Bonnie and Clyde.

Ride or die…

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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.

Wandering in the Wood.

I went wandering in the wood…

When I was a very young girl,

I went wandering in the wood.

I had always tried to be smart,

I had always tried to be good.

But the path was splitting in three,

And the sky had quickly turned black.

Hair rose on the nape of my neck,

But I knew I could not turn back.

A coyote started to howl,

And in fright, I ran from the sound.

My foot got caught on a tree-root;

I tumbled roughly to the ground.

The rocks cut my knees and my hands,

And oh, everything ached inside.

I curled myself up in the dirt;

I rocked back and forth as I cried.

Then I heard someone say my name,

Somewhere in the depths of the black.

The voice belonged to my father,

And he called for me to come back.

He said my wounds would never heal

If I let myself waste away.

This did not have to be the end;

I could keep the shadows at bay.

At first, I did not believe him;

I thought he was wrong about me.

But I proved even myself wrong–

I was stronger than I could see.

I pulled myself up from the dirt,

And found my way out of the wood.

He couldn’t save me from the dark:

I was the only one who could.

Where Dogs Go To Die.

I kept on begging…

I kept on begging,

“Oh please, will someone–

Anyone at all–

Dig a hole for me

In the backyard earth

Where dogs go to die?”

I wanted that hole

Five feet, one inch deep.

I needed that hole

To swallow me up.

Despite all I’d done,

And how I cried out,

No one  was willing

To dig me that hole.

They said I’d be fine,

That all this would pass,

But shame burned my skin,

And rotted my soul.

So I turned myself

Toward the rising sun;

I read my own rites,

Got out my shovel.

I said no goodbyes,

Just simply walked out,

Took up the shovel,

And dug that motherfucking hole myself.