A time long gone.

Maybe she loved him, sometime back in December. 

She feels sorry for anyone who forgets the feeling. She feels sorry for anyone who has never had the opportunity to kiss his sleeping pulse. She feels sorry for anyone who has never felt his large hands on the back of their neck, who has never felt how goddamn beautiful it is to fall in love with another human being. He was imperfect and disorganised and needed her to finish his fullstops, to put a breath inbetween his words. She was sad but hopeful and never wanted to leave his side but sometimes love isn't enough to make you want to stay. He was wonderful but he was ruin and heartbreak and empty sighs. She was tired of crying battered tears and questioning herself, "how", questioning him, "why" and being met with silence.

She was strong enough to let go and wise enough to understand that it was wrong to give yourself so completely to someone yet stupid enough to want to keep being with him, fooling herself that it was okay to get hurt as long as he continued to be her safety net. She could weave lies and beautiful words, a glimmer of illusion, a lamp-shade over the pain she felt inside. But happiness was too far out of reach and she forgot too-long, too-much how smiling worked.

So she picked up the pieces of herself, tucked them into her breast pocket and stitched as much of herself together as possible before she left the warm bed of comfort and his whispers of forevers and promises she wanted to believe in. Sometimes reality has to sink in and she was too weak to be strong any longer. 

Maybe she loved him, sometime back in December.

And maybe she loves him, sometime yesterday.

And maybe she will keep loving him, sometime tomorrow.

I couldn’t bloom.

She bloomed like pale peach blush,

stealing over the porcelain of her cheeks,

tears cracking down her mask

but she wasn’t allowed to bloom

so she withered away

and withered with their approval.

Lost to myself.

It's so unbelievably painful to read words that cut right into your heart. 

The most painful of them being words coming from those you hold dear to your heart. I was a fool for focusing too much on myself, too much of me and I never could truly reason with the idea that maybe others are suffering too--just as badly, or worst. They spoke but I never listened, I watched but I never saw. I always thought I could understand others but what more can I do when I can't even understand the feelings of my friends? What help can I offer when I can't even understand the hurt I cause be it intentional or unintentional but both are just as bad as each other for ignorance is a sin and I'm a sinner.

There's only so many "sorry"s that one can say and with each one, the meaning behind it fades and rots away like decaying hearts left out to dry out and shrivel. I can't help but feel that my "sorry"s just taste like ashes in someones mouth. But what else can I offer but my tears, raw and real and so very painful. I could cry oceans knowing what I've done, what i've been doing to others and never truly understanding the consequences of my actions. 

My own insecurities, my own sadness, my own pain and pleasures and everything I thought was something I could share with them...my friends...I was so, utterly, wrong. I've never hated myself until this particular moment, to think that I've caused enough sadness until those I care about started turning to other means of dealing with the pain I've handed to them on a silver platter. I was selfish. I was blind. How could I not see the things that I've been able to clearly seen before? How could my own pain and sadness render me completely oblivious to the people around me?

No words can describe the pain inside my heart. Not only have I loved you, her, them, for years on end but I have stood by them, laughed with them, cried with them and grew with them and all those years of ignorant bliss now comes back to strike me in the face. I can't believe I was so naive. I can't believe that I caused so much pain. Never have I felt like the most useless person in the world as I do now. How could I be so stupid... 

If I could take away all the pain that I've caused, all the sadness that you feel, all the nightmares and constant self-doubting and hurt that you go through everyday. All the scars. I would. I would take them all away, even at the cost of my own worthless life. I cared too much about my own wounds and forgot to tend to the wounds of those I love. How can I call myself a friend now? 

Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic.

How can I fix this. I want to fix this. 

I can only hope now that it's not too late to do so.

Please let me show you that you do mean something, that you ARE worth something, that you do have a purpose on this Earth. I have no idea how on earth I will achieve this but I promise you that I will and that I will never, ever forget.

I may have been a terrible friend, but I don't want to be one any longer.

You left me

There's nothing left to hold me back 

and this empty air i grasp pleads me

move on move on

but my feet are static and my toes

still remember how warm your duvet was

the heat of your breath

fading, fading into the chill

of the morning air

Ghost of you

Was i waiting for the whispers

echoes of your name rolling down starched lips

cracked, dried blood (i can feel you seeping 

into my pores) wedges in between

forcing them apart, but I was never really 

together anyway(?)

Dust motes are my only 

lovers at this time of night,

and you're fading.

I suppose

It's a new year, which means a new face, a new voice, a new attitude, a new life, a new me.

A new me, with the same old-and-broken-but-clumsily-fixed-together-heart

Little flakes of thought,

Human life is fragile, fleet and disappears within years. How quickly do we lose the rosy hue in our cheeks when we die, when we rot away inside our bodies and finally our soul gives up struggling for the essence of survival, the means of living in this world? But is this our world? Do we have the right to live in this world, in this plane of existence?

I don’t think so.

We are shadows, mere shadows dodging the footsteps of the fleeting ghost of existence. We are mere illusions, torn between reality and fiction. We are not alive. 

 

We do not live in this world, nor do we belong but only do the creatures who we belittle are truly the last snowflakes of winter. We are the storm that rides and rages over this planet and once we have led destruction to the very end, we move on. Like storms, we move on to another planet, destroying, ripping apart and we shield the truth from our younger generation’s eyes by feeding them illusions and we create fantasies for them to live and thrive in, happy and not caring about the wretch we call human life. The very essence of life does not lie within us, being the bastards we are. All we can do is dodge life’s footsteps, like mere shadows. 

 

And like mere shadows, we fade away, screaming and fighting to stay there but the light always finds a way to kill us off.

breathless realization.

and you're the lunar eclipse i burn midnight oil for

because your light sears my fingertips and my lips

with promises of love, lust, beautiful lies

you whisper seductive dreams into my heart

and press butterfly kisses on every broken wall.

can i trust you?

[  s t e a l   m y   h e a r t   a w a y  ]

you show me visions of long summer days

where you hold me and waltz to the singing winds

songs of sorrow, songs of love, songs of tomorrow

and of what could have been if you-

if you hadn't been tempted to kiss her too-

and yet,

i still love you

i forgive you

[ b  r  o  k  e  n]

but what is love to a moon who only hides in shadow

and eclipses from my reaching fingertips

do you love me?

i hate friends with benefits.

you

despicable, disgusting, flirtatious you.

if you asked me if i'd do it all over again, 

i'd reply with a resounding "yes"

just to remember what it was that drew me to you

in the first place, what made me fall so hard,

and to tell myself that it's not worth it

because you

took the pieces of me and scattered them

across the soothing oceans

and now when i'm broken once again

you offer to pick me up from the unforgiving waves

and offer your sinful lips to heal my wounds

if you asked me if i'd do it all over again

i'd reply with a fearful "no"

because you've already dirtied me.

and you will never.

she loves the silence

the way it hangs heavy like oceans of expectations

drowning her in their multitudes of 

"you are never good enough

you will never be good enough"

each breath taken is like drawing knives across porcelain

and each underlying bruise is like crushing blossoming flowers 

"i am never good enough

i will never be good enough"

heartbeat.

you're the flatline I fear the most,

the one existence that causes everything to cease working,

the one to make my heart degenerate over and over again.

Why can't I stop thinking of you?

It's almost killing me.

Incubus.

he speaks in riddles and

she's tired of solving problems

that others plant in her hair

like daisies in a field

" stop it "

she whispers to the silence

darkness engulfing her prayers

and spitting out her nightmares.

Letter 07: Your Ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush

Dear You,

beautiful, cruel you,

I used to love the idea of you,

your fingers tangled in mine,

soft lips pressing to the curve of my throat,

whispering how you wanted me.

Then you took my black marker

and dotted a short line down my sternum

guidelines, you'd said, to take my heart

and then laughed, kissing me.

Who knew that a few weeks later,

you did exactly that

-

and left me broken.

Loved,

Me.

She's tired of your lies.

forgive me love, 

forgive me, forgive him, forgive us but--

champagne flutes stopped singing love songs

our soundtrack faded into overcast silence long ago

(and that broken red radio needs to go)

it was the only musical warmth you offered me.

Scarlet Serpents.

scarlet trickles through ashen layers

paving a story through milky grooves

she smiles at the serpent coiled around her wrist

and whispers hymns to it lovingly

[ help me ]

fingers stain iced-glass

i scream her name but no reply

I watch the snake grow in size, 

poison electric blue in her veins.

I want to reach and brush her face,

wipe her tears and call her name...

but i can only watch, i can only watch,

i can only cry.

(Yes X, this is for you)

What more do you want from me.

i take your words and run them down my face

every punctuation drawing rivers on my skin

you kiss the bruises sprinkled along my arm

like newly born stars--one wish per day

[there's a nebulla of expectations in my heart

a n d

i'm running out of space]

I suffered for you,

is that not enough?

Burn, burn.

glazed eyes 

stare right at me,

[ i love you, i hate you, i love you ]

i can hear his heart throwing itself against milk-white cages

letmeoutletmeoutletme o u t

he doesn't move this time.

As I turn away, I hear his china walls crumble to dust,

"Look at me! Don't you dare look away!"

i see fire.

Adieu.

"Why did you go do that?

Why did you have to do that to me? Especially now, n o w, of all time?

Can't you see that you've messed with my mind? 

You CANNOT do this to me.

And now I'm stuck

in this crumpled, broken mess of thoughts  that i'm forced to awkwardly fit together?

In this complicated mess of problems and calculations i'm supposed to pick apart?

I'm a mess now, 

and the saddest part is, I don't know what to do anymore.."

"...i'm...."

"No, don't. 

You've said enough for now.

Couldn't you at least have waited?"

Trauma.

your ocean eyes asphyxiate her,

ruthless possession and violent passion rakes across her skin

drawing lines of scarlet and tears

and she's like the e m p t y spaces in between sentences

-stabbed repeatedly with punctuation-

and the weight of his words left her:

colorless--carnation cheeks have fled long ago

(though sometimes i see a flowering bruise on her sternum 

looks like your fist, strangely)

but she still loves you,

she says, with a sterile voice.

and i can hear my heart crack.

Cinderella was too late.

"don't look at me"

"but you're beautiful"

***

The real world isn't like a fairy-tale. When you run away with tears streaming down your face, he isn't going to run after you, grab your arm, pull you into the homely feel of his chest and kiss your forehead--tell you that you're beautiful and that he wants you back. 

No. 

He's just going to walk away and feel a little pang over the fact that he made you cry ("justalittlebitiswear").

And when you're ready, he'll say sorry.

But you'll never be really ready,

And he'll never be really sorry.