Arsenic's got a Bitter FinishSometimes, I find myself staring at you. I wonder if I can look through one of your prettily-pierced ears and see the stars branching into my name on the other side. I wonder if that would scare the hell out of me, seeing such commitment spelled out in black and blue and white on your end when I'm so complacent with being kept to myself on mine. And maybe, deep down, I'm wondering if it's really a commitment I'm so afraid of...or if it's that I'm worried that when you look at me with your heart in your glowing sunrise eyes, I'm not returning the favor.Sometimes I catch you staring at me, but I like to pretend that I don't see. Instead, I'll sweep my hair to the side because once in a while you'll brush your fingertips against my neck and I like the truth of that. You can't lie with your hands the same way you lie with your lips. Your eyes are sad, and I'm afraid of asking questions because the answers will scare me, I think. StillI want to ask you where it hurts. I want you t
Arsenic's Got a Bitter FinishSometimes, I find myself staring at you. I wonder if I can look through one of your prettily-pierced ears and see the stars branching into my name on the other side. I wonder if that would scare the hell out of me, seeing such commitment spelled out in black and blue and white on your end when I'm so complacent with being kept to myself on mine. And maybe, deep down, I'm wondering if it's really a commitment I'm so afraid of...or if it's that I'm worried that when you look at me with your heart in your glowing sunrise eyes, I'm not returning the favor.Sometimes I catch you staring at me, but I like to pretend that I don't see. Instead, I'll sweep my hair to the side because once in a while you'll brush your fingertips against my neck and I like the truth of that. You can't lie with your hands the same way you lie with your lips. Your eyes are sad, and I'm afraid of asking questions because the answers will scare me, I think. StillI want to ask you where it hurts. I want you t
Drowning InstinctTwenty secondsAnd there's no airI can't, says her bodyAnd her empty lungs agreeI can't do this anymore.Stop fighting.There is nothing,Nothing you can doNo air to breathNo strength to moveDrift.There is nothing left.Safe? They mouth it from the shore.She's not cryingOr shoutingOr waving her handsThere's no frantic splashing. .Peaceful.
pollenwasp-waisted beautypray into my collarbonelet your snake tongue slitherwith the syllables.i wish for soft-chested nights,and the trickle of champagne down crystal glass.poppy-lips, lull me to sleep,nurse my coiling tongue with yours;tap my scalp like a silent drum,and wind my hair in between your fingerslike broken guitar strings.(serenade me with the buzz of pollen in your kiss.)
a phenomenonYou are a trajectory from which I have fallen, Moon-boundEarth-boy. With height and speed your molecules shifted;I dropped away by degrees — further, then further.There must be all the sky between us now,but I taste your dust with my fingertips,follow afterglows.
From Whence She CameBack down to the sea-floor she goesback to the coracle-clusters and starfish thatclamour, cling to her heart too tight,walking barefoot towards where shecame from. It is too hard walking onearth, the way she wears pain like a wedding ringfrightens people.Back down, down, crawling on her bellyon the forest-floor, alive with the buzz and crawlof worms and bird-prey. Back where she belongs with hercrazy palpitating wolf-heart, her bloodydeer-throat leaking in the snow, her yelloweyes in the dark.Back down, beyond subway trains, piano lessons,falling rain, from whence she came, to the snow-covered wombwhere she first gulped air.Back down to a place before wildflowers,fish on land, back to a locked boxfull of old souls, from whenceshe came.
make like yellow and slow downThis is a story about octagonsand road rage. Well, actually,this isn't a story; instead, thisis a to-do list. So complete it.*Paint a stop sign green,and GO away, one way,says an arrow on someother sign not to follow.Paint this one magenta;paint that one cerulean.Transform an entire streetinto a Crayola crayon box.Park in a no parking zone.Go directly to jail. Escape.Go three times the speedlimit, dumbass driver. Getcaught. Get a ticket. Geta life. Give me your ticket,but tell me it's for a train.Paint the railroad crossingsign invisible. Wait for it.Eat the 't' in train. "Hey,I'm a weatherman now."Flash flood alert: drownyourself. If you survivethe trainwreck, at least.Locate the nearest crosswalk,and backflip to the other side.Please get hit by a bus or caror truck. Get run over by anambulance for the Irony. Diein the hospital. I could hope.<
the difference between lonelyi feel it in my spine.i feel it in my teeth.i feel it in my bones, their very marrowsaching like something was once therebut is missing, like the ghost of it has gone missing,like their maws are hanging from their teethin some sad sickness.i want to throw my head back and scream.i want to feel the tears stream upwardsinstead of down, to take to the skyand fall back to you as rain.i can't stop feeling.you are prismatic,you are line and shadow,you are the earth and moon and stars and you.i want rivers to flood my body,i want to drown in water too hot to feel,i want to sleep in the snowand pretend it's you next to meas i turn blue.everyone, everythingreminds me of youreminds me of youreminds me of you.i can't look at the treeswithout imagining your birch forest,i can't brush things off as a consequence of lifewithout hearing your voice rise, impassioned by upset.i'm tired of feeling.i'm tired of thinking of youwhen you're not thinking of me.i'm tired of lovi
if my name had quotation marksi hate how you livea "Perfect" life without me;what i hate more, though,is the importancetwo measly quotation marksinherently hold
Introductions"Hi, I'm-""I know who you are.""You do?""You're the guy who thinks he's invisible.""I have a name-""It isn't important. Because you really don't think it's important.""All right. Since we've started out this way, let me just tell you, I know you too.""Yeah?""You're the girl who is broken.""I am not broken.""You're the girl whose eyes close every night and open the next morning, only to find you have never slept at all.""I sleep well. Besides-""You're the girl who dreams of a happy ending even though she has seen seventeen...no, eighteen unhappy ones in her eighteen years.""Happy endings are over rated. And you're-""You're the girl who wants something bigger, something stronger, just so the weakness in her body becomes something so much more.""You don't understand weakness the way-""You're the girl whose heart broke when she was so young, and she fixed it back together with superglue, but cannot ignore the cracks.""Superglue makes for a good companion, especially when-"
Judgement"You need to stop doing this.""Stop doing what?""Writing me into your stories.""...why?""Because
it scares me. I'm not this guy that you write about. I'm not some kind of Prince Charming and I'm certainly not a sea God or whatever you like to say about my eyes every now and then.""Oh really?""Yeah. You really need to work on your judgement of people, because this is all wrong. It's like you don't know me at all!""So why don't you correct me and I'll fix my idea of you accordingly.""Well
firstly, I'm a really nervous person.""Yeah. Your hands are either fiddling with your hair or your sleeve, or you're biting your nails.""And I don't like going out. I'm a hermit.""Except to your best friends' houses, or to the animal shelter, or to me.""And I'm dead inside.""Says the boy who hides his tears at the sight of an injured puppy.""I do not.""Yes, you do.""Anyway, I'm not always nice to you. In fact, I really don't do enough.""You're right. Except
You've been on my mind...Quite frankly, you're heavy. Get off.
Not againns again. Yesterday I......died.It begi
Afraid to SpeakMy lips start to tremble,I do not dare speak.I wish i could tell you,but i am too weak.My heart tenses upas days open and close.Someone, hear my plea,take me out of this doze.You walk in the doorway,i avert my gaze.Do not notice me,and do not say it's a phase.I'm sick of these words,I hear them every day.The last person i want to hear it fromis you, or i will pay.It will cut deep in me,deeper than you will know.Because i can hide it, you see,but the pain will only grow.Inside me it will stay,but i'm good at this game.You'll be none-the-wiserto this incredible pain.Don't reject this feeling,it is more than you and i.But even though it has control,i've found that i don't mind.Because it's more than what you think,more than just a sham;it's more than just a feeling -this is who i am.
How I Measure LoveYou asked me how much I love you.On a scale from one to ten.I whispered, "Infinity."Because if I took a brush,dipped in our love,and painted a line made of whispered wishes,and passionate kisses,and tried to measure how much I love you,it would stretch to the outer reaches of the universe.And everyone would see that line,twisting and curving,in shades of happy tears and butterfly wings,and say that someone crazy must have spent all that time painting it.Or someone in love.It would cross oceans on the backs of fish,and cover cities, countries, and continents,eventually breaching the atmosphere,to play connect the dots with the stars.It would ricochet off comet tails,and weave playfully between Saturn's rings.It would paint the universe in colors,vivid neons,and pale pastels,that people could see, when they looked up into the night sky.Like the northern lights,our love could light up the Heavens.It would paint the tips of wheat plants,dyeing the field in
Death"Do you fear death?"The question loomed in the air before my body, as if a sword looming over someone almost conquered by their enemy. But I looked down at my hands and then back up, only to say, "Have you ever felt the pain of watching two lovers embrace at the end of a movie? It's supposed to be a happy ending. But your heart tells your lungs to stop breathing for just a minute
because it will never ever be yours.""Do you fear death?"A question repeated deserves an answer. But instead, my trembling hands sat clenched on my lap, the blue ink like veins showing through the frail covering that might rip apart any second. "Do you know what it's like to wake up in the middle of the night to hear a song, just to remind yourself, you're going to be all right? Over and over again
until it doesn't work anymore.""Do you fear death?"The invisible chain linked through my fingers, and I closed my tired eyes, this time, hearing the impatience in th
Crazy?Am I crazy?I think I am.Yup, definitely crazy.That's what I am.I must be crazy.Crazy.I have to be out of my mind.Because,I don't want to be like everyone else.I don't want to dress up.I don't want a relationship.I don't want to fall into fads.I don't want to listen to gossip.I don't want to be mean.I don't want to be super nice.I don't want to constantly be on my phone.I don't want to listen to your problems.I want to be myself.I want to wear miss-matched clothes.I want to be by myself.I want to like what I like.I want to hear silence.I want to be caring.I want to be calm.I want to deal with my own problem.I want to hear my own thoughts.I want to be myself.
telling a sad story backwards-17.it smells like grief and sterilized metal.i climb into andrews bed, though the nurses have strictly forbidden it. he closes his eyes and holds me tightly, because he says when he cant see me, it is easier to pretend i never happened to him.15.he pushes the cart aggressively down the aisle, pretending to mow over old ladies doing their sunday shopping."stop," i say giggling, lobbing a can of ravioli at him.for a moment i think he simply didn't see me throw the can; it glances off his chest and falls to the floor, exploding in a pattern of red arrows. i don't notice his eyes rolling back in his head or the graceful way his body collapses to the floor.the only thing i notice is the distinct thudding sound as his head hits the metal shelf and the screaming that may or may not be mine.later in the hospital he calls for me and says he wants to apologize for keeping secrets, and the doctors launch into a medical explanation of his cancer.their eyes are sad.13.there a