-when she looks in the mirror, she doesn’t see a woman anymore, she sees a monster. All brightblueeyes and vicioussmiles. She just stares at her reflection and wishes for the girl from before, all hurricanes and storms, with a quiet violence that kept verging but never crashed. Instead, she sees a shadow, an aftermath, a voracious appetite, a strangling selfishness. She sees something she never knew how to love. She can’t bring herself to break the glass.-
I think I finally understand the word unconditional– because when you look at me, I forget where you begin and I end, and there was never a time when I wasn’t as much a part of you as you are of me. I want to live in that moment forever, and I know, as long as we stand side by side, I can.
I’ve just been having a really hard time finding the poetry.
He says “I will devour you.”
And his smile glints with the malice of all the times he’s kept that promise.
She looks straight into the depths of fatality and leaps anyway.
(she’s alone come morning, absent even a heartbeat).
And when you ask me if I love you, I want to tell you that I miss the color of your eyes– but that’s a half-truth in a world of lies.
I still don’t know how to say:I love you more than I have ever loved anyone.
You can map the sprawl
of city life in the twist of
veins beneath my skin,
trace my blood flow like the shifting of the earth.
The rhythm in my chest matches
the beat of your wanderlust; the blaze of
lights and the familiar hum of crowded streets.
The oceans in my eyes are nothing
compared to the constellations
on my lashes, the curve of the
mountains in my smile.
Nature is attached to the very breath from
my lungs, the heady scent of earth and
rain clinging to my fingertips.
I am a crystal clear day.
I am a thunderstorm.
You just press kisses to
my rivers and valleys,
whether violently raging
or eerily calm.
your head rests against the branches
of my heart, your arms entangle in
the roots that span my ribcage.
(I can’t help but wonder:
are you in love with the metropolis
that sings beneath your hand or the girl?)
I was tired of scrambling around to find the good things. I was sick of trying. Tired of lying. Sick of watching the masquerade that played around me. Who was real and who was not? Tick, tock, I was running out of time. Out of energy. Out of will. Out of self.
I was burning to the ground. Falling as the sun crisped my wings. The blood was staining my hands. We all fell down.
I longed for the innocence of a child. The naivety. The imagination that could create worlds without having to sleep. I needed someone to light my candle. Replace the wick. I was going too fast, trapped in a box with no sound.
The ocean was crashing over my head. I was drowning. I couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in. Wasn’t anyone there? Can anybody here me?
(Is this just another story?)