stone cold sober

You remain.

I have buried you so far in my darkness,
and prayed for your suffocation.

But still you breathe, still you beat,
A steady rhythm in the back of my mind,
a metronome of mistake tick-tick-ticking.

you remain, you are not remains.
you should be a skeleton, stark white and starved;
shoved to the back of my closet, all bones and death.

But still, you breathe, still you beat,
you are pounding down the doors,
screaming through my hallways.

you remain,

you remind,

you have become the darkness,
creeping in, crawling across my skin, caressing my heart.
You breathe, you burn, you beat (ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum).

you remain.

spinning madly on

-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.-

The City Looks Different.

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?)

Synaesthetic//Anesthetic

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?)

the wrong moments

i’m just waiting for you to tell me
all the ways love isn’t enough.
i don’t think i’d blame you.
after all, i was the one who ate the apple;
you were just the man that loved me
without knowing what love was.

so don’t.
see the fruit in my hand and remember
adam and eve. persephone and hades.
remember the ways that I betray you,
remember my fascination with the snake in the grass,
remember that I am just a girl with pomegranate lips
and I will continue to poison you.

we are the same constellation in the sky,
but i am just a nebula and you are still
living, breathing, existing; you are
light entering my eyes–

and though
we exist within the same sphere,
we are already a billion light years
and a whole galaxy apart.