I

the first time i chased death

to ask him 

why it was like this

it was a bottle of rubbing alcohol

a sip pulling against my lips

the cool burn on my taste buds

like vodka 

if it was trying to kill you

and death told me to try again

i wasn't ready for the answer

II

the second time 

i was in my backyard

and i thought of how judas 

felt what he had done

i wondered if the knives 

under my ribcage

would hurt

the monsters 

if i pulled them out

i felt a lions claws on my hip

like three months prior

i felt the way my insides 

were left empty

and the sharp marks across 

hipbones

and thighs

i asked death again

in a message under 

a bottle of hydrocodone

a few white pills that slipped

one by one

down my throat

11 total

after death left me alone to think

and the hospital dragged the life back in me 

i told them it would never happen again

III

i was being pulled 

in every direction

and no one was listening to the screams 

plaguing my sleep

i screamed one last time and said 

done

I was empty

of feeling

of hope

of care

Apathy handed me 40 pills

and down they went

every pill I could find

was filling the emptiness

i was made to tell

and damn did i fight and scream and sobb

i fussed until a needle was stuck in my arm for a week

and I still felt numb

this time i wasn't looking for death

but he found me

and told me 

the truth

The door shuts I do not want it too

I wait a second then move forward in front of the car

I wait and watch as the car backs up changes direction and finally starts to pull away.

I wait as the back lights of the car slowly pull up the drive dirt to pavement.

The car is gone now but still I wait tense, listening to the cars engine as it gets quieter

This wait it over now comes the next wait to hear back know she is safe

The last wait is the worse lasting anywhere between 10 hours to many days

This wait is the worst to be sure but it all is worth it at the end when I see her eyes again.

There's just something about nothing

the hollowness feels like being complete;

like your mother never hit your sister,

or your boyfriend didn't pour insults down your throat lungs like cigarettes smoke,

or the bruises on your arms are from 

something other than an ER room at 2 in the morning

it will turn your lungs inside out,

and make you crave frailty,

ivory bones,

and skin like sheer silk

You'll find

a body looks less like a battlefield

when there are hipbones peeking out

It feels more like your own

when the hips with handprint branding

shrink

and if you don't eat enough

they'll call you a bird

and never know how true it is

here's the thing about this bird,

under the soundproof skin,

diet coke thighs

and withering organs

there's a bluebird soaring

and the less you eat

the higher she flies

Emptiness feels like courage

when there's nothing inside you but yourself

you can be dangerous

with collarbones like iridescent switchblades

and a stomach that's been eating itself for 3 days straight

if you can stand that

what can they do to you;

nothing 

Let me tell You a secret:

I do not know what I'm doing

I move like fog

and I aim to be a rumor,

I want their eyes to dart towards me,

see me

-without the skeleton, amnesia and gunpowder-

and be infatuated

Let me define myself if only through a cryptogram:

I want to disappear before I can disappoint you with the etched graffiti on my hipbones

I want them to see a great blue bird in the mist,

free-spirited like a breeze,

and fall in love with her before she leaves

But I am a northern fox

with hazel eyes and blackberries on my mind

And fur far too dark to be arctic

but eyes far too wary to be anything but

*****

she hunts alone,

on mountain tops with the taste of a cigarette on our tongues 

and here is where she kills,

(or is it where I run away)

She dances around the timber in her constant analysis 

(I've been trying so hard to avoid the city lights, 

which burn grotesque figures from my nightmares onto my iris' every time I witness them,

that I'm not even sure what she's looking for anymore)

She's fighting to gain some insight into what occurred

(while I can only struggle against the monster with no eyes and so many teeth)

She tells me there is a race in my mind and I must always win

(if he catches me again I won't be strong enough to fight back)

so I will soar to catch the songbird 

and I will sprint until her freedom is mine 

Then the whispers can only gawk

They will want to qualify me, I'm sure

But there is no understanding how the fog and the moon

will take this cunning fox and turn it into a royal thrush

The only thing I can say for certain is the wartorn bone will still be there,

just more obscure

Because I only care what they think of my flesh

Underneath, the breathless girl 

with crushed lungs, a bittersweet butterscotch voice,

and a body too large and too small

and everything at once 

is not for them

(or for You)

she is cherished 

and the only ones allowed to witness her

are the animals that are thrown out by the group of Trolls 

that live under the water,

as she has been through the same treatment

*****

These Trolls will stop all travelers

because no one can leave their kin,

and if you do

You are the big bad wolf

and it doesn't matter what's growling for you in the woods,

because you mustn't leave something 

that wants so badly

to devour you

But no matter, Trolls won't stop me any longer,

I will run and hide from all those things I do not trust

and I have no apologies,

I will bare my body to whoever I want 

without remorse

and will not be told that it is wicked,

because I am an art museum 

with a great big sign that says "no touching"

*****

Long ago a big bad lion

with ash speckled on his face

like snowflakes

pawed at the artwork without asking

and now it's torn

You can't even see it unless you get close

but the cracks grow every day

and although I seal them shut with gold

my paint is chipping

I try to hide it in the things you won't notice:

A glimpse into untamed hearts,

letters to the moon and her army of stars,

smoke slipping from my lips into the streaks sunlight

and the thrill of a chase. 

But really, 

all I want you to see 

is the heart so big 

it bursts inside this tiny bird body

but instead 

I have an empty ribcage with a soul broken into bits and stored 

I keep my only part in the pocket 

always on me like that last bit of carmel 

its there 

but never where you'd think to look

The other parts have been gifted 

to the few deer I know will swallow it 

and keep it close to their lungs

*****

No one can ever get a complete piece

because if they stay too long

they'll see the hollowness that lives in my skin;

the ash falling from my eyelashes like tears

and the purple colored caves dug out under my coffee-colored lids

then again, the trickster is much better at hiding the cracks

but even if I could run home with my paws dirty from the pursuit,

if I could try to rinse them off 

and fit into the cage built of my obligations,

she does not like to be stuck in a home like a jail cell,

even now, I can barely stand it some days

The animal will listen to few

(and I am usually not one of them),

her feral instincts do not like being confined

in floral bedsheets like the noose on my death sentence

****

So here's my confession:

The museum won't let you touch art because 

as soon as you lay your polluted hands on it

it's less than before

Sometimes the thought of clean air frightens me

because without contamination

I do not know how my lungs should work,

How does my heart skip a beat 

when there is no fear of You,

how do I find a vision beautiful

when there is no chiaroscuro of panic to darken it 

*****

So darling,

all I can say is

I may love you

and promise you forever

but no matter how strong and warm the sun in my heart grows

every star has to die

and maybe this love will die with me,

but please remember dear:

I may not be a bird 

but God can I run from You like I'm soaring in the clouds,

and terror was only a tether to keep me on the ground

My stitches fitted your scars,

perfectly.

Under the first full moon of May,

delusional,

you kissed me and told me

"My heart is yours!"

You promised me.

Then you ripped mine,

brutally,

leaving my face with blood,

effortlessly.

How wishful of me to think

your forever is 

the same as mine. 

While you kiss her now,

calmly,

speaking words of love,

certainly,

the scars you left on my soul

now fit to the stitches

on your past.

Now I'm watching you,

heartless,

only my shadow hunts you,

speachless.

You feel my soul 

grabbing the parts of you

that you keep hiden.

Ripping every piece,

brutally, 

dancing with your fears,

effortlessly.

How wishful of you to think 

that I won't haunt you 

till your last breath. 

And she, she was just a bonus,

lucky me.  

at dusk the mossy streets sing

as the soft drizzle leaves sopping irises to tell their tale

they sew a tale, fast and burning, like the hum embedded in my heartbeat,

thumping as their wet eyes refract into an iron Taurus constellation

during the night I run

I run from this whispered story,

its told in the soft lit streets

in the stars

and worst

in the fairy lights which hang above my bed

its told in the burn of the bile rising in my throat

and terror every time I see freckles which look like stars on hunched shoulders and hands

hands that touch under the moonlight

these memories chase me like the bulls in Pamploma

their hooves beat like heavy steel against my ribs

and the only thought in my head is

“please stop”

but he wont listen

we met that night under hallowed star light

the cosmos flowing like a celestial river through the alluvial hymns and molten eternity

we took a leap at dusk,

exploring like Charon traveling in the river Styx in a golden timbered gondola which tunneled

through an orchestra of stars forged by heaven’s blacksmith,

conjoining as we do, twisting like snakes or tempered steel which has been baptized in fire

burning and distorting like smelted cosmos of Plexiglas

You whispered to me like the stars do,

mumbling the eternal melody, singing tales through thunder,

a story like that of Scheherazade

a hopeful ache like a stain glass halo illuminating Saturn

We joined like waves lapping at broken atoms

having finally finished following an amber string

which weaved through moonlit temples

still twisting on columns and fraying at the ancient maze to the alter

We found Elysium

through watercolor ballads

I love you.

Yet I am a coward.

I have loved you longer

Than I have ever loved myself.

But I can't tell you that.

I will love you from a distance

Silently.

Because I'm too scared to go up to you.

And I feel that

It could never work out between us.

Because you're you

Dazzling, Gorgeous, Perfect.

And I'm only plain old me.

And I'm afraid things'll go wrong.

So I'm left here to love the idea of you

What you symbolize in my mind

Love.

Because I don't want to suffer openly.

Since I am a coward.