The way my hands bleed
Every time I hold onto you
I swear I try to not let you go
But the blood
it’s just so fucking slippery
Any every time
you slip through
my bloody hands
I lose more of me
than I lose of you
I wish I remembered
how to cry
How to let go of my demons
And maybe then
just maybe then
I could finally learn
To hold you the way
You deserve to be held
And never fucking let go
of you again
Awake at 3 am, wondering if she’s awake too, aching with thoughts of you. Knowing though, that she’s probably not. She’s sleeping, tangled with someone else. You look over, see a stranger next to you, and wonder what happened in your life, where did it break down this bad, and will it always be this broken.
Maybe there was a single moment, a catalyst that started it all. Or maybe it just eroded, one spec at a time. And then you realize it doesn’t really matter does it… The how. Only that it is.
Maybe tonight is just another mask. Melancholy, to go with the others. Maybe this introspection will pass and another mask slip on, and maybe this ache will pass. Too many maybe’s.
As much as I love the night, it’s never quite good to me. Torn between sleeplessness with its ugly self realizations and nightmares that rip…
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She was strong
When what
She really wanted
Was to be delicate
Like a butterfly
And so that’s
What she let
The world see
A delicate butterfly
But the world
Had taught
Her lessons
She never wanted
To learn
It was no place
For delicate butterflies
And so
She would teach
The world
Her time
For delicate
Was over
She was now
A strong
Beautiful dragon
With a bloody mouth
Full of butterflies
Epilogue
Over the years I’ve had many dreams and nightmares about dragons eating butterflies. I have no idea what it means, but the imagery is always vivid. And when an amazing Twitter account that I follow changed her avi to a picture of a woman with a bloody butterfly in her mouth, it immediately caused a visceral reaction, and I was compelled to write this, with her permission.
Thank you @CrystalsChaotic for the inspiration and letting me…
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How did I let you
Dig so deep
There are places
Inside of me
That shouldn’t be explored
Yet somehow
When I retreat
To those darkest corners
And all I hear
Are the echoes of you
I only hope
I didn’t contaminate you
As you
Were infiltrating me
I was once in a house in a city, continents, even an ocean away, and I felt more at home than home ever did. I know what you’re wondering – what was this city?
And you see, that’s exactly the wrong question. It didn’t matter what house, what city, even what continent away.
No, the question is why home has never once, in all my life, felt like home.
Too many things
Spinning in my head
And crashing
Through my heart
I think I’ll close my eyes
Just for a little bit
And try to remember
Simply how to breathe
It’s all slipping away,
each shiny minute you were mine.
We crumble as we fall,
ancient shards on frozen floors,
and all I see is you,
holding me up,
reminding me to breathe,
proving we existed
even when it felt like
walking in dreams.
~Patience
“I miss home. The pine smell right after it rains. There’s nothing like it.”
“How long has it been?”
“Too long, man, too long. Fifteen years in July, but I’m goin’ back. I’ve got to see the river, the trees. For God’s sakes, Florida just isn’t the same.”
“Sounds amazing. But I thought you haven’t gone back for a reason. Do you remember what you told me that night outside Mickey’s?”
“I was pretty drunk.”
“But you do remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“You said your friends were all gone, close but not in town, that she was there, and that meant you had no reason to go.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
“I meant that I could go and see David and Cisco and Pat, but–”
“Yeah?”
“But she’s the only reason I really want to go. I want to sit by the river, I want…
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You told me I was wrong
to all my rights
as I stared at tombstones
read ancient Greek adages
rolled in limousines
to graveyards and churches
but funerals are exactly like weddings
do not fool yourself
death and love
are interchangeable.
Wear black for white
white for black
only my mom is left now.
Coffin upon coffin of years
scan pictures to lost villages
escape time with movie star poses
kiss strangers into friends.
Drink shots of Metaxa and Greek coffee
for six days straight
and still the pain is not numb
it is all a farce
this life.
Our bodies cold
with painted lips and
pretty dresses
or suits
to make a new home
stare at endings
make new beginnings.
late night philosophical quests
of broken dreams
unedited manuscripts.
Always doing what we could
to be understood
but all I want to do
is be
misunderstood.
Bury me with…
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thegirlshewas 