suicidally-beautiful

Some would laugh when I say that my temperament has softened, knowing that snide remarks are ooze below my tongue. Yet my pages are resting, readying for a tumult that will never come. The once mercurial tinder is now ash And charcoal From which I may forge a new pen.

I’m awake. My anxiety is peaking with the moon. Summoned by a red waterfall Or perhaps simply because I’m awake. The darkness of slumber placates a scattered mind. In sleep, I am elsewhere- Unable to gather and tend disparate fears. I yearn for it. There is safety in limbo. I write less with age, As the cage for my anxiety strengthens. It need not bathe in daylight. Not while I am sleeping. But I am awake.

I’d rather be caught in the tar pits of inconvenient love than to move on. But only if you are here with me, and I am plagued with fears that you are not. I still think you re the most beautiful boy I have brushed with my lips and I try to conjure you when my eyes are closed and my blanket wraps me as you used to. Most days, it is easy not to dwell. The distractions pop up on phone screens and tap my shoulder, but when they don’t, I can’t escape you. It is so painful to yearn, to imagine a new you without me, built and fortified in my absence with someone else’s love. Four years is so long, love. But moving on from you

The asphalt wasn’t sweating like this the last time we made love. I folded over you like a money clip, pinning you between my torso and thighs and you said not to worry- that I would see you again. He was lonely the last time you and I made love. But now he is cared for and falling quickly, while I am slow. A feather in a tornado. A victim of my own volatility. You were twice in love the last time we made love: Old and new. I wonder if you are still dissonant or if time has forgiven you with a generosity I have been denied. I dream of the next time we make love. Do you?

We fell so quickly, so deeply, irreparably in love Couldn’t breathe, incomplete, forgot how to be one Infatuated in fuck, we were brazen in lust A pair of hedons, weakened, sticky in summer months We gave friendship our best, but we fell back in bed Like magnets, bad habits, you’re stuck in my head You’re my glue, I’m you, with or without you I’m wrecked We could try for a third time. I’ll just miss you instead I found you, I lost you, but I haven’t recovered My heart is still broken, the flames only smothered They’ll burn both of us down if we give them a chance But I’m already scorched

Parts of my body are melted into your chest Melted into my bed Hardened in the caverns we have left from lazy mornings My peace of mind is locked in your rib cage And I am calmed as you step closer, it is brought to me As I am enveloped As I am held. The squeakiness of my mind, the loose wheel spinning in circles Crying for grease- It runs to you for tenderness when I am trapped beneath it And I can breathe But you have taken my peace of mind with you On a new adventure Because I told you to go. A liar cannot be trusted.

I don’t want to think of you Reborn in your innocence and ripe for destruction. I, a wrecking ball in your chapel. You have forgotten me, Resurrected a shattered icon and rebuilt a collapsing column. Pure, again, in my wake. Return to your genesis, How I found you- enslaved to an impute ignominy. And I will lust from my prison, A sinner-condemned.

Viscous and noxious, like spoiled honey/ Hibernating between synapses/ waking only to the sound of clattering/ Stability tumbles from once anchored shelves. Coat me in rancid fantasies/ Bloated and putrefied imaginings that have turned/ sour. Sweet in their decay/ they are toxic.

Only the keyboard knows I am broken, Returning with impatient fingers and heavy eyelids, I tell it my sorrows When others will not listen. It is constant in its curiosity-   A canvas for trouble, A sheet for shrill notes And vulgar lyrics. I wonder, at times, If I am capable of filling an empty page. I wonder, at times, If anyone will bother to listen. And here in my insecurity lies a coward, Afraid of her own process, Unwilling to document her own tragedy To an ever-willing audience.

I got my diploma They said “you can go” All the parents applauded Now you will or you won’t. Life is uncertain, But I am full grown, Now, they still listen, But they don’t seem to know. I have the same problems The same questions, I ask But now they’re uncertain Wavering, cracked. My path is unclear, I meander and turn. With no path to guide me, I stumble and swerve. They ask the same questions “will you or won’t you?” I’m two years adult-ed I’ve got the diploma to show you. But I stumble and fall, Uncertain as ever- Hoping someone will guide me Or I’ll find o