PaintedxDark

god cried for us that afternoon on the rocks, if I could be so selfish; you had your hands grasping at my empty vapors before I’d had the chance to whisper to you.          I see you                 shaking. I know you’re                 hungry and I know                 the temperature of your                 eyes when you lie. you                 said you were lonely. half-truths are the essence of symbiotic relationships, your fingers trailing along my hips, glacier blue eyes holding me still. the rapids churned. god cried for me that afternoon. he was selfish, too.

i. dear sunshine, you are my bruises. welts along my wrists, fingertips dancing on my neck. bluebird, you were a midnight mistake leaking over the next morning. you wept and all the world called you beautiful; we kissed the naked silence between your bones, we watched you drown yourself in vodka and not-so- secrets, and we brought you back to life; we held you as you quaked like a tragedy in its first bloom. I called you beautiful, and you used all of me [I am as naked as the breeze, as useless as a songbird without a note. I am as hungry the tide and as lonely as the moon who calls upon it; starlight, you took all of me, the negative sp

Many a time I've seen you there within the dungeons murky-deep: ever to seek me without care, my shield is mine yet yours to keep Though with gingered maw my cloth you seize to nibble with such tender touch. Might you truly hope to please to hurt so little, yet take so much? And could it be another way of saying admiration yet unsaid- velvet thought not for light of day but for darker paths none have tread? In my heart I wish it could be. You are Like-Like, yet you love me?

forgiveness is the scent the violet leaves on the foot that stomped it; I am beautiful in remembrance: I am beautiful  in a body two sizes too      large, in eyes dilated  with questions (eyes you cannot name; gray     like the ocean, blue        like the heart, green like       the fever dream I cannot      wake from) I am the    hair of a lion, a wild     thing, ignition upon   tempted glance. I am the skin you cannot name, always fleeting;                                  the chameleon                        you always see      but never truly take in.                  and I know a boy           carved of ivory sil

newton’s laws never applied to you. maybe tomorrow won’t come, and we will always be a few gestures short of decryption. maybe you are that glint on the edge of the horizon; intoxicated flirtation of a star, of a wish whispered into skin that cannot listen. I traced so many apologies into your spine; Dear Amy, my body is an empty bookshelf and I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a perfect ending. Dear Amy, you are more than the hands that hollowed you and made you quiet. Dear Amy, stunted emotional development is a blessing but I’m so scared I’ll hurt you I’m so scared I care about you, you’r

save room for doubt, in the silence between religious guilt and stolen body heat. I am made of helium. in my dreams they                                pop me and watch me flutter. I wonder if everyone else’s head is so congested as mine, hyperactive with inattentive people.   you are never serious-- he stares at me in a different set of eyes; there are words I cannot say,   there are things I cannot tell you.                      (twice a week                   I watch the people I love         leave me for good. there are      spiders in my throat,                                            I have                    tunnel vis

tonight I ask myself:  where are you going with all these names  in your pockets? syllables that taste  unauthentic in the desperate American  mouth.     repression is a series of images   golden streetlights   blinking   pedantically     earthbound angels breathing     flame, starving hands speaking     in tongues, glazed eyes     asking are you fucking okay        pale skin becoming moonlight,        reflecting and refracting and   the quiet understatement   of listless   lips.   mutual poison.

I am   shaking ligaments,        tender machinations,    unrealistic ideologies of an arbitrary                              cynicist.      [gaps between   human sympathy are toxic; breathing is a chore. there is  a careful warmth in the     combined effort of       necessity's unwanted        side effects.] we are the forgotten. we are the tangled limbs and childhood stories for a more sensitive future; we are the longing, we are the limitless.     we are measured   in the people we touch; and I will love you      in the UV light of                             hide and seek paranoia.        I love you in the red shimme

I’ve been sitting on your doorstep for three days. Here are the nothings I left under the mat: i.I do not feel like a lion anymore, an alpha wolf, a hyena or any other strong-willed beast. ii. Today, I want to take my scars out to lunch, feed them your eyes, & your tongue until it bleeds sorrow, and “please forgive me’s”. iii.  You wish I never existed as you grind those words into my wrists like they are red hibiscus blossoms. & I’ll have you know I am a flower, bloomed, rooted deep into the soil. You are just a combination of 26 letters- an “I wish…”