Habitual SafetyA broken dream of girl,Habitual Safety by betwixtthepages
I've been cowering for years,
the edges of my fear sharp
and threatening to impale me.
In the darkest depths of this ache,
"safe" became a haven,
a habit, a hurt--
the ground shifted beneath me,
life grew wild around my feet,
but I chose not to budge or change.
I stagnated, a pond devoid of ripples--
a lightless, lifeless set of hopes
without the proper words to lift me.
Somewhere between safe and happy,
I lost my balance and forgot myself
and when the axis reached the apex,
I pulled you down with me.
Broken shell of boy,
I hope you understand--
I'll apologize for hurting you
but I refuse to throw myself away again.
I sprouted wings
where safe and self met...
but there's no longer any room here
for me to fly.
whirlwind drowningthere's a hurricanewhirlwind drowning by betwixtthepages
sweeping through my drywall veins,
the masts of my strength
and the sails of my heart
anxiety makes a mess of me,
cthulhu a raging dominatrix
breathing against the cage of my ribs
and the slope of my spine
a warning whirlwind warring
against the tides of this battlecry
and i can't tell the difference
between the fear
and the hurt
TeaClouds attached to string
filled with tattered leaves and Earth.
Raindrops in a glass.
Couldn't look at it anymoreplaster of paris to you:
Adrenal glands pumping play pretend
Please don't leave me under last
Weekend's slumber with your hand
Gripping my waist, laying me to waste
Putting me to bed in a space where
You can't blink but the collapse
Awake but out of place
Like the gentle press of a dream
Where there's a trace of a scream
and a tractor beam of mistaken light
And your whole body jerks:
Fight or flight?
Another sleepless night.
You can't hold me hostage here anymore.
Laying drunken slurs on pretty girls
who don't know the power of breathing over speaking
It's a subtle delicacy-
Fucking you, then leaving
(Or sleeping next to you)
What is this question mark on the end of every rendezvous? What is this shadow over every 2 x 2 that we built this house with?
Where your body is,
and where your mouth is,
steal the air from this empty room.
and then I saw you
Stuck in the violent passage of time:
You looked so pure
So bent and raw-
You couldn't conceal it for once, you coul
CohabitatingFlies splay a constellation in reverse
across the wardrobe door sky.
They thrum and gossip at the smell of blood.
Their wet little feet patter every surface,
patting every surface, testing them as their own.
Tiny black hearts ache to take my kingdom
if only the knife would slip -
they buzz excitedly as I wretch into their airspace.
They don’t want to share this room with a human anymore.
I grasp for the precious edge of sanity
- someone knocks
What am I doing? Just thinking about feeding the flies.
things i've learned from punching walls.i. walls are hard.
ii. walls do not protest. even when you're pounding holes into them after your last fight with your parents or that day where you were feeling nothing was real.
iii. wounds heal. but in the time in between, your knuckles are peeled back like oranges and hot showers feel like death and people ask too many questions
iv. you may not feel it the first time
v. it will inevitably hurt. sometimes you'll feel it after the twenty fifth time or the moment you're about to buy groceries
vi. you won't always cry. but there will be times when you will become a waterfall and pound into the rock in front of you as if it has been keeping the answers from you the whole time.
vii. you won't always lunge like a wildcat. soft punches will feel like knocks on a door no one ever answers and at times these will be the ones that hurt the most.
viii. more times than not you will regret it.
ix. broken bones do not learn like muscles do. so you must learn for them.
x. maybe yo
the world turns slowly and i step with itthe world keeps turning
even when i stand still;
i found secrets hidden in dark places
and i wonder why i never
looked for them before,
never studied the reasoning behind
hiding them in the first place.
(or maybe i might have,
maybe i wanted to forget, try to forget,
try to be forgiven --)
the world keeps turning
and the night turns to day even when i have
passed hours sleepless in the confines
of a restless mind; i wonder where
the time goes as it drags me through
forever, i wonder how long ago
i should have found myself and wonder if,
i've fallen behind.
i've tried to love three times
and every time it ends in broken-
(not for me, you see, but them --)
and every time i feel a twinge
and i fear that this part of me
may be something broken.
the world keeps turning
and the fan on the nightstand keeps spinning,
gives me chills that warm
my frozen heart.
i'm terrified, i've found,
of getting close to the people that could
hurt me the most; i
pelagic seas.i wake up dreaming in aphotic waters,
i sleep with wide rabbit eyes, how can
you escape a phantom that is veined through
your skin? i am a whale swallowing beaches
to find weight in all this buoyancy, i am a stag
tangling antlers with oak branches to find br-ea-k
in all this armour, everyone tells me i look good
for someone biting the plum flesh of full-moon
nights, grinding teeth on the rinds of soured
no-one should repeat my mistakes.
i am a haunted new showroom home,
no-one seems to suspect that there are cracks
under all this smile, under all this laugh, under
all this light. my scars fibre-webbed, opal,
moonstone, the weight i carry masquerades as feathers,
the slow pull of bones from sockets, feet from
ocean floors hides in glass-cracked puddles,
i am a shipwreck disintergrating in plain sight.
no-one should repeat my mistakes.
i am a collection of fireflies, if you hold
too hard i will vanish. there is too much to
think about and not enough to say, how
can you explai
Lacrimosa She breaks harp strings
She tells me, in a hour
She has a backbone
Stronger than anything
I've ever seen
She breaks harp strings
She tells me, with delicate fingers
And violent heart
Loved by a ribcage
More fragile than
Her fluttering start
She is orchideliruim
She is lemon vodka, peppermint tea
Cold champagne spiked with
Like the things she used to make for me
She writes nocturnes in her sleep
And she cuts
But she can't let them see
She's a butterfly
Breaking at the wings
She is gilt and guilt and
Gold-tone trills, brilliant
She tells me she breaks harp strings
And we'll play the piano one day
I talk to her late at night
And miss her my whole life long
She shines like the delicate moon
Over spider-silk rewoven
Summer LovePeople speak of
like it’s worth more than love in winter
like it crunches beneath fall branches
and escapes spring’s fleeting hold.
They revere it
like it lasts longer
than the time it takes for summer
to appear, flash once and filter
out; like summer stays so long.