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

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Awake

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.

 

There.

 

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.

Wonderland

Fingers dance with shadows on the ceiling and

faint light filtering through the gaps between them take away the night’s sharper edges

and I fill the quiet with lilting piano that begins to lull…

 

But anxiety coils in my chest,

a troublingly comforting weight pressing into my lungs

tugging at the droplets forming at the corner of my eyes without real reason

wrapping itself around me in a reminder of just who I am though  I had briefly forgotten.

 

The outstretched hand above me feels a separate entity, chasing shadows still, playing while I watch, while I think too much:

About wonderland and Cheshire cats and madmen with hats just like mine,

About Guillotines and dead priests and  metal that binds.

 

And I want to tell you all my secrets,

here in almost-darkness where we’ve hidden ourselves from the world-

here where my other hand lays between us with fingers intertwined with yours-

here where you have invaded my chest and taken hold-

 

 

Here where like a moth to a flame, like Icarus to the sun, I am drawn to you and I want nothing more than to be devoured,

 

But I’ve lost all my words.

 

Lost all my words like I’ve lost track of time here,

like I’ve lost track of how afraid I should probably be

of feeling this safe-

of feeling this sane-

of how quickly returned anxiety leaves

 

Of forgetting my heart is a rock that bleeds because

I love…

I need…

I want…

I ache…

I feel.

White Noise

White Noise

feel it

cutting across, leaving

red lines behind.

Counting them all one more time

I find I am just another cracked barricade

with the rust bleeding through-

the best of fault lines,

but no one else was at fault this time.

She tempted me with White Noise

made from overlapping thoughts

and unclear voices.

Why must I always be at war with myself?

My ears bleed from the sound

yet I break in it’s absence:

I, myself, am a contradiction

but

one could be driven sane from all the nothing

so

i gave it its own form of life

and

I sharpened her knives

and

I held on to the White Noise

and

I forget I once craved the silence I leave behind.