This Is My Attempt, or Suicide Day

If you ever find me standing fixed
Crying away my fate, give me an ear
Scrape the bottom. Save what once was nixed
Paint pretty all the little things I fear.
Beer-stained promises have never kept
The way a pot of envy always keeps
Go back. Pretend that I have never wept
That I have never mouthed your name in sleep.
My heart is heavy and my ribs are slight
Too weak to hold a beating mass too long
Stand outside the door. Marry the night
For we teeter here twixt right and wrong.
Choose one side of darkness and find its twin
Buried underneath my guilt, within.

ripped

I am surrounded by your warmth and I know it's stupid for me to be giddy but I can't help it

I walk across campus, sliently saying to passerby, ask me

Imagining a note taped to my back, no "kick me"s any more no no not for this girl

I don't even remember how I got to class, it's hard to remember what steps you used to take once you start floating

At my desk, I don't listen but rather memorize the way fleece pools at the back of my chair, waiting

I walk outside, my skin and my hair, everything is you you you you you

I hate being trapped in this inbetween but it's the only place that things havent definitively crashed and started burning

So I allow myself  because I know myself and I am standing on a hill

Leaning, soon to tumble so what do I do do nothing

Or can I confess to you like every ingenue and never look back

I don't even want to finish this sentence anymore cus Im the last picked on the team

my fingers are weary from reaching and all I want to do is sleep

but I cant I cant I cant everything Ive never done holds my eyelids open

I wish I could just take my lungs and sew them shut and be the problem solver

Untitled (Seamstress)

I am not sure how you appeared in my life but I ask for you to leave it. I am not strong. I am not one for subtle battles. Light shines on me here and I cherish the time I spend without shadow. You stroke the back of my heart with your fingers, I hear your steps in the front hall. Don't strike me. Today, in the kitchen, a bird sat in the window and chirped for me. I would warrant that this was his first performance without an audience, he was clearly nervous. I clapped sudsy hands and the plates shined their approval. He flew, away. My eyes trailed him until i could no longer. Suddenly, swiftly, you were at my neck. Pawing, breathing. I saw no colors, heard no music. The bird was gone. I am gone. I let my bones be crushed to dust and sprinkle it on the mantle and china cabinet. It gives me something to do; idle hands are the devils workshop. I heard once that it's common knowledge to fear the weak en masse, for they are then made strong. As opposed to the strong working together, since their conflicting strengths and natures weaken. When I bow my head on my knees each night I pray this is true, my speech timed out to the cadence of your breathing. I pray I am a force, for I send out a plea to multitudes.

A Plea

promise me

that when your wings finally 

finally

unfurl

and span that mist-shrouded void

where you go won't be limited by what you can imagine

promise me

once your eyes are open 

muddy crystal cleared

that you won't linger too long

wont trail too far behind

promise me

that when you do stop to rest 

you can look behind

and see the path you left

promise me

that when I hold your hand

your grasping fingers will be weak

from holding onto lightning

for just a fleeting moment

For Alt Lit Mary and Juan

let's get reaallllly stoned
and sit in the shades of moonlight
toasting to what we once were.
curving fingers into palms and
stretching into beams of sunlight, lets coast
into a sky made of cotton, made for us
i don't want to live in the inbetween i don't want to skim the tops of our potentials
i want to lie on your bones like herbs on a mortar and pestle
and wrestle with each other's demons until we too are spent to sin.
or are too spent to sin
winningly we jest
stable is a word less defined by instability
tears are the cost of fresh baked bread.

lets get high, then
and twirl around like night terrors
or like birds so exotic people wonder where one ends and the other begins
 wonder if endings even matter
twisting to a burst of flame so bright
you wouldn't see it if you blinked too hard
take me into your arms, let me stay there
because love is a thing that you sqeeze underneath breaths.

HOPE

in response to Three Word Wednesday's latest post

It does not die with dignity, this thing.
It reaches into every corner and rips out chunks of whatever it passes
It snakes into the folds of you until you know nothing else

It's almost like a cockroach, surviving after nuclear lives
Rubble rains above and there it is, scuttling underneath your toes
reminding you to thank God something made it out unscathed

never truly benign, this thing.
though seemingly harmless and faultless and helpful
It cuts quick, lacerates loose muscles

parasitic dependence and alcohol inspired
it ripens,maturing then vanishing, leaving you gasping
withdrawals come in waves, and you tread water until you can't

always two steps ahead, this thing.
a salve, a poison
entices you sweetly, with a cheshire smile

Microchisto

I stare at you, your back

I search the space in the middle of your shoulderblades

I listen in the break between breaths

I wait for the shift in your heartbeats

there is no place for us.

there is no time for softness.

these things are often messy.

these things are often hard.

we dream malignant dreams

that squeeze our chests upon waking

dreams that keep; dreams that scour

terrors of what we could be

this is the place we stagger. 

this is the place I falter, for you.

this is the place they warned us of.

this is the place I thought I knew well.

I'll push into the shape you make for me

I'll edit myself until I become yourself

I'll curl at the edges

I'll forget who I was

For I cannot pretend to ignore you.

Cannot feign coolness, disregard.

For you are the name I whisper in darkness.

You are the memory I play in my sleep.