I am stunned by how,
you, a simple boy,
can in one breath,
destroy years of progress.

(I am not 19, anymore,
I will not be fooled
by eyes the color of
a summer day,
and breath coated
with alcohol that
burns through my chest).

You are not my future,
but you are painted by my past.
A name with the weight of a
thousand mistakes
and a chance for a do-over.

I can’t tell if my heart beats
for you, or for the chance you represent.
(and there is our predestined outcome.

you have his name,
his eyes,
his web of lies.

But this time, I am the one with the
weight of the world on my finger).

when you touch me,
i will not bleed.

(he already drained me dry).


The Kind of Love that Kills

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).

nobody is going to save you

It’s so desperate, the way you gaze at me,
and I can already feel the way your
tongue wishes to pool in my clavicle;
the nervous twitch of hands
waiting to tweak hard nipples.

Your moan has already broken the
sound barrier between the past
and the future where you
are breaking in front of me.

But here is the present,
the moment where your eyes
are begging for forgiveness
as you take the last pieces of a
soul you see bared before you.

there is this quiet violence though,
this ache for the absolute,
and i can feel your fingers itching to make me
bleed, to make my cry out,

you just pull your whisper against my
clit until I’m a mess of tears, gasping for
relief. (you fuck me until I’m raw, until I’m nothing,
until I am drowning in the pool of your eyes and
I couldn’t find reprieve if I tried).

Your hands are against my throat,
your eyes are piercing my heart,
your heat is heavy against my thigh,
your ring is tangled in my hair–

I never did wake up.


snapshots of a life

Act 1; Scene 1:
-Everything is awash in hazel and warmth. He keeps staring at you. Your heart shatters, tumbles, crashes into his open palm. He’s smiling, brighter than the sun. He grasps your hand–you fall.

Act 1; Scene 2:
-Your emotions are storming outside, lightning cracking the sky into pieces. Your breath keeps catching in your throat–he’s so close, more electric than the fire raining from the clouds. And his eyes, oh God, his eyes.
And then, his lips are pressed sinfully against yours. For a moment you understand; if this isn’t the Kingdom, you don’t know what is.

-When you wake, forever is a bitter taste, turned to ash in your mouth. His words, scrawled so perfectly, do little to dull the snap against your ribcage; that first real sting of heartbreak.

You survive in his absence, but you’d never mistake it for living.

(Act 1; Scene 3 [aka. the scene we don’t talk about]:
-The morning, when he officially asks you—you think your heart might break from the way it’s growing. That month, where his promise weighs against your soul, it’s the easiest month of your life. All it takes is one boy with right shade of blueblue eyes to destroy every forward step you’d taken).

Act 2; Scene 1:
-You’ve never felt hatred quite like this moment. Something akin to fire is blazing beneath your skin and when you look at him, everything flares.
The first time he kisses you, it’s pity. The second, a drunk mistake. You vow the third will be different.
You fall in love with him two months before it happens.

Act 2; Scene 2:
-He’s staring at you. After a week of silence, he’s just staring at you. You feel like you’re choking, you feel like you’re dying. You press a hand to the life beginning to pulsate beneath your skin, and you almost hate him for being the better man.

Act 2; Scene 3:
-It’s a slow strangle for the next 3 years; fighting, fucking, falling apart. You end almost exactly where you began, full of too much hate and too much love to look him the face when you break his heart.

You fall in love with him because you’re broken; you let him reciprocate because he’s married and safe. You sabotage it because it’s always easier to control the outcome. (but, goddamn, if some part of you didn’t think, for one second, he would choose you).

Act 3; Scene 1:
-You multiply in your own loneliness; nothing times nothing, numbness becoming more numbness.

You wake one morning covered in scars, inked and purposefully inflicted. And when you look in the mirror, all you see is what was taken from you.

All you see is your third act, your last chance.

You wake up one morning, you look in the mirror–you’re already dead.


All things relative.

Don’t listen when they call you nice. Nice girls don’t sleep with married men. Nice girls can fall in love.
Nice girls break.

But you, you just keep writing the story.


You, the center

These are the words I won’t speak.

These are the things I won’t feel.

These are the actions I won’t take.

These are the moments I won’t experience.


The Marks We Bear.

There is something to be said of shame, and while her scarlet letter may not be sewn on her chest, it beats between her ribcage all the same.