“Everything in it’s place”

When do I know I’ve gone too far?
How many more times will I twist
This knife in my chest before
Letting the handle go?

Where will I run next?
Where can I go when my bridges are aflame
And I can hardly see through the smoke?

How will this finally end?
What will they say when it does?
What will I?



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.

“I think only of you”

“I think only of you”

And I will choke on all your good intentions
as I fall deeper still,
and forget how to breathe
having lost my will,
doing that which I abhor
in pursuit of when I wanted more.

But time
and it’s persistent ticking,
and obsessive compulsion to go forward
stays as fundamentally unchangeable as it always has,
and I am dull at the edges…
bitter where I’ve lost my bite
pen leaving scratches where it no longer bleeds – a shell of itself
held by the shell that is me,
tanks nearing empty
too far beneath the sea