InsomniaSquared

don't trust a boy with black eyes who talks as if any second he'll devour you. he'll rip your throat apart with pretty words and leave your chest an empty garden sprouting weeds.

words like that weren't made for me. the way they flow too beautiful; this harmony in their consonants too perfect. i've had my body etched with ugly words, but never have i had poetry whispered into its scars.

stirring stars. they cannot sleep in black tar scarred with nets of broken glass. god's rib cage, ripped open by two hungry mouths; let themselves in to closed holy doors. knocking down the towers greedily licking the feet of heaven. empty empty nothingness. too cold to build a home. fragile light screaming into void making no noise as it weeps; making nebulae of its disgusting tears. salty oceans lapped up by monsters of liquid obsidian. stormy-eyed demons, like black haired girls, leave your heart a cavern. echo in and out through bloody gores on either side of your twitching body. laughing, you feel every vibration of their laug

I learned what shaky, sweaty, hands felt like I learned that they felt the same under moonlight As they did in the middle of the hall, Knowing no one cared That you loved this girl. You love this girl. You love her. I found myself drawing a maze Out of red lipstick. Upon finding that I wasn't the one in it, I smiled, As I saw you walking clumsily into my heart, Tripping over shards of glass And crumpled lumps of paper. I wanted you. I wanted you to hold my jaw With those shaky, sweaty, hands. That fragile fleeting urge Left me screaming into the fluff of my pillow When no one else stirred, Knowing no one cared That I love

    Your mother was a very stubborn woman. She detested the belief of the supernatural. From an early age she told you that all things supernatural were lies.    In kindergarten, as children often do, your classmates spoke of fairies. You told them they weren't real. Your teacher scolded you. As you got older, the topics of interest matured slowly. Soon people spoke of ghosts and spirits. Your friend in the 5th grade, also a girl (and your first crush), was quite different than you. She believed very strongly in the realm of ghosts and spirits. She told stories of humans falling in love with ghosts having children who could interact with gh

Memories. What do we see in them? We act as if they're children. We coddle them. We protect them. We are them. And we discard them. We abandon them. We choke them. We drink them away. Why. Death. What do we do with it? We avoid it. We embrace. We romanticize it. We delude it. We live in it. We say that Death takes us away, and others say that Death is not evident if Life is not real. We act as if Death is poetry. We make it our own, and we sacrifice our selves to it. We dance with it. We buy vacation homes for it. It is our enemy. It is our miracle.

the stars blink at me softly they speak in morse code and i listen so hungrily my stomach twitches at every whisper from their movements.

You Sent- 3:45 AM                                                                                                                                                Received- 3:46 AM red carnation... Her Sent- 3:46 AM                                                                                                                                                Received- 3:46 AM ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosia ambrosi

I look through broken glass I step on crooked cracks I feel with calloused hands and I taste through tainted tongue Fragile dreams hold bitter memory. A child lost to snow, and a child lost to the pain of a lost child. And brittle bones hold stories of whiskey breath and gin and tonic. Of empty scotch bottles split open like a skull Yet leaves no scar. I remember rainy days I forget the bad men of hands heavy with blood I remember rainy days and I forget the gaps in my mouth where teeth have fell out Dark clouds hold cleansing droplets. Pray to the sky for holy water instead of vodka, and pray to a god that you lost on a road trip. Put

i learned today, from cruel words spit in between black teeth, that "sorry don't bring a dead boy home". that please don't raise the dead. and i could recant to you what i felt today, as i found myself fold from the weight on my shoulders, from the pain in my heart like an anchor. but i won't. because i'm the last. i'm the final. and i promised mama that i'd be her redemption. that i wouldn't be another crooked line. another mess she made another mess she bore on her hips with scars that hold gently the stories, that she calls through pale whiskey breath, mistakes.