Author's Note: Song is mostly unrelated, it's just the kind of bitterness that this poem reminds me of. Lincoln - How I Survived Bobby Mackey's Personal Hell Start by finding your passion, what you want to do, and bury it six feet deep. Take a knife and split yourself open, find every soft and honest …
Most ghosts I know are still breathing. I see them in the things I want to tell them, the time we could’ve had. They’re a shadow on my threshold, whispers in my ear. A simple fact of life, but it feels like being hollowed out. They don’t have to die for me to mourn. x …
it's a hard place to live. the briars digging into my skin, the rose-thorns curl like a noose around my neck. rocks fill my lungs, leeches crawl down my throat. there’s belladonna and lead in my blood, rot tearing through my stomach. I’m a moon, I’m a mouse, I’m coal, I’m a diamond. I’m an …
I’ve been thinking about old statues of dogs. Whether they did something great, or just simply were — that isn’t what’s important. We pass by statues and sculptures everyday, but most of us won’t give them more than a thought. Whether they were evil or good. But statues of dogs are different. Over the decades, …
Summer burns within me, with white-hot hatred and gentle love, Hateful for this world and those put in charge, hateful for those who bite into hearts, hateful for how they enjoy the blood running down their chin. Loving those who are there when I reach for them, loving the ones who hold me at night, …
It’s a dark — and quiet — night. The moon waits at the window, lacking the peeking curiosity of the sun. The July wind stirs the blinds, followed by orange street lamps and distant stars. Your head is on my shoulder, hair tickling my nose. You sleep. I listen to the soft stirring of the …
I want to bite my skin, to taste the thick copper in my mouth, to let it drip from my lips like a warning. I want the blood to drown me, to soften myself, to turn my body to clay. I want to reshape the putty, to work out the flaws, to make something worth …
you are insignificant, says god from behind a cloud, but we just shake our heads, and tell him that he’s wrong. we tell him that we are unstoppable. we are lightning, brief flashes of light and power, gone before the earth can hear our cry, but striking with the force to burst trees and crack …
you are everything. you are the oasis of a desert, a fireplace in a snowstorm. you are the anchor for my ship, my lighthouse in the storm. you are the blood running through my body, the lining of my heart. you are the end of the road, and the hand I’ll hold every step of …
BACK THEN Eve doesn’t remember when she first ended up on the streets of Adeshell, or where she was before that, but she does remember where it started. The hunger was the sharpest memory she had of that time. How it gnawed at her core. How difficult it was some days to sleep while her …
