Take a sip, little love.
Don’t think about it.
This high’ll burn brighter
than any drug.
I’m worth it,
It’s only love.
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.
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
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.
It’s more than just
That tortures us
It’s the trust
We both make
And we regret it
With every breath we take
Like a pen uses ink
Beautiful. Original. Interminable.
Write until your heart is spilled completely on the page for me to
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.
There’s been a film
Collecting on my bones
The way poetry seems to,
The way love condenses
And spills over;
I’ve been learning to live alone,
Enveloping myself in the
Emptiness like a moth-eaten quilt
It is safe here,
With the memories
Tucked away, but
I am done with this
I am not broken anymore
And I have no intention
Of pleasing you.
You can break my bones before
‘Cause I know this ache
This tar of my bloodstream;
Molten flecks of my memories,
The pieces of you
I couldn’t stand to keep
I know this sorrow and I reject it
And this is the monster you’ve been left with:
A girl who will not succumb
Who is no one’s but her own
And belongs to nothing
But her dreams.
And for the first time,
I feel invincible.
“but please don’t make me,not anymore.”
the faucet’s leaking out my soul tonight,
i think i’m drowning in old memories
that i forgot i had,
so do you think you could tell me
if my face has turned violet yet?
i’ve been weaving words into my skin,
but every time i sit down and let the nothingness
wash over me, it seems as if there’s too many words
in my head
for there to ever be anything left
my favorite color’s always been the opposite
of whoever’s sitting next to me,
and once i say “i’ll do it”
i can never bring myself to sit down,
and actually see it through,
no matter how much i want to.
i’m not who i used to be, you see,
i was something too hard to comprehend, i overwhelmed.
parts of me don’t know who they are, but
you seem to keep me tied down
for me to fly without
“come back now, please,”
i yell across the cushion clouds,
but you’re lost inside your own contradictions,
and i’m starting to wonder if there’s nothing i can do
to save you, anymore.
i’m afraid of causing
more trouble than i’m worth,
because i know that once i find a place where i can let go,
i never can pull myself back in and i always end up
making a mess on the floor of
black and blue and “i hate you”s,
and you’re too beautiful
say goodbye before hello,
it would be nice to stir things up.
and i’m afraid that because of where you come from,
you won’t ever be able to break
the padlock that’s been put on your soul, and be what i need.
i’ll show you everything,
i’ll be there when you fly,
i’ll be the thing that rips away your petty chains and tells you to just go and go and go.
because it’s okay to hate yourself some times.