Hungover.

He came into my life like vodka…

He came into my life like vodka—

It was all too much, too fast, too soon.

His lips tasted like a Jell-O shot,

And I ended up drunk before noon.

But now a bitter sun has risen,

And my lover could no longer stay.

It will take so much more than Advil

To make this hangover go away.

Game of Chess.

Let’s play…

We are dancing around the board;

I’m on a black square, you’ve found the white.

You say it’s fine if I hurt you—

I hope that is true because I might.

There’s a knight standing beside me,

And a bishop that beckons you still.

Perhaps we should cut this game short;

By now, we both should have had our fill.

You suggest we let this play out,

And because I don’t want it to end,

I’m willing to finish this round—

Although it’s torture, I won’t pretend.

The pieces are all out of whack;

We are playing a game we can’t win.

But we’re dancing around the board,

And I just want one last little spin.

Checkmate is mine for the taking,

But I want this sick game to go on.

You have made me feel like a Queen,

Though I’m probably only a pawn.

Perhaps you weren’t clear on the rules,

Or thought it was alright to cheat.

My strategy has been all wrong;

The force will knock us off of our feet.

This has cost us both far too much,

But somehow I do not love you less.

We should never have dared to play

Such a goddamn twisted game of chess.

Thin Air.

My mother said I look lifeless…

My mother said I look lifeless,

And I am inclined to agree.

I’ve taken an undead pallor;

You have made a ghost out of me.

The blame’s not entirely yours,

Though you certainly had a hand.

I have done this thing to myself,

Though it wasn’t the least bit planned.

I wanted to make myself scarce,

And disappear into thin air.

Any place is purgatory

As long as you are not found there.

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.