(s)mother

the midnight crawl,
soul tired, to the point of breaking;
worn thin by clawing fingernails and
gnashing teeth.

3 years of possession, loss of identity.
My body is no longer my body,
my skin stretched to unrecognizable lengths.

2 am, the ghosts in the corner are quiet,
but the screaming won’t falter.
mind on the brink of madness,
moonlight shining from beyond the veil.

raw, red wounds; old and new.
hair freshly matted, eyes pulsating to
stay awake. coffee can’t solve this
puzzle of exhaustion.

bloody fingertips, i am holding the needle.
but the tapestry has escaped my control;
there are no shears of destiny to cut
away the fate you forge for yourself.
you are the blood of your blood.

bliss, a moment of peace, before the
grinding
ceases halt
to wear again.

breath,

in.

breath,

out.

the monster is only that which you created.

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K

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).

sVend

I am the villian in your storybook,
the dragon you valiantly splatter across the pages
in the final chapter.

I am your most violent words,
the sound of breaking and the loss of innocence.
(I am the glass shard in your heart,
the inescapable wound).

I pretend that the syllables of your name
do not violate the edge of my tongue,
but you dull me down to a gentle curve
with your veritable virtue.

It is not your body I wish to victimize,
but your soul; I want to view the parts
that make you less than whole.

(you cut me open, vivisect my most
important organ until it beats only for you).

I am not variable, I am constant.
(i am still ticking between your fingers).

Dear Sun

l used to follow your footsteps in the sand,
but they are lost to me in these winds of change.

The city seems colder now,
closed to me in my time of need,
the doors have darkened to my magic,
long nights have set their chill into my bones.

(I carry the knife with me, always.
I carry your heart with me, always).

I search for your light along the horizon,
but I am slave to the moon, her pull
beating me endlessly against the sand.

(The tower breathes in the distance,
pulsates that familiar thumpthump…

my chest is hollow, craving, aching, tugged toward
that unavoidable expectation).

This is no longer an oasis,
the water turned stagnant from lack of sun.
There are no shadows, just infinite rivers of ink.

(I carry the knife with me, always.
I carry your heart with me…)

it is your name etched on the box,
but it is her face I see in my reflection,
her teeth grinning from the corner–

(she can still taste the worlds you left behind;

I can still taste the love I left on your tongue.
I can still feel your soul buried in my spine).

I continue to chase the sun, born back to
the beginning, ceaselessly.

(destiny drags me along the well-worn streets,
blood dripping from my hands, inescapable).

I feel the heat of the sun,
the light breaks the horizon…

I wake.

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.

the right kind of anchor

-the smell of his skin keeps her alive, in those small moments before the dawn breaks when she wants nothing more than to let the breath rattle from the depths of her soul until there is not even a whisper. He is there, in those moments, and his hand is brushing her waist, and his chest is pressed against her so tight that all she can do is breathe. Steady now, in and out. Steady now, follow the rhythm of his heart beat.