he called it the art of destruction.she had nice eyes,the kind you liked to drawwith watercolor tearsand ink like the moon'sstolen glow.he had memorizedher midnight lashes,the half-closed shuttersand memories locked awaybehind a pupil,and his pencil was thekey.yellowwere the specks in heririses of emeraldsprings;everything she touchedturned into gold,everything she toucheddiedand rose anewlike budding flowersafter the blizzard.his pencilcould never do the same,he knew;but he'd give those eyes awayfor a dime apiece,ignoring the factthat ebony charcoaland half-dried acrylicswere all that she wouldever be.
tapping on death's windowshe never knockedon death's door;she climbed in throughhis bedroom windowwhile he was asleepand spent the nighton his sofa,watchingwith her silvery eyesthe riseand fallof his chest.
maybemake sure you bury the lightsomewhere safe,and forgetwhere you put it,andand i don't knowwhy i'm writing this.maybe it's because i want you to be able tobreathemy poetryin and outso maybe you can understand,but now i knowthat i don't knowwhy oxygen keeps me aliveor how neurons are working,hand in metaphorical hand,to get me to write thisor why gravityis pushing my shoulders ever downward.i don't know a lot of things.i don't knowwhy the juice i drank an hour agomade me feel like it was scotch,or why the string quartetfrom titanicalways makes me cryor why i painted my nailslavender and greybut i can guess.maybeoxygen is magic.maybeneurons are actually little peopleworking to make me happy.maybegravity hates meand wants to see me suffer.maybethat juice was just that damn good.maybethe string quartet guyswere actually a huge hidden partof that movie's emotional appeal.maybelavender and grey are just myfavorite colorsand maybe some thingsdon't
breathe like you mean it (even if you don't).my breath stumbleson an unimportant step.fracturing, my drumming heartplays jump ropewith my frenzied mind.'another, please,another.'a silverysort of chaos fills me,echoing and refractingas i beg for it to shatter.there are too many mirrors aroundand noneshow you.i noticewith the nonchalanceof a guilty childthat i haven't inhaledin a while.my mouth opensalmost, nearly,scarily involuntarilyto rectify this.'everything ok?''yes, of course,fine, fine, fine.'a laughtrips my sprinting breathand a sobshoves it to the ground.i cannot tellif the shaking i hearis coming from my breathor my darting eyesor my witheringly cradling handsbut it doesn't matteranyway.there is a footprintin the snowand a messagein the rain-'breathe.'i breatheyou.
Dreams of Silver LavenderDay 24All she wants is to breathethe scent of wafting lavender,engulfing her as she fallsinto the silverof her newly-painted nails;into her reflection in the water.But there is no water,barely a reason for her to breathe.She watches the brush dye her naila sweet lavender,contrasting her ring's bright silver.She knows it's into vanity, she'll fall.And she does fall-not into emptiness's icy waterreflected in her eyes' dull silver.She falls as she steadily breathesinto sleep. She inhales lavenderand watches the light reflect off her nails.She sees droplets bead on her nails,glimmering as they fallonto the petals of her lovely lavenders,frosty with icy waters.In, she breathesand out, a misty silver.Thirty pieces of silver,she thinks, biting at her nails,not stopping even once to breathe.She watches them falland scatter on the ground like rainwater,and she can smell sandalwood and a vague lavender.One sprig of fresh lavender,two rings of finest silver,
saudade.youwere about as predictableas the quicksilver clockon our kitchen wall.you were a steady drumbeatin the soundtrack of our lifeand i was the bass guitar,keeping timewhen the monotony succeededin sawing away at you,bringing you back from simplicitywith the intricate vibrationsin my nylon strings.you taped pictures, wordson your ceilingand fell asleepstaring at them like starsto the sound of artificial rain.in the morning,you woke up to find themscattered on your warm bodylike flowersand took themas messages from the universe.you were the vanilla scentthat wafted through the houseon wintry days,subtly thereand sending me on edgewith content.i was the cold.i kept youfrom melting at the seams,burning into ash,bursting into flamesand destroying everything in your wakebut i am still nothing morethan the polar oppositeof your essence.i am onlya lack of warmth,and you never wantedthe cold's calculatedand steadyfreeze.
going down swingingyou tell me to calmlike it's a verblike you're afraidfor me to calmdown.but fallingis just flyingin reversewith a moredefinitearrival point,and don't you thinkthat's calming?calm down,and the words doas soon as they leave my lips,drippingdown my chinand staining the groundlike bloodyinkand you can tellthey came from deep inside me,from my lungswhere oxygen goes to dieand my brainthat's filled with nothingbut youand geometric patterns,so concretei might as wellcarve my name in them.
stumbling into my little infinityi'll never be a singularity.the words i say may be uniqueand special of themselves,butthey're still just the same 26 lettersand voidsas everything else in this world.i want to be morethan stardust and atoms,better than the next sorry soulwaiting in line for a purposethat may not even show.i want to be morethan 01101101 01100101,repeatingand meaningless,like the chorus of a songthat's been loved too much.i don't want a one track mind,i want to be one of my own kind.if i indemnify myself fromthese scattered atomsand sepia sands,if i cut this silver noosethat's been sitting socomfortably around my neck,i don't know if i'll be one stepcloser or three milesback.(but i guess those two are basicallythe same, aren't they?)i don't knowwhere i'm going.i don't know whether i'm walkingtoward somethingor running awayor crawling on my kneesto a place devoid of matteror all of the above,but i'm too afraidto stop.do you think the void would mindif i compared m
your heart has always been free, darling.i.these lineshave been decorating my skinfor as long as i havebeen.shadows-or lights,depending on what i am.sometimes,i wonder if they're your ribs,darling.sometimes,i'll spin around my little homeand watch the shadows as theyglide,and i'll pretend that i am themand my body is the world.my wingshave been clipped.ii.there's a little blue bowon top of this place.it reminds me of your eyes.one dayi stuck my hand through the shadowsand grabbed it.it was like silk,and it fell to the groundlike a feather,more undonethan i've ever been in my life.and it gives me hopebecause even though it fell,it flewand there isn't much i wouldn't giveto hit that floorhard.iii.my cageis openand i can finally fly,but i won't let them hurt youagain.you need to feel the wind in your hairbut i won't let you feel the rainstinging your wings,the icefreezing you to your core,the ground,absolute.you need to choosebetween me and freedom.i need to choosebetween you
note to selfgo ahead-forge a few signaturesonto your curvingcollarbones; makethose wavering shouldersbelievable because soonenough will not beenough anymore.can you guesswhere you're going?you're being draggedheadlong into anocean of void,and do you thinkthat's all you'll ever be?no;take the specksof gold in yourgreying eyes andhold them in yourdarkened palms.scatter them throughdictionary pages andblades of grassand metallic dreams.lose yourself infantasies of wineand subtle reds,then find yourselfin train stationsa decade from today.they want a messyinscription oncrisp white paperand a suitcase filled withempty successbut youwant sweet calligraphyon napkins, wallsand everything.they wantpaper cuts andlong sleeves to hide thembut youwant guitar stringpressure pointsand avoice.even if it meansyou sleep on train tracksevery nightand scream and bleedand swallow pride,you never want to touchanother ballpoint penagain.so throw yourself in the fir
you're a subliminal messagei can list every nicknameyou've ever called me as ifthey were members of my family and ican recall every time you’ve eversang in my ear during class. i knowhow many times we’ve snuck away from our friends --not because of any particular reason,your heart just ached, longedfor that familiar sense of me.or at least, i hope.because you seem to feel the skin ofevery other girl and you seemto always be able to keep ona conversation with them,it's just impossible to feel anything towardsme and impossible to notmake me feelsomething. anything at alland everything at once.or maybe you just don't knowwhatto feel towards me, maybe yourmind is as much of a jigsawpuzzle as mine is and allyou’re doing is trying to piece itall back together.i just wish we were able to help each other.you told me thursday on the trainthat you wanted to be normal.that you thought he was perfectand you were anything but.but darling you continually failto see that in my
The Same Smoke that You'll InhaleDay 12I would travel the miles of dreamsand the depth to the bottom of your eyesif only you'd turn a deaf ear to these screams.I need you to be there when it all dies.I stand here, half a juxtapositionwith the invisible truths in each of my lies.I stand here for you, I stand in contritionfor my sing(e)ing ashes of my fire long burned out,and I know that I'm anything but a musician.You know exactly what this is about;my everything is laying in a puddle before me,disintegrated by limitless, ruthless, cruel doubtAnd I need to ask if you can still seethe majestic, unbounded flamesthat I used to so frighteningly be.I suppose I can never be the same,but nevertheless, I wish for your love,for you to be the fuel for the wildfire I became.I know you're the oxygen I was devoid of.
anything will do tonight.with heavy eyesand abject sighs,you're visiting,envisioninga frosty life lost-it has cost youeverythingbut anything will dotonight.with laughter dying outand fading out of sight,you close your eyes and listen-get ready to ignite your mind,it's all alrightit's all alrightso take your sorry souland lost control,tumbling without a careinto everywhere,a debonair sigh,a swift goodbye,you're gone,moved on past theblack and whiteof my starlight.good night-it's all alright.
.the boy with sandy hairhas been watching youwith daisy eyes.i thinki hear the mourning dovescooing for him,and i hear his glisteningreplies of black and white.they hityour kaleidoscope fingertips,dripping like inkfrom a brushand you've been smearing ituntil you can't breathe itanymore.
braidswe didn't meetlike star-crossed lovers do,with our hands tiedand longing to be held;we barely evenmet.our paths were crossedlike the braids i used to wear in my hair;inconsistently.but that was backwhen i didn't like my mirrors fogged,when i didn't need the truthto be happy.i yearnedfor some kind of acceptance,and you were the first onewho didn't mind that i wasn't perfect;i just feltthat i needed to be.i amnotmore than the flyaways on my head,notmore than hangnails, dry skin,chapped lips, taken-up-space.i amnotmore.my hair is knotted, frayed, andincidentally,tied up.i won't braid another lockfor you,for them,and not even formyselfbecause none of you peopledeserve that, anyway.
i keep my hair like i keep my blue jeans: shortthe beginningshe was all curls falling over shoulders and small hands and slender ankles, but she was also all crooked toes and cheek moles and half-baked smiles. she wore skinny jeans too long and too big on her and she always wore a jacket because she was always cold. and he thought that she was pretty beautiful the first time he saw her in a parade, sitting on top of a dodge truck and waving with both hands so that no one was left out. she was the kind of pretty beautiful that only came around when he said something stupid and she shook her head at him, trying to hide her teeth but failing miserably.she wore glasses but only when she was doing work or when she had a headache because she thought that her eyes looked too wide in them and all she ever wanted in life was to be people magazine's definition of pretty—which she wasn't (but don't tell her that.) she drank tea on sleepless nights, sitting on her porch and stargazing; she thought that ma
HomecomingA cloud hangs overthis city by the sealike a new day rising,like a calmbefore the storm.A million miles away:your signal in the distance,to whom it may concern;I always knew that you'dcome back to get me.You were my fire,so I burned till there wasnothing left of me.I'm always screaming my lungs outtill my head starts spinning;once upon a time,I could take anything,anything.Every time we lie awakeafter every hit we take...So this is what you meantwhen you said that you were spent.I lovethe waythat your heart breaks.
.when her love left, it leftthe house emptyand she saysi hope one day it'llcome back to me,cos i don't keep this shotgunon my front porch for nothin'
to become a writer.parents divorce before you can talk.write about itlike you don't care. try to mean it.go through monthsof shitty pity-leaking almost-poemsbefore you get onethat actually makes someone feeland thensay that it was all a mistake. mean it.only feel like a writerwhen you're insecure. fall in lovewith someone. anyone. tell yourself that's it's just for fun. just for being young.actually love the hell out of them.mess it up.write about it. smoke 2-5 cigarettes every day,something destructivebut with the hopesof saving your lungs for running(a metaphor? another rule: never tell)and drink and drink and drinkuntil you have the courage to call up ex boyfriendsor lovers or dead friendsto say that you miss them.write about that-act like you don't care.actually care.everyone knows that you care.write about that.
too much to hold, but enough to love.to the boy with brown eyes anda toothy smile--you are more thanwords can hold. i find myself awakeat 3:54 am thinkingof your palm against mystomach, your breathon my lips, and i thinkthat if i am ever going to be happyabout falling in love,it's going to bewith you.
our walls are too thinsitting togetheryou can hear my heart hittingagainst my chest like a broom to the ceiling& the neighbor upstairsbegins to screamthe wind breaks a hole in my skull you can hear my thoughts:words whispered in paper rooms& you have a cup to my eari am 16 nowbut sometimes we forget thatwe are not teapots or socks in the wastebasket& the holes in our heads are not signs of well-worn affection
there's something serene in the hysteria tonightyour promises are too myopic, litteredin the fireworks of your irregularflight apparatus.broken twice, now: (darling, darling,) youweren't meant to fly.sleep resides, all too weary and wary inyour cartilage meshwork, awakeeven though your buried branchestry to torture it to submission.don't gouge your eyes out yet. don't yourecall that you aren't the onlysleepwalker with a fetish for blood?we know how this ends.i won't taboo your heart. darling, darling,i speak now with an ugly fevered fervor,but you just aren't worth the worship.(much more, you are much more.)bathing in chocolate apocalypses made memuch too jittery to crash and burn, and we'refools for believing in equilibrium,because what else can constrictthrough our veins?your bones aren't dipped in stardust. somecliche might sound addictive about now,but we aren't worth the irregular heartbeats.(besides, they lied about the horoscopes too. theidea of fiery balls of gas metastasizing in your systemdoesn't
i'm a paradigm of self-destructionsnap your marlboro bones &grind them into watercolors -bay-water boy, paint your brainson the wallpaper like a sinner'ssermon; you won't wilt the waythat deities do, you solipsist:you're just a suicide drone.
like catching supernovas in a plastic cupdelirium boy, you'reno cavalry drum-beatheart; disjointed, butno lady lazarus,no gold tongue &you've never beenhallowed.
only fools fall in loveif i plucked the moon from the studdedwallpaper that is the sky, would youstill be able to find me in the stars?no. but i still search for you in the tangledspiderwebs that connect the walls tothe horizon's edges and the smearedwhispers leeching under the doorstep.if only fools fall in love, then they'dsay we're the greatest mishap sinceShakespeare. but i'm fine with thatbecause ican't help falling in love with you.
cicadas and sun isn't the southi rememberchildhood summers filled with juices ofplucked orangesrunningdown my chin,hibiscus shading me from the Florida sun. i rememberdragonflies,splinters,and bloody noses.i remembercute little boys and girlswho could only causetemporary damage.i remembertrips up north andgrandparents loving andwelcoming smiles.i remembersitting on the staircasehearingthe truth of afelon uncle andpregnant cousini remembersnowy fights,runny noses, and laughing, chased by my father.i rememberbathrooms locked tightwith cold tiles,escaping each fight. i remember the taste of chocolate;of cotton candy and fast food.the feel of beingfat.i remember their words and i remember - god, how i remember - crippling body issues. i rememberthe days i believed i was a princess,adored by one and all.i remember the day my father stopped being myknight-in-shining-armor. i rememberbest fri
like the only thing we have to fear is breathingI.i'll be licking at thesehearth wounds 'til i'mcoughing up blood.II.now stop me if you'veheard this one before -III.oh, i wanna be a car crashsix o'clock news story &wouldn't you justloatheme?IV.i called miss misery up last night; she saidkid, i've got big plans for youif you ever want outta that head