skin against skin

bone against bone

soft pink flesh cries

red tears and red rivers

where promises are born...

the sun shines on your flowers again

the kind you like

the kind you used to buy at the market

around the corner

I replaced the old brown stems with fresh pink petals

the kind you picked when you wanted someone

to love you back

the sun shines on your flowers

the ones on fresh dirt

the ones that lay on their side and tell you that world cries without you

the sun shines on the gray stone

the...

I follow your ghost around the corner

because I want to burn with you

To feel the lick of the flames on my bones

To let them char under your heated gaze

I would do anything

to fill myself with the tainted parts of you

To lose myself in you

To become a ghost while chasing you...

resentment bleeds from the holes in my skin

and I watch

it fill the shell of who I once was

no more

innocent wonder and curiosity

now

I bite the hand that feeds me

maybe

it will let me starve

maybe

I will come alive when empty

maybe

empty will swallow me...

are we mosaics

of everyone we’ve ever known?

or am I my own

to love and to hate

to blame myself for

all the mistakes I’ve ever made

is it just me?

what if

it’s heartbreak that made me

into the monster that I am

what if

it made me soft

and naive

what if

my laugh is from my father

and my tears from my mother

what if

who I am is not who I am at all?...

There’s dirt under his fingernails.

I watch in abject horror as he places my cup of water onto the table right in front of me, his hand gripped around the rim of my cup, where my lips are supposed to go.

I swallow the bile that rises in my throat.

“Thank you” I grit out with a fake smile. It’s a shame because he’s cute. Brown Bieber hair frames his smooth, pale features. His eyes are a muted ...

He was dangerous. His ravenous smile and rough hands made me tremble, and my skin craved his touch. His heart was made of cracked stone, but he still bled. He was my nightmare, my heartbreaking dream....

The waters know what it means to be battered

to and fro.

They don’t fear the sharp rocks

as they slam against them.

They crave the smoothness of the sands

as they wash up against their soft whispers.

The waters wade in solitude because they are creators of storms.

They are gentle at the heart of chaos.

The waters know they come from the tears of happy souls

whose smiles never quite...

two steps underneath the weeping willow tree

did I cross the line?

six steps into a broke heart

did I cross the line?

ten steps into your life of glass

did I cross the line?

no steps into your embrace

did I cross the line?...

If silence had a scent it would smell like damp soil after a storm.

It would smell like raindrops hitting the cement after a drought.

Silence is a disguise for loud minds....