I can wash my bedsheets a thousand times and yet this bed is no longer ******* mine

i can't write anymore.
i go fishing for words in a dried up lake
and lose the thoughts at the sight of you.
you.
you envelop even the empty spaces, of course
when i can't write i think of you.
i think it's because I know it will never be as beautiful.

this will be my downfall
the thunder in my head
has struck the trees
and the leaves
fall to the ground
from its quake.

it disrupts every
******* aspect of my
life. my spine
shakes at your power,
my shoulders slump
at your warmth. your
hands have stripped every part of my
identity. you rebuild
me again. I cannot
write because your eyes
don't allow me.
your lips are
my prison and my liberation

your hand around my throat is your claim and my closure
i know you never wanted to posses my and my ***** soul
but truly i am nothing without your tightening grip
just a pet to your words your voice your body
yours.
it is all I am.
I cannot write for I am no long a being.
Just the creation of a God.
just a babydoll who listens
a girl who obeys
a child with closed eyes

is this love
or is this rebirth

i did not know the breath in my lungs would stop

i guess the funny part is i kind of like the burn

i like the self destruction

the pain and the wounds

i never realized the poison that seeps from my skin would get to me too

you see god had made me pure

but i dipped my hands into the liquor of the devil

and for that i had to endure

six years of pain, twelve more of self infliction

i never realized it was an addiction


but


my lungs are so ******* empty

they inhale the toxins of my past mistakes

the love and passion and trust i dropped in the mud

i inhale purity (not mine of course)

i exhale poison (it stems from my core)

always poison

always poison

i am poison

i have poisoned you

but don't worry

it'll always get to me first

he calls me love when he's mad

his sweetheart when he's sad

he calls me a wilting flower in the sun

a fragile broken piece of glass when we're done.


He brings me blossoms in the spring

in the fall, always nothing

in the winter he leaves my toes cold

but my heart is always a bit too bold

and in the morning it reaches out

and is left to wander home a different route.

I lay in bed, lost at night

not knowing if his love for me is right

for when the morning comes and all is light

I never miss him, or his plight.

maybe if I stay in this bed I'll be able to wilt like the flowers on my nightstand

my petals will fall off the edge of the blanket, smooth and graceful on the bedroom floor

maybe I'll waste away into the covers,

diving into duvets and curling my toes into the edge of the covers

i just really wanna die

and I want it to be in this bed so it can be pushed down the river like a casket

holding my temperance and my sin in the palm of my hands

as the water drags me and the pillows deep under

deep

deep

under

it's quiet, there

they will try to tell you I tried to **** myself.

I swear, it wasn't that.

It's just that the weeds were growing through my ribs and down my back and into my lungs, and no one likes weeds.

so I tried to drink **** killer.

instead it just burnt my throat and made my skin feel like sandpaper

it ripped out my taste buds and numbed the bridge of my nose

and it didn't even get rid of the ******* weeds.

there is no way in hell that im going to tell you about how i'm in love

no way in hell that i'll tell you about that smile

hidden, private, just for me

his fingers, soft yet firm on the dimples of my back

combing through my hair

brushing my neck

there is no way I'll tell you about his silence

strong, assertive, present

or his eyes

deep, dark, daring

but I will tell you this

he is every empty spot in my heart

every broken rib in my chest

every smile on my lips