i'd hate her if i could.anastasia is beautiful in the way of twilight on the rio grande and doves flying from caged fingers.anastasia is lovely with smoke-grey eyes, black-pearl-hair and a laugh that unfurls like fog. she is cunning with a witty tongue and spends her afternoons pirouetting across sunstruck-wooden-floors. she has a horizon-mouth thats molded into curved lines around piano-teeth and can make a violin weep with clever fingers.and i am running late with a coffee stain on my wrinkled shirt and a scar on my bottom lip from putting my nose where it didnt belong. i am tripping over my own feet and dropping my purse and shoving back my wildly curling hair with dry, calloused hands.i am here with my too-large mouth asking too many questions and painting the world with just enough cynical humor to make the romanticism shrivel in the corner. i am sitting on the pier but when im watching the ocean, im not thinking about how its turning into rain to splatter on orchids. you
jeremy lives in the present.jeremy is the type of man who is scared that if he falls between the lines of sanity and dreams, he might never find his feet. he is the type of man who runs all the way home in his suit because he thinks hes chased by demons. he swears the only time they fell asleep was when she ran her fingers up and down his piano-ribs..jeremy is the type of man who has always been ten pounds below slender, who has always had hair two inches longer than chic and spiderweb-fingers strong enough to make a woman wonder. he is the type of man who wears clothes that are always this side of wrinkled with his grandfathers watch in one of his pockets. he thinks digital clocks sapped the magic out of time and its no wonder everyone is running late..jeremy is the type of man who falls asleep listening to the radio with a vodka in his hand. he is the type of man who hears his past in-between the chorus and the verse and would sing along if he could carry a tune. instead he hums along unde
confessions of lostwithoutyou.i'm not a liar. but i never told you that you always looked best in black. i liked how your skin would fade to a paler shade of perfection and your perfect teeth would glint a little brighter. and i could pretend for an evening that you were my black and white dream come true. and with you there would be no shades of inbetweens and no grays for us to get lost. i never told you but it's true.
+i was never able to tell you, but i hate the way you cook your 'specialty' eggs. you always laughed over your shoulder and told me that they are the best food ill ever eat, that i was blessed to get the chance to taste them melting on my tongue. but frankly, you used too much pepper and the wrong cheese and i always spit them in my napkin when you turned away. i always told you that they were my favorite food, but i dont even actually like eggs.+i could never say this, but i can't stand the way you click your tongue against your perfect teeth when you're nervous
then again, maybe.maybe i am the reason this bed is emptyemptyempty but for one.maybe i am the explanation for the way the tires are peeling out or the way youve already changed your voicemail to me instead of we. maybe i am the excuse for the way our love has a white flag and is curled in the corner, calling mercymercymercy.maybe i am the poison-tongue and killing-hands that you tell me i am, maybe you deserve someone who doesnt unravel like yarn in the afternoon, click their tongue against their mouth and expect you to help gather the pieces and put them back together in the evening.maybe i am toomuchtoomuchtoomuch for anyone to ever expect to decipher, understand, control. maybe i am too hot (you did run with burned hands), maybe i am too wild (you did run with barbed wire-scars), maybe i am too irrepressible (you did run spitting saltwater from your lungs). maybe i am more than enough, maybe i am.then again, maybe i am unruly like wild horses and you just were
i'll come home.dear holly,the plane is rolling away and i can still see you waving. you are so beautiful, do you know that? your hair is fluttering at the temples and i can see youre crying, but dont worry, baby, ill be home soon. i know how this looks, the way the door shutting me off is so final, but itll open again and youll be running down the airport terminal and ill be there to catch you.count the days until i come home, ill be counting them with you.love,me+dear charlie,im home and the house is empty without you. it feels like the walls are exhaling in regret and its a bitter feeling to be surrounded by all this carbon dioxide. i walked into our room and looked at the bed that we bought together last june. all that space made me ache. so i went and grabbed boston and climbed on top of the covers with him. hes such a good dog, charlie, you were right. he just put his massive head on his paws and let me cry in his neck.when i wa
hello, beautiful.these are the times i will always remember:walking through crowded coffee shops to see you sitting in the corner, steaming cups on the table and bright eyes lighting up the room. hellos tripping over my tongue, shy glances and bitten lips, toes curling in my shoes. hearing your baritone voice for the first time, tying my lips into knots as i fumbled over the introductions.sitting on my bed, shaking the walls with laughter, your arms holding me close into the curve of your body. driving with the windows down while holding hands, the wind painting butterflies on my neck.not knowing a thing about you but wanting to pick up the candle and explore. finding the most breathtaking mosaics on hidden walls, you taking my hand and laying it against your scars. your trust that i wouldn't break them open, promises sealed with virgin lips.i will remember the anxiety and the fears and the wonder. i will remember the dreaming and doubt and finding answers that only birthed more questions. i will r
i'm breathing without lungs.don't apologize. i can't breathe. i collapsed on the stairs at a quarter to two and i haven't found my feet yet. please help me up. please push me down. i think i'm letting my lungs collapse. i think i just spit up saltwater. is the carpet staining? i need you to grab my hand. i need you to hold my lungs together. i need you. i need you.is it night yet? i can't see the stars. i can't feel the wind. my skin is numb and my eyes are on fire and i'm sitting in the middle of a room without windows and i can't breathe. why aren't you listening? can't you hear me? i'm choking on regrets. i'm choking on my spine. i'm coughing up alcohol from last night and i'm spitting out my teeth but i still can't breathe.i need a prayer. i need a song. i need you to write a poem for me and read it out loud until i can't hear anything but your voice. i need to stop driving with my eyes closed. i need to stop pretending i have wings. i need you to close your eyes and pretend i know. pretend i don't need you
yesterday i died.ghosts are burning the edge of my vision.i can feel the way they crowd and jumble, the way their fingers are pulling sticky fingers against my sanity and dragging me further and further into the rabbit hole of my insecurity. i can see them in the shadows at the base of my eyelids and feel their voices in the spaces between my vertebrae. they call me when i'm awake and they scream when i'm asleep and i claw at my face and i pull at my skin, but they burrow deeper and deeper still.they quiet and stagnate, yet i can feel them in the dust that my feet unsettle as i walk forward. their faces are persistent and their mouths gaping open with the scent of decay bound like a cord around their flapping tongues. they are silent and knowing, touching my inner demons with a violating hand. they nod, they smile; they are smug. i hate them for this. they see the way my heart quivers in my chest and they stroke the trembling bones that it clacks against. they crack the silence and whisper, tell me o
love like smoke.sometimes,if you closeyour eyes,you can hearthe sound ofheartache.more oftenthan not, it's agentle sigh,the timid releaseof air into thehorizon.but if youlisten hard, youcan still catchthe fluttering ofbreath betweentwin-lips, eachbroken promiseand dead endfraying aparton the tip ofthe tongue.it sounds justlike the pitterpatterof the ocean's tears,like salty wishesfreezing oneyelashes, likespidersilk tearingapart in the hasteof the wind.it's the sound of chalkpaintings being chasedaway by the rain,of lost children runningafter smoke silhouettes,of individual fingersweaving together topretend they feel whole.
out of service, out of clothesnot so fun fact #1: my heart is not fluent in Bullshit. this is why i feel: disconnected. dejected. rejected. unexpected. press 2 for Amnesia; 3 for Truth. sorry the number you reached is in hiding. in flames. in love. in visible. in America, not Fakeville. please recheck your information, and dial again. and again. again. hang up. tear up the power bill. slam your phone in the wall. four calls to me is four calls too many.not so fun fact #2:it's the first time we've spoken indays. weeks
something unglorious.you look away and whisper: deny it and deny ituntil you feel all at once that your wordsof comfort are the rain against your skin and thereis nothing left to fight against butthe gaping hole in your chest where something oncebeat and beat and beat andyou curl your body up against the ache and raspstop it please stop it I don't want tomiss you anymore and love shouldn't go like thisbut it doesand that's just it,isn't it.---
letters to the past.letters to the past.dear boy,i'm beginning to remember to forget you again. there was a timewhere all i would wish for was to remember your face, and now,it's quite disappeared. there's still beauty in it, but i've come tohate it. used to embrace this, but now, all i see isfilth.dear boy,there was a time you cried for me. but if i remember, you hatedto cry, but when i forced myself to open up and tell you somethingsad, you said you leaked a tear. i don't know why i trusted youbut i did. maybe it was the way you said it, or maybe it was theway you didn't say it. but i could feel the sadness on your breathand the tears in the sky. you would say you were there for me,and iliked you for that.(but never loved, i'm so sorryi lied)dear boy,you would tell me these things i never wanted to hear. all thetimes you had drank yourself silly and all the times you playedaround with others. and all the problems you had that nobodycould understand. that's where i borrowed t
alienatecan we fight with wordsor are we simply going tokill ourselves trying
black dog- never have i seen a smile that can destroy me quite like yours love crawling like ivy across your jaw - sideways glances, smoke trailing like water up your cheeks powerless, alone in the dark but oh how i love it-
sunday thoughtsyou are glowbraceletsand fireflies and oatmeal raisin cookies.you are thunderstormsand comic books and afternoons on the bleachers.you are constellationsand crinkled denim and nights spent on the park bridge.you are the best thingi could ever hope for and i love you more than should be allowed.
my heart beats in dialtones -chello?maybe there are too many things ive been waiting to say.___hello robert.you don't have to call me back, but i wanted to tell you that i love you. i love you and that messy printing you always use to write the inaccurate equations that lead to my heart. i love you and the beautiful mess you are that smiles when i pick up trash in my pretty pink dress that i say makes me look fat but you tell me that i never could because i am as thin as the ice that covers me when you aren't around. i love you even though you never answer your phone; even though i've been calling you for years and you never left me any messages.
i would say that i'm ugly but we look so alike.___hello boy.im thinking maybe youre easier to talk to when youre not really you. so lately that means im questioning your answering machine again and addressing you in faceless nouns since i cant begin to say the things ive been meaning to te
a promise.i ama summer day,riding a bikeandcrashing; i am scarred,scraped kneesbut i amhealing. i amin a city of leaves,hidingfrom lettersand numbers.i am the icepressed against skin,raising goosebumps; iam the powder driftingfrom the sky,and i am the grasspeekingfrom underneath white.i am life.
putting you placesi want to call you sweetiei don't know i ever will,because you're always justcurling up like cat smoke,concentric in thecavity of your chest;a heartyou're a nail throughmy thumb, but it's okay becauseblood is exciting and itmakes me want to kiss you a little bitand sometime it reminds me howi hate the way ilove you to pieces,i mean really i just want tolove you to wholei'm sorryi'm still throwing my head backbut i'm sorryyou can watch the line of my neckin slow motion if you want, andi think i'm still screaming likethe night i caught my suit of skin on firei'll cut you openon my bedroom floorand it's not like i'mweird, i've always thoughtyou were most beautifulon the inside is all,i want to see thefull repertoire ofthat beauty,loud and incolour andpuddlingon myfloor.
Victim of Love I guess we knew this would happen, somewhere deep down inside, things I wish I'd never told you,all the thoughts I had to hide.It might have been inevitable, something faded in your heart,I never thought to fill the silence, and we're drifting apart. Another starry-eyed romantic, forever lost in the the lonesome night,the moon sings of her returning, I won't go down without a fight. I could tell you that I miss you,
vegas skies.we found death in the attic,silent and stillhe saidsometimesyou have to actaloneand we pretendedto understandmonths passedlike sceneryfrom a windowin a trainand i sat in the emergency roomquiet, thinkingsometimesyou have to bealoneand not even forevercan bring you backto me
and next month, we smile.paige:there is a skeletal disorder pouring into your brainand someday it will catch fire, while your insidesare left out to bake under wrought vanity,much like a second skin. the skeletons like tobang on windows and scream for hearts thatskip beats. the ambulance doesn`t respond,but oh!we are hurting.today, the north star`s tendons peel from thesky. tomorrow, the only appropriate thing to dois punch doors. the next day, you are choking dahliasbecause they are your favorite flower, andi always knew you were a girl of opposites.the person on the other line is verballyhideous, saying we will never be a bird,but marmalade skies will come marching intoour bell jars someday, [but we alreadyfucking knew that.]listen:this has nothing to do with making thepuzzle pieces fit and everything to do withcoming back home. we won`t getused to this, we won`t get used tothis.listen:you know how to inject sunshine intotrainwr
when a day means everythingvalentine's day isa suicide note in themaking, i love that.
you're coldyour feet glide over the linoleum of your kitcheen floor, and the sounds of your toes sticking to the ground echo in the dark. it is past two in the morning, and you're oh so scared of waking him. oh so scared.your eyes have almost adjusted to the light, or lack thereof, and you're reaching outwards, and upwards into the darkness. your hands meet what they were searching for, the cupboard above the counter, and you almost sigh in relief. you feel around for the cold, silver handle and pull it open, with just the right amount of force as to not make too much noise; you've had so much practise.you feel over the second shelf and standing on your tip-toes, you wrap your hand around an upturned glass. your heart beats just a bit too fast to keep your breathing steady, and as you pull the glass forward, your feet give way and you slip. you fall backwards, your head colliding with the floor, and your arms flying backwards, the glass flying with them. it soars through the air and hits the wa
wake upnonexistence.then you open your eyes, and feelthe weight of your heart.
do not be minei can ruin the people i care most about,i love you so run away.
everything he never couldx.it wasnt intentional for me to become a poetuntil we slumber-slept together.he was the boy with wounds stapled shut.he was the boy who would scream at the sun and stars for being brighter than him.he was just another cliché boy who dreamt in black and white another cliché boy that never came back.o.he unbuttoned my white shirt after his mothers third weddingand i never wore it again.he broke fine china in an angry storm when i blew smoke in his faceand said, i liked myself better before i met you.he always looked best dressed with tearsand i learned his lifeline was short for a reason.x.i was busy carving my name into every tree i could reachtrying to tell myself that what we did was alright.he taught me that sometimes hate isnt a strong enough word.o.i remember seeing him and walking the other way.i can still hear his voice in the back of my mind sayingi dont know,i dont know,i dont know bu
i wish i could.i wish i was a clicheso my paper heart wouldn'tbleed anything but ink