So this is what falling apart feels like.

My seams are ripped anew

but there’s no blood left to run from these wounds I’m…done.


I’m empty.

I hid it and kept the stitches so tight but tonight

my long white grip on control is failing like I do

and I miss you.




Words I can’t bear to have my heart think but

she’s screaming at me now so I remind myself

to hate you.


I look at the frayed threads

The hollow limbs

The shell that’s put away its soul because she hurts too much

And the thought of being proven right isn’t enough to give me quiet.


I have to hate you

Or I’ll really begin to feel nothing

And she’ll die when she doesn’t deserve to.


Don’t mistake it for blue flamed rage because it isn’t.

I hate with what little is left – there aren’t enough embers to detest

The hatter that shouldn’t have covet

Or the wolf that came as a rabbit promising adventure if I’d only follow:

“Quick little Alice”, quick to the gallows


I wish I had lost my head…instead of all the rest.

I wish I, and my tired soul, could forget.


Every day a little closer to the truth.
Every day a little further away.
Always such a fine line that divides the two.
With the hostile tug-of-war between fire and ice –
little Mary’s become a little sinful:
spilling blood in the pews,
dragging her fingers through the ashes,
and drinking the holy water while she dances
and Father disapproves…

I found ways to build walls
protecting myself, protecting you.
You found ways to twist the truth,
justifying your self-inflicted wounds.
In the end we stand with our backs pressed
against each other
breath fogging both sides of the mirror
and our hearts held in the grasps of the
people we thought we knew.