept on hard-wood floors

and claimed we could pin-point certain constellations

and we were dragging black crayons between the lines

because (for the first time) we wanted to prove something to ourselves.

We weren’t out of minds just yet.

we shifted the bed to the other side of the room

and moved the dresser in front of the window;

to block out memories of the outside and all the hurt we’d felt before.

we’d sweep up dust-angels and watch them follow our lungs down.

We weren’t ready to leave just yet.

incense would burn holes in our eyesight and fog our common sense

and we’d watch the smoke twist around our fingers all night long.

we were twirling and swirling and curling our toes

beneath the summer sun and glow of artificial light until we couldn’t feel a thing.

i don’t think we could support ourselves.

There’s cracks in the bedroom ceiling.

and you left behind a letter addressed to what you saw in me,

stained with howling winds and the wolves that hid in the shadows.

you said you missed the outside but you were lying and now you’re gone.

i threw stones at the door and cried all night;

now this is just another empty apartment.

i moved the bed again

but i still can’t stop waking up on the wrong side.

No refunds 

take. take. take.

i’ll allow you to burrow holes into me,

if you need a place to feel safe and warm

but remember to give something back.

i don’t want to be left with nothing again.

because i don’t want to be nothing

again.

You’re much stronger than you think 

I’ll be the first to tell you

scissors don’t need to be brought to a wrist

to cut deep

because cutting off your heart from you head,

or yourself from your dreams,

is also enough

to make you bleed

and there’s ink spilled all over these pages,

and at times it seems tears 

are cheaper than water from a spout:

these lines need diluted,

these blots are a dark, dark sea
and maybe I’m not too good at swimming,

even if it’s just through a pool of ink

but I’ve learned if you just keep paddling,
you’re much stronger than you think.

Imagine That

Imagine that you are made of stars.
A hundred million tiny points of light that make you more beautiful than anyone else. Imagine that, all at once, you are in every wonderful place in the world. Everything looks like cupcakes and sounds like your favourite song. Imagine that you are everything you ever wanted to be and that there is no such thing as happiness because you never need to feel anything other than perfectly, beautifully content like those blissful moments between sex and sleep. Imagine that all around you, existence swirls by like golden autumnal leaves that have been snatched up for a waltz by the breeze. Imagine that all the best moments of your life are pieced together to create everything that is happening to you. Imagine being able to feel the binds of his restraints around your wrists with the taste of his skin on your tongue. Imagine that every time you breathe, it smells of him and every time you blink, his slow smile spreads across the insides of your eyelids. Imagine that you don’t know how to do anything other than be in love.

Imagine that, one at a time, all of the stars are extinguished and you start to fade away. Imagine that, as quickly as your heart can beat, a sparkling star becomes a flake of ash that falls and drifts away from you. Imagine that all of the beauty surrounding you disintegrates into itself until it becomes a mass of liquid nothingness at your feet. Imagine a stillness so silent that you wonder how anything could ever have been real. Imagine the fear you feel as you realize that you are losing yourself . You are left alone, in an almost-dark space staring into a pool of everything that you once had but didn’t deserve, knowing that it could only have been a matter of time before fate realized its mistake. Imagine that you are staring at what should have been forever, wishing on the last few stars that are left that this is just a dream, and wondering how it is possible for one person to be this broken.

Spilled Ink

Use me

Like a pen uses ink 

Beautiful. Original. Interminable.

Write until your heart is spilled completely on the page for me to 

EXAMINE

Until there is no ink left 

To write with…

Write to me about love and tragedy and painfully gorgeous moments 

Hand in hand.

Flesh on flesh.

Mouth on mouth.

Love & sin.