cheap whisky.instead of exchanging numberswe exchanged horror storiesand compared ourdrunken scars[yours down your sidemine up my arms]when i looked at you from a distancei thought maybe you couldcut me open withyour cheekbones[but you never wereso merciful]and your eyes were as emptyas the bottles that weclutched to gain the silverthat traced our bodies[but the rest of you was fullof lossandloveandhateandblackness]you said that there was lead in my veinsand you brought it to the boiland i sat there burningwith bugs being drawn to me[my destruction was more beautifulthan i ever could be]i remember you hit me onceand it stung like cheap vodkai told you i loved youand slept for a year[i wasn't going to be enough tonightand you weren't interested.]i know now that god is deadi tired praying silentlyi tried screaming ituntil the sun rose again[nothing happened.he wasn't listening]when i wokethey were all around mecramming their apologiesdown my throat[i knew then
Untitledthings she's destroyed this year;two washing machinesfrom the pockets she fills with rockswhen the rains come and she wants to drownthe corners of all her books from flickingbending and shaking edgeswhenever she thinks of youyou stupid boyher first carcrumpled in a ravineand it left a scar on her stomachthat she sometimes can pokeand feel a lump that science can't explainand she thinks it physical sadnessrestingwaitingthe entire box of platesthat her mother gave her for moving outand making it on her ownwell, she almost made itbut something about thembeing under the ground lefther shaking uncontrollablyand the tears slid underneath fingertipsand she lost the gripand didn't notice until she'd ran to phoneand left a trail of her insidesalong the corridor.her heart linesor whatever it is that lets the happiness inthey're sealed shuttight and all she can do isstareat things that don't notice herwhatever it was that connected himand herand let the sparks
colour-blind.he was like summerno one ever noticed himwhile he was two stepsbehind thembut once he was goneeveryone suddenlymissed his presence.the oval was soakedand the clouds wouldn'tstop crying for weeksthe umpires told allthe jocks to go awayand get a heartbecause he was goneand he wasn't coming backi stumbled over to hisglowing white head stoneand left him flowersthat i think were bluebut i couldn't quitesquint enough to seeeverything is varying shadesof shadows nowso the sun wouldn'trise again forthree monthsand they called thesethe black daysbecause it was thickand all consumingthere was no lightbecause he was summerand he was gone
calamity.the poor boy got a lecture from deaths secretary"deaths busy enough as it is without walk ins""but it was urgent," he stutters."it couldn't wait, it was now or never"he was simply told"take a number, and wait over there with the restwho 'couldn't wait' "
not all water means lifeher hair was the kind of brown where you know she was born a blonde. eyes, big and bright, full of wonder, and a ribbon tied in her hair. she was a mystery to everyone; she was a misery to meThey said that the colour of her skin was something that resembled perfection, white porcelain with peach undertones she was something of a doll.And that's why I wondered how she could move breath even be Alive as her oceanic blue eyes looked like theyd already drowned any living soul who'd gotten too close.I started to wish id learned to swim.
goes on.i. she painted green over her arms and wished that people would appreciate the special shade of the evergreens that stretch up to the sky in the forests around her town. but they just remove them like they're just going to reappear and stick buildings in their place.it made her green turn red. but she was so smallii. the girls have lipstick smothered on their lipsand their faces are unnaturally orange and eyes ringed with black spider legsshe thought it was stupid and wanted to see if she flickedthe cakes on layer if it would crack.iii. she had written so many words for himand pressed flowers in the pages like each word for him was carvedinto a tombstonetrying to keep his ghost alivebut he hadn't ever read a single oneand he never would.
riddance.and lately i've found myself swallowing matchestrying to burn my insides for funto distract myself from missing you so much.its not working.
pathetic.'why havent you talked to him'i dont know how too'did he know how you felt'yes. i mean i think so. i thought i was an unspoken conncection however, that provided so littleconsolation.'how long has it been'two years'thats a long time, why do you still care'cause i'm not heartless like the rest of you.i mean, i don't know.