I lay on the warm bed,
Heated by an unforgiving sun,
Indifferent to how I felt or wanted,
Misery is my birthright;

I looked at my wrist, my slightly sunken veins,
Maybe light's wavelength is a facade,
More green than blue, more death than life,
Tainted blood, still blessed with beauty and grace;

My skin burned, was something trying to escape?
Did the wraiths of my past terrify the demons?
Have I gone insane trying to make sense of it all?
Our dying sun does not care, capitalism has won;

The tired lights of the stars and the ever-growing dark,
My arms are weary from the weight of my choices,
Losing a war does not make you a victim always,
The land is unwelcoming, evolution's mutant regret;

the scar is big
it is bleeding
the wound is real
it is aching
i haven't reach fifty
i feel like sinking
i always thought i am fine
but no i am not okay
it is bad to blame
it is hard to be ashamed
those scars where really there
you just made up
another
or it is burning up

I wrap myself up

in my poem, to show me --


show my open wounds.

Oh, you child!

Blessed be you are.

Born to be the one who is loved

You were made to be torn apart.

The angels cry and sing your name.

You were made to lose all you've earned.

Everything will be in time.

You are with no reason and no rhyme.

It will reach the depths where hell has not dug.

Your name and all the things you've done.

The world will be at your mercy.

And you will die, that is what you will do.

You will die over and over again.

You will skin what is left of your bones.

For those who will eat you whole and alive.

You will thank them for it you will thank him for it.

You will happily oblige.

Oh our sweet thorn born child.

The kisses and praise will litter your skin like an incurable plague.

You are my favourite.

And you will thank me for it.

-Percy

The moon shined so bright,

Your hands around my neck.

I thought I'd forgotten your voice

But your memory was all I had left.

Under the water nothing made sense.

The salt covered what I had left to hide.

My mind drifting to the light.

The feelings that took years to sink.

Under the moon's eye,

A different part of me came alive.

The grief that had drowned me then.

I should've stopped you but I don't know when.

Even if it's not really you, I can lie.

I went here in fear now I'll leave like I'm high.

So I reach out, not to stop you,

But so I can hold you, under this rocky tide.

I'm so glad to see you again tonight.

For the first time in a while and for the last time, goodbye.
-Percy

My hands that reeked of death.
I was stained before I knew.
What it meant,
What loss entailed.

I was different once,
Now I'm different too.
The loving gaze,
Reached me from the stars.

One faithless day.
I watched me die.
What I could've been if I never knew.
You stared at me like the gravel.

I laid to rest,
All my innocence.
The light inside me,
Snuffed before it could form.

The cold metallic taste now stuck,
Clinging onto me.
Like nothing ever will.
Because I will always reek of death.

And I will mourn for you.
For what I could have been.
Your life that had only just begun,
Pretending that it was enough.

You will never know what it is, to stop.
-Persephone

'Come,
Take my hand'.
Said the boy
That I,
Created in my head.
To live a little lie,
And go here instead.
Escaping my pain,
Away from such dread.
When I open my eyes,
I see nothing but red.
But I cave inside,
And here,
I fled.

I grew up in a house of closed doors and retreating footsteps, so light I wondered if anyone was even there. A house of ghosts, defined by a thick layer of dust on the couches, and doorbells that were never answered.

I grew up in a house of silence, the only signs of life: coffee mugs in the sink, and leftover crumbs on the kitchen counter. Silence so palpable it wraps itself around my throat until it becomes comforting. The microwave cannot reach zero here.

Birds chirp incessantly on Sunday mornings, and the weight of their music sits heavily on my chest. Plants reach for a slab of sunlight trickling between dusty window shades. I can hear their leaves straining, and I want to tell them to stop.

A patch of sunlight reaches the floor, and my cat purrs loudly and unforgivably in it's warmth. Sitting at the edge of my bed, there are hushed footsteps down the hallway, a door softly shuts, the silence is broken.

My throat tightens, and I shrink away from the light. To be unseen and unheard here is to be safe. There are five ghosts in this house, and I am one of them.