If found please return to: hell
I used to write more about people,
not just people I knew,
but strangers too.
I don’t remember why I stopped.
Somebody has to write about these people.
And if I don’t
maybe they’ll disappear
into nothing,
without even my small small words
to keep them living
in their small small ways.
4.23.1
I see you in and out of my life
like all the people I know
and used to know
and may someday know again.
you’ve made me who I am:
over the years I have become
bits of you,
as much as you have become pieces of me.
– the bits of you in me are the parts of me that I love the most –
thank you for that.
I’ve missed you over these times,
but never too much
you are only a phone call
and a memory away
no matter how far we go and grow
I hope you remember
and always know
I’m still in your corner
today and all the rest
you’re still in my heart
you’ll always be my best.
I carry all of it with me:
the blood is too thick to bleed out
and the air is too thin to breathe in.
the numbers imbed themselves into my skull
and the cries echo through my mind
always.
the broken faces I knew plastered themselves
onto mine,
so all I am is a collage of horror,
an unreadable book
of a past me
that I can never forget.
god knows I try
I want to put myself back together
on my own
it isn’t working.
I’ll use you
as a stitch
only temporary
as always
but necessary
because right now
I can’t hold my skin together
on my own.
i’m so sorry.
they talked for hours on whether or not hell was real.
and I was quiet.
I was quiet because I knew that it was.
I’ve been there often.
seen the flames
through the blinding darkness
and felt my bones
turn to ice
as everything else melted away.
I’ve seen hell.
seen the emptiness of the painted halls
and the sterile smoke
in every breath.
I’ve heard hell.
heard the desperate cries
of lost souls
that I knew
and wondered whether or not
anyone could hear
mine.
they sit there
and continue to wonder if hell exists,
but they’re staring right at it,
straight into my damn eyes.
– I’ve been there and when I came home
little devils made a house in my mind.
when I look in the mirror
I try to recognize myself
but I cannot.
I can only recognize
a hauntingly familiar face
-a mess of contradictions
inside of a broken body
leaning hopelessly
on her broken bones-
pretending to be unbroken
so as to not break anything
within anyone else
I’ve been still for too long
still
stuck behind the windows with the bars
and
the doors with the locks
-the words without meanings-
all the stillness
that walks in circles
around the block
4.23.18
Nobody has the time anymore
To live,
To be alive:
Nobody has the time.
I always wear my watch;
I paid good money for it
But
I still don’t have the time.
It’s no matter though
Because
Very few ask for the time anyway
Which is good
-I suppose-
Because
Like I said:
I just don’t have it
It is 10:22 in the evening
But I don’t have the time
4.23.18
We all want to taste the sun
And kiss the stars
-until we actually do-
Once we do
We find out the truth of it all
Because
The sun doesn’t taste too sweet.
It burnt my tongue and
Dissolved my taste buds.
Now nothing tastes too sweet
And the stars
We’ll I’ve kissed them.
They bit my lip and left me bruised,
Wishing I would have
Kept my distance
The stars are no longer beautiful to me
Yet still
I want to taste the sun
And kiss the stars
-because after awhile
I forget how bad they hurt me-
The vicious cycle never ends
And all the vicious people
Never learn.
4.23.18
I see Death
and I hear Death
I know Death.
we chat often,
and it seems we enjoy each other’s company
a bit too much.
it is a constant company
when everything else is not
when everyone else leaves.
sometimes Death takes them,
but I don’t hold it against him.
he’s never taken me.
he only picks and chooses
little pieces of my soul;
they wither up and die.
but not to worry,
Death is always here, by my side,
to help me
dig their graves.
