I Wish I Still Had Scars From You

I wish I still had scars from you.
Because when I remember
how I hurt you,
I want to rip my skin
into shreds of paper
that blow in the wind until I am no more.
I wish I could bleed,
tear at my soul
until nothing exists
but the blood and the bone
of my very being
and I am alone.
It hurts to recall,
a pit in my stomach
growing and absorbing all light and life
until it sits,
gnawing at my heart,
indulging in each beat with relish.
And I’m sorry.
There’s a passive aggressive bone hidden
somewhere within the ribs,
maybe the third one down,
and it poisons my mind.
And I’m sorry.
My blood is ichor,
but the devil’s instead,
and it scorches and twists through veins
until boiling into one unleashed act.
And I’m sorry
that I can’t find the words to express it.
That I have to be rude.
That I pushed you away.
Because I can’t have people close
when I fail to live up to
the expectations
of myself.

Love Discarded

I have issues, this I know.
For my history tells me so.
But you were different, never the worst,
never thinking I was cursed,
or flawed.
Maybe if I still believed in God.

But it’s painful, sometimes,
you and me,
the way we be,
is it heaven or hell
(it hurts so bad I cannot tell).

And I still love you.
Or I think I do, or did;
split apart, god forbid
in hide and seek if I hid,
because you would never search for me.

It’s leaves on the branches in a tree,
our love the breeze,
our bodies dashed on the ground,
broken skeletons of plants dissolved,
so I let you go.

I Can’t Sleep

Something’s wrong.
I can’t rest, can’t sleep
can’t find comfort
in a bed and sheets,
or warmth, safety,
a pillow beneath my head.

I can’t sleep.

I’m in a perpetual state
of pure exhaustion,
eyes a desert,
on fire,
burning eternally.
My mind stops,
a fragment of thought a refrain with no end,
half-finished stories, prolonged ideas,
persisting,
day in, day out,
no rest for a wicked mind,
and
I can’t sleep.

Love

Love
I wish I could describe it,
the taste on my tongue,
the bitterness,
the sour,
the hurt.
The way words cut deep,
whittling away
at a soul,
at a mind,
at a heart,
until it is sharp,
stabbing,
a razor in all of its harsh edges,
one that only hurts its owner.
I wish I could describe it,
the aching,
the wanting,
the need for approval,
for belonging to someone,
something
greater than yourself,
how it sits heavy,
the taste familiar,
something long gone and faded.
I wish I could describe it,
how I need you here,
with me.

See Me

Can you see me?
Sometimes I can’t. The reflection
in the glass
is not the same face
I know.
The shapes are there,
the nose, the lips,
the curl in the frown of confusion.
But the eyes are different.
They’re not mine.
Can you see me?
Trapped behind an ocean
of ideas and thoughts and voices
that used to be mine,
that are now lost
in time.
I can’t remember, forget,
I’m stuck, alone, tangled
in memory and regret.
Can you see me?
Sometimes,
I can’t.