Glasses-And-Blades

And once again my chest expands with dragon fangs and teething pains in the splits of my veins, the ouroboros circling around my heart blind and hungry and I hiss as its scales drag across my voice like a blade at the neck of a crying infant. Immortality spins beneath the hollow of my throat and I bleed from the truth, the glass of the world breaking on my back. Take the shards and eat it. There is no life without pain.

Summer burns its spine into my shoulders through the asphalt and I cry the lullabies my mother used to sing me //bury the memories underneath my fingernails like a splinter that will never heal// //only to bare my teeth when my tongue finds its blackened corner//

We take shots of honey & make pinky promises with the moon. (She loves the sun but we vowed we wouldn't tell him) Trace constellations into the grass because there's nothing else we want to do except count the minutes together.

You take my name and snap it like a wrist bone. Crack the consonants over your tongue until the vowels lay limply in your mouth. Bone shards. The letters fall half-dead at your feet. I cradle them in my lap, sobbing their sounds as if I could scream life into them again. As if echoing their mutilated syllables would make me belong to myself again. You have my blood on your fingers. You have my blood on your fingers but you simply wipe it off on your pant leg.

2:45 am: Depression finds me with flickering eyes and aching wrists and it pulls back the covers of my bed, sitting on the edge of my mattress with hands folded in its lap just like my mother when she wanted to talk. It stares at me, tight lipped, a question in the air between us and I breathe it in, blinking salt veined eyes, then concede with a nod. 12:15 pm: Depression greets me with my head buried in my pillows and its hand against my hair telling me to go back to sleep so I curl into the refuge of my blankets while the clock on my bedstand ticks another few hours off my life. 6:00 pm: Depression sneaks up on me as I stare at the food

Anxiety gnaws my wrists to the bone

Pale dawn paints the sky And songbirds start their chatter As morning descends

As I sit here in the penumbra of dusk, I experience a sense of nostalgic vertigo as I fall back into the past- tumbling into memories of you. My back against the cold stone, I feel the chill soaking up my spine, but I stay still. The vermilion leaves if the trees are falling, the grass beneath my feet are turning brown, but the early autumn scenery is wasted on me. I'm stuck in the train of my thoughts sending me back through a kaleidoscope of lost moments. It starts with a soft golden glow, the sun was rising in its muted brilliance, painting the gossamer clouds a lumanent platinum. We were sitting on the roof watching the night sky molt i

Dear Cholie, The moon whispered your name to me the other night. I cupped the pressed flower petal syllables in my palms and tested its melody in my mouth. (And it was periwinkle veined sunshine, a blue bird singing its morning song in the rose gold of a new day) Would you spend an afternoon with me? I'd love to visit an antique store with you and quietly observe what your fingertips linger on, learn the shade your eyes take on in gentle dust flecked light. Or we could curl up outside with our favourite books resting in our laps as a pot of tea cools on the table, exchanging snippets between every sip we take. What type of music do

It's the lines that sorrow carves into ones palms. I wrap my hands around the pink ribbon and whisper your name like a prayer. "Lala, what's your favourite flower?" You'd tilt your head and give a little smile, opening your mouth to say- but I guess I will never know the answer.

You're inches underneath my skin, cut me open and I'll bleed the colour of your eyes. But that's what love is, isn't it? I find traces of you in my arteries, my pluviophilic lungs gasp for the petrichor lining your throat and I swear our ribs fit like puzzle pieces. (I trace the lines in your palms and they mimic my scars) ((Not even Zeus could separate us))

i. Roses She breathes through tattered lungs & with every inhale that pierces through her she coughs up thorns, telling herself that she's used to the taste of her own blood but her teeth are starting to ache as pain wraps itself around her tongue & you could hand her the shears but she refuses to take them, too scared of how much it would hurt to heal ii. Clematis I trace the v(ei/i)n(e)s curling up her willowy wrists, my whispers dropping into her lap like stones (and she wraps her fingers around them, studies them with amethyst eyes) words flower from her lips. Faerie girl, I bloom into her embrace and thread my confessions in

Leap year girl; tonight you are vanilla candle wax and unvoiced pain

I'm watching the flowers bloom from her throat, watching her throw back her head and chug vodka, petals raining down to the dirty floor. She says she wants to forget your name. Rip the ocean out of her veins, she's drowning herself and she says she won't stop.

Ash princess You thought you were a phoenix but choked on the flames

And like a cherry blossom Blooming before his time You sprouted lies of a spring season ahead But I I was the bitter chill Of a stubborn Winter Clinging to your knotted roots Yet you brushed me off -carelessly- Left me swirling down to the earth Like a feuillemort leaf Then Summer came In shades of sweet pastels With vibrant neon hues And I watched you flowering into her embrace As I withered away

Are my words tinged with a little too much darkness for your taste? Well, maybe yours are just a little too shiny and clean for mine.