midnights always last longer than they should.i spend sleepless nights in my roomstaring at your picture on my mirrorand wondering why on earth someone as beautiful as youwould ever love someone like me,but then i rememberyou don't.
meadows.you only ever picked dead flowersbecause you wanted to leave the living onesfor others to admire...i guess that's why you chose meover everyone else.
where do you fall when you fall in love?i see my voice curl toward the sky in crystal breathsas i stand beneath the stars and ask the gods"where do you fall when you fall in love?"and in the distant thunder roars as zeus clears his throat.lightening strikes to start a fireand in anticipation i sit by the flames as he begins his story."love," he says, "is the beautiful medicationthat we drink to still our pain,but often it is overdosedand we always end up crashinglike a star falling from my sky."as i watch the shadows dance about his faceaphrodite proudly walks to uswith her golden grace and emerald eyes."there's a kingdom," she says with ivory verse, "just below the seaand it awaits young lovers therewhere they drown for all eternity."at the mention of the sea, poseidon falls down to usfrom his chariot atop the cliff and in his booming voice he declares;"and in that cavern the butterflies are drenchedand with heavy wings they cannot flyso they suffocate the lovers."with the quietest gait of a clumsy fox
5:17 AMand it's sad to thinkthat if you came backto tear me apartagain,i'd let you.
i think most people would call you a regret.you're the mistake i'd gladly makefor the rest of my life.but i'm just a few saturday nightsback in november.
how to love a boy who is lost.falllike you're jumping from a cliffinto a thrashing sea whose waters you cannot tread,dive into their depths and fill your lungs with waves.just don't close your eyes,because you have to search for him.feel your weight drag you to the bottom,feel the ocean embrace youand don't be afraid of that pounding in your chest.each heartbeat is sonara signal calling him and his calling you.learn to swim nowif you drown you cannot save him.swim to the fallen cities,the submerged castlesand maritime gardens.there you'll find him,lost in thought and studying the fish.i hope you saved some oxygenso you can breathe during the kiss.
rain.i still have buckets in my roomfrom when you poured your heart out.plastic pails full of pain and loveand lust and tears and names and smiles.i don't know why i keep them...maybe i hope one day you'll come backto claim them.or when i'm being really dumbi let myself hope that you'll come back anywayfor me.
numb.i'm left standing in the rain,holding every death like a bouquet of flowers,but damn aren't these daisiesbeautiful?
you were the poison i couldn't wait to drink.ten thousand facescould reflect in that broken mirrorhanging behind my door,but i'll only ever see yours.other namesmay rest upon my lips,though none of themcould taste like yours.i find it funnyin a tragic, pathetic waythat no matter who is speakingit is your voiceresonating in their throats.i could burn my fingertips,so that all sensations numb,but every time i trace my memoriesyour skin would still feel like a thousand flawlessfeathers.and i could give away my heartto the most ruthless hurricane,but even it's caresswould not cut melike yours.
Art Hurts.I fell in lovewith a painteronce,who loved his artmore than anythingelse.A painter fell in lovewith a poetonce,but I focused on my artmore than anythingelse.We never had timeto love each otherbecause canvas and parchmentlured us away.We only metwhen I would sit for a portrait,or he would pose for a poem.Love is such a prettymuse,but the pain,of which we had an abundance,forged art so profoundand truethat it's a wonderwe're both stillalive.
againAgain I feel the pain,Again I’m too young.Why do I always have to go for the older ones,They are respectful too women,But not young girls.All that is the problem is my age,Why does it have to be this way?
surgeryi promised not to scarmy skin. so i cut out mybrain and hurled it intothe river.just like cancer, the worst of me is dead.
left.i just needed you to staybut you couldn't hear me beg you,because the world outsidewas so damn loud.
epitaphs don't count as love letters.he said my eyesgasped like a dying breathand he wasn't going to wait aroundfor the funeral.
you don't need stars with city lights.i love the city,because you introduced us.your apartment was on wycliffe avenue,a rectangular gray-brick buildingthat was our make-shift castle.i could stay up all nightsitting on the fire-escapeand watch waves thrash within the harbor.long after midnight fledand we were still curled upon your couchmy parents would call to ask me where i was,even though they already knew.late night sirensand insomniac car horns,mixed with your measured breathingbecame a lullabythat lured me to sleepadmists the ivory sheets.i would always wakejust before dawnand wait for the sun to riseso together we could watch you awaken.and even as i said goodbyei was leaving my jackethanging on the kitchen chairjust to have another excuseto come back.
ivory storms.i thought it'd rain todayand i would hear your voice in the skyand get to watch you haunt among the gardens,but the sun shone through, so i ended up staying insideand crying instead.
there's rain on the window.hands like yours could choke the seaand paint clouds in the sky.hands like yours could tousle the hair of god,but you'd rather touch my faceinstead.
i'm not going to lie and say she was perfect.her skin was spotted with what she passed off as freckles,but what were really scars from a thousand summer sunsas she ran about outside,climbing trees and treading rivers,pretending to be an american bomberin the midst of WWII.she kept crimson stains on pearl pink lips,which always had the habit of getting on her teethbecause she put on make-up after dressing in her carand ordering coffee in every way she hated itas she drove to the record store three times a day,ignoring her job downtown.she owned four and a half hairbrushes exactly,i took count on the first night i stepped into that whirl-wind room,though her lopsided up-dos of messy blonde hair revealed just how much her fingersnever broke the dust.she had these lovely fragile handsthat showed each and every vein and bone,the type of hands made for tearing boys like me apart.how could i have even expected to survive,a paper poetheld against a reckless flame?
.she saidcall meif you need meand i do,i can't,i cannot sleep,got ghosts workingthe night shiftas i speak i layin the bathinstead of the bed,and she sayssilly,i saywe're madeof repetitionand i know you'dsee it tooif you lookedclose enough -(charlotte charlotte, look at it this way)
.september -i've been underthe illusion it'sa sundayfor four days,i sit on your kneeat the kitchen table,roll one of thebullets under my fingercold gold andand smooth,do you know whatthat is? -yeahbut i don't thinkyou do - he saysyou're fuckin weird,you know that? fuckincold, maybe i'll juststart calling youwinter -and he doesnovember -they grace me withthree days, and i cannotconvince youto come with medecember -the only time i like youis when you're asleep,i gnaw one leg out ofa trapjust to crawl my wayinto another(it takes everything i have not to smash my bottle over your head)
OsteophilicHe loved his bones.The way they never asked too much of himor protested his requests.There was nothing superfluous in their design;simple, sleek, and uncomplicated.They were spry, robustready to take on the world withsharp and fluid motions.His bones were not brittle like she was.Not so breakable or frail,not so expendable.They didn't bend under pressureor fracture under stress.He loved his bones -their ivory purity eased his soul -and he was proud of the waythey held everything togetherso effortlessly.She knew one day he'd stomp thisold flame out, long before 'death do us part.'Cremation had never been part of the plan.
.the moon shudders;silver dust landsin my hair and i sigh,knock it off -what's your problem?i'm frustrated -i've been trying tostrike a match that won'tlight for two hours,she saysyou carry a lighter,remember?
.she saysexplain these thingsto me -i say the silence sort of ticks - my sadnesshas a face, think blue, think black and grey, think sanguinered, the end of may, he had a pulse too strongfor me to take,i killed it, stripped it bare, i carried it rightto it's grave - i say andmy lungs, they feel like frost, they're filled with silverlight and sharpness, rattling pips, a scream - i stayedinside my bed for weeks, i didn't eat, i didn'tdream - i think in fire, flame, volcano,resurrect you, keep your nameinside me like a splinterturning green(i could not bring myself to say yes, but i think you know that)
a bleeding heart is a living heart.i lifted up my shirt this morningto discover a warring civilization betweenmy ribcage and spine,my heart the prizeand my sternum the dmz.never before have i felt suchdisillusion, such depressionat knowing even my insidesare taking damage from thischthonic idea we call living.i parted my ribs todayto try and let them finally fight it out.it was the last fourth of july,it was d day limited by my inhibitions,spears in my vertebraeand gunpowder in my esophagus;dancing blue lights inside my body.a hand twisted around my heartand the prize was found,my body a slave to this leviathanthat had been swallowed by the crowd.i sighed, only oncethinking of how i should’ve tried to win,of how i should’ve fought harderand never allowed my kingdom to crumble.my men and my women,my children and my animals;rebelling against my soul’s residencejust above my heart,south of my clavicle,tucked inside the lungfuls of liesi told myself every day.then a thought
.what i meantto say was, somewherea siren beaches itselfin heartbreak,all the sailors outat sea have gottenwise - i meant to sayi triedto cry, i did,kept my appearance, stoodin black,and wasn't that right?i meant to sayi think the unholy burrowedinto me at birth,spread itself out likecementand hardened me,i don't deserve to even setone foot into this place -i meant to sayi had a dreami tried to hangmyself in a cave,bats laugh,no stupid, go like this,i don't thinkyou're even trying,i knowa good spot -what i meant to say was,i'm losing the will,and i don't care that youhave cut me outof yours - i wantto say i've still gotpicturesof the devil, i getdrunk and reminisce,i think it's timei pressed deleteand stop letting my eyeshurt my mind -i meant to sayi'm bitterthat he seems to agewithout me(tried to strike the lightning back, still came off worse)
.something snappedlike boneand blood floweredon the carpet(i grabbed the hand of that man, and he knew)
.i hearthe sun hisswhen it catchessight of the moon,i see you too, so pleasedo not come any closer -i crack wordswide open to see justwhat they're reallymade of, and i longto do the sameto you, i thinka crowbar is the only thingthat would give youa more open mind, iswing then prise -you laughand saya moth in searchof the lightis boundto get burned(what are you in for?)
whispers.i was so hesitantto take your hand,because when you said you loved mei knew you meant itand that scared the hell out of me.