Tiptoe.

“You will lose each other…”

“You will lose each other.”

We panic and we flail.

No, this cannot happen—

The loss would haunt us both.

Our ache is ancient;

Our story is not new.

We have loved too deeply,

And for not long enough.

So we devise a plan:

He and I will tiptoe,

And whisper “I love you”

Where no one can hear us.

We will keep still and calm,

And try our very best

Not to wound each other

With any careless words.

But we would be wounded,

And the loss would haunt,

Because for every laugh

That the two of us shared,

There would be a tear shed,

And an angry bruise formed.

We were greedy, you see—

Greedy for each other.

There was never enough…

Time, kisses, private jokes.

I swear our friends could tell;

Warning was in their eyes.

We did not know it then,

But we would destroy this.

Somewhere along the way,

The foundation rotted.

We panicked and we flailed,

And then the floor gave out.

The dust hasn’t settled;

It hangs there, suspended.

This burden is weighty,

But I bear it alone.

You once called this fate.

DOES IT FEEL LIKE FATE NOW?

We have loved too deeply,

And for not long enough.

Demonic.

Today, my sadness turned to rage…

Today, my sadness turned to rage,

And my eyes filmed over with black.

I know I’ve said some awful things,

But I don’t want to take them back.

There is no use looking for me;

You wouldn’t recognize this face.

The golden angel has fallen,

And now a demon stands in her place.

Death has now become my color;

It turns out, I wear it quite well.

I will sneak in through his window,

And drag him with me back to hell.

This demon will show no mercy,

Won’t care if he whimpers or cries.

I’m the patron saint of suffering,

The goddess of little white lies.

There is something black inside me—

Yes, I am rotten to my core.

I am sorry to disappoint you;

I am not who I was before.

Bonnie and Clyde.

Ride or die…

How to describe you and I?
We are two truths and a lie,
An are-you-kidding-me sigh,
A we-both-lost kind of tie.
I’m the Bonnie to your Clyde,
A let’s-get-out-of-here ride,
A scrape-across-the-shore tide,
A lost-my-footing downslide.
You’re a wreck less wrecking ball,
An I-can’t-talk-right-now call,
A please-do-not-leave me crawl,
A there’s-no-net kind of fall.
How to describe you and me?
We’re an I-can’t-hear-you plea,
A drown-your-love kind of sea–
And we will never be free.

The 3 Stages of Self-Destruction.

It’s easy as 1, 2, 3…

1.

I want to take

A rusty pair

Of scissors

From the drawer

In the kitchen

And jaggedly

Cut into these

Chocolate curls

I am so well-known for.

2.

I want to stare

At the bottom

Of a grimy, yellow

Toilet bowl

And vomit

Until my stomach

Is empty

And my throat

Is scraped raw.

3.

I want to strip

Off all of my clothes

And go lie

In the angry

Summer sun,

Hoping

When I burn

So badly

That my skin peels off,

I will find

Something better

Underneath.

The Spider and the Fly.

There was a spider…

Once, there was a small spider

Who lived in a mine that had caved.

It sat patiently watching

Little flies that would not be saved.

It spent its days in the darkness,

Among so much ruin and rot.

But something isn’t right here;

This isn’t what you might have thought.

The spider wasn’t evil,

The fly was not nothing but dumb.

It caught itself in the web,

And the venom made it go numb.

This fly had once been called good,

Wonderful, and clever, and bright.

But something had gone quite wrong;

It wandered away from the light.

Out came the spider, with stealth,

Eyes looking so earnest and kind.

They fancied each other friends,

But how could they both be so blind?

Their truce was not meant to last;

It was little more than a lie.

The fly wounded the spider,

And the spider wounded the fly.

Bleeding, they scurried away,

Each trying to clean up the mess.

All the old, good things now hurt;

It wasn’t the same, I’ll confess.

We can’t undo what we’ve done,

Though we’ll both continue to try.

Now I must ask you, truly:

Am I the spider or the fly?

Once.

Once, there was a siren…

Once, there was a siren who wished to run herself through on the rocks.

Once, there was a troll who wished to hang herself from beneath the bridge.

Once, there was a treacherous virgin who wished to be sacrificed.

Once, there was a princess who wished to throw herself from a tower.

Once, there was an opera singer who wished to cut out her own tongue.

Once, there was an atheist who wished to be nailed to a cross.

Once, there was a well-known girl with green eyes who had been trusted with so much, and she took that trust inside of her hands and she snapped it.

Rust.

To my old self of the past…

To my old self of the past:

You will love but it won’t last,

It will all move very fast,

And then you will feel cheated.

You will start out fresh and new,

But you won’t have any clue,

And the way he looks at you

Will make your skin feel heated.

But the shine will turn to rust,

He will take from you your trust,

And under the spell of lust

You won’t know you’re mistreated.

You will say that it’s alright,

Though his grip is far too tight,

And you will put up no fight,

But still you’ll be defeated.