To That Which We Never Spoke Of

It was undeniable
my heart did flip flops on a roller coaster
flickered in still frames
black and white dripping
focusing hard enough

I knew in that moment 
I would have to erase this outcome
nausea gripped my throat
swallowed entirely into the floor

there was no one to assist my rescue

Your laughter pierced my clouded vision
I imagined myself

drowned in the bathtub  
your indifference become
weaved into my demise

when your body is torn asunder
halves of you no longer puzzling
numbness is greedily devoured

when pain takes resident in the softness
invades your safety
comfort comes from shutting down

my body was a battle ground
waking moments riddled with bullet holes

my skin became a prison I was held in
for crimes accidentally committed
justice cares not for the begging of redemption

this murder was hanging from my hands
I dreamt of clawing it out from inside of me
the choice had already made

Hearing my own voice agonizing the end
a mouth full of anti-anxiety
shock ripped through the entirety of me

Then. Blackness.

It was over.

Our eyes never locked again
the butterflies were extinguished

littering the bathroom floor

sickness made its away
now I was nightmaring
in invisible view

this was my punishment
to be shadowed by decisions
haunted by metal
wholeness to never be again

Pieces

There are times when the darkness
feels endless
sidewalks tend to lead into fog
disguising what is treacherous, waiting
wanting whatever is being offered up as sacrifice
inside a wrist
peak of collarbone
jutting hips
hands in this space are forever coiling around
each curving piece
regard for ownership left under the tree roots
that envelop the wanderer
words taste syrupy, sickly, fractured
each line
no matter its origin
are crafted into promises
by the severed ears that perhaps once
belonged to the discarded hourglass
left begging in the inky dampness
mouth sewn shut around her longing
swollen tongue choking silence
eyes over compensate
betraying what could never be private
nauseous aching of beating tissue
shameful wanting
created what would be her murder

A meditation on loss and depression

Sometimes the demons speak louder than mornings over coffee
I am doing the tango with unseen shadows
choking on loose strings of conversations
violently hoping that the ball in my throat will silence
my screaming eyes before you notice the windows rattling

My heart sits precariously on the edge of my collarbone
exposed, it is easily disrupted from its task of blood pumping
instead it waits to consume the words that hang unsaid
in the space between us and them

I still think about this whenever the tears knock at the back of my eyes
and my fingers knot my rings around my knuckles
I wish it was that simple