Broken glass

reflects in the light,

shining with memory.

Chairs overflow with stuffing,

flooding rooms with:

antique smiles,

ancient conversations,

forgotten tears.

A decrepit ballroom

still breathes in time

with echoes of waltzes past.

Gothic stone walls

hold in them

innumerable histories,

unknown to the human eye,

but written in a brail

only palpable by the heart.

My heart sung as I plunged the knife into the whore's stomach. I laughed gleefully as her eyes widen, suddenly aware of what was going to happen to her. She was mine now, I could do whatever I wanted to her. I could plunge the knife again and again, or I could slowly slid it along her now beautiful skin, making it pour her crimson blood, staining her skin. Making it beautiful no more. I could leave her here in the empty ally making sure that the only way anyone would recognize her would be by her dental records. I could leave her posed beautifully, accenting what made her so lust worthy. The curves of her body, so irresistible, any man could be swayed by them. Her sea blue eyes that anyone could get lost in. Her flawless skin every women around her dreamed of having. Her smile, so enchanting it could trap a man with just a glimpse of it. All of these features would prove why she was so evil. Why she was the perfect one for me. As a whore she knew how to use these features to get what she wanted. She wrapped anyone she could around her little finger. She had too much power over men, that's why she had to be stopped. 

I left her in the ally, beaten and bruised. The knife cuts that once bleed a crimson color were left to turn to an ugly rust. I left her there looking like the whore she was. I left her to find my next release. 

You had me at first sip.

Strong and smooth,

straight from the drip.

Latte hearts and burning tongues,

Maybe I thought you were my one.

Vanilla,

Brown sugar,

You were my lover,

dancing in the Americano dark.

Coffee dates and sweet charades,

I will never be the same,

My teeth no longer pearly white.

You had me breaking into

a caffeinated sweat.

Wasn't hungry, couldn't sleep.

Anxiety had taken over me.

My hands, how they would shake.

Warmth and passion

stay only for a time.

You took back your heart,

but still you have mine.

Macchiato loving

coming to a close,

an empty mug and lipstick stains

where my mouth once froze.

To say you saved my life would be an understatement.

I was dead. Far beyond rot, smell & decay.

Just bones tossed in a shallow box, torched with hate & rage, then thrown to the ditch amongst dog shit & weeds. There I laid forgotten. Not missing. Not lost. Forgotten.

And then here you come along wanting to love me ...

but,

Blind, I couldn't see your hand

Numb, I couldn't feel your touch

Deaf, I couldn't hear your voice ...

still you stayed & carefully picked me up piece by piece. You meticulously put me back together with each tear of hope, you cleansed me of pain ...

All the while holding tight to strength with every push & shove you endured from me.

Still you stayed, & every glance was air to my lungs & rhythm to a once still heart ...

I began to see you, your eyes, so genuine,

then I began to feel you, your touch, so gentle, and finally I heard you, your voice

so strong, so pure, & this you said ~

"My exquisite corpse

now alive ...

It's just you and me ...

Can I keep you" ...

This morning I cracked your skull open on your kitchen floor just to see what was inside.

It wasn't violent. I'm not a violent person. I'm just curious. There are things I need to know.

You always kept a spare key underneath the mat out back. You know I knew that. 

You were so sleepy and you stayed so still. I must have surprised you with my strength. I've been working out lately, did you know? I think it's pretty obvious.

Behind every left ear is a little lever. You just gotta know how to handle it. Your brain opened up to me like a lover as soon as I pressed down. Your blood was warm and sticky and expansive.

I picked you apart. Gristle and tendons stuck to my fingers as I pawed through the mush. 

You know if you had answered my damn calls I wouldn't have had to come find you like this. 

I dug through every inch of your mind. Every inch. And I couldn't find a single trace of me. Even in the darkest, hardest corners. Your brain tasted like candy and dirt and of nothing. Nothing.

Where was I? What was the point of all of this pain if you don't even have a speck of me inside you?

I left you there but not before I crawled inside you and made my mark. I was nothing but now I'm whole. And you're just a puddle on the floor.

I don’t want to be your receptacle, your waste bin for snagged pick-up lines and heavy breathing fantasies. To you I am simply a thing to fill, something for you to repaint so that I might match a mirage, a paradise in your mind. I want you to read me like one reads a forgotten love letter. I want you to venture within me to see the sprouting seeds in my mind, not to feast upon the pomegranates in my pelvis. But you would rather trail my skin as if beneath my flesh hid my secrets encoded in braille. I wish you knew that my secrets do not cower in my body. I bleed myself onto a keyboard. I knit my secrets into words and punctuate them with bows. I hand them to you for your consumption, but you let them fall through your fingers like ash. All I can do is hide away. All I can do is move my jaw like a marionette and pretend that my heart’s sutures aren’t bursting. 

Last night, my stomach ascended my throat and crawled out of my mouth, splaying itself on the floor as a grotesque butterfly pinned down under a harsh light. And there were butterflies, but they were broken. They were blue like sapphires and red like a first kiss, but their wings were crooked and frayed. They slowly spilled out of my stomach like strangers with tousled hair and twisted spines shuffling out of unfamiliar houses at sunrise. But there are no more sunrises here—only constant twilight. Who would’ve thought that lips on lips could break me down to flesh and bone? Now my skull is filled with buzzing—buzzing—buzzing. Someone quiet the hive because the comb never had honey in it anyway. Let the beekeeper breathe his noxious cloud into my lungs so that I may find peace in a deep slumber, with sod as my blanket and bedrock as my pillow.

I have seen the endless slaughterhouse of society

Figure heads regarded with the utmost piety

Our dreams, thoughts, and memories come from television

The media is nothing more than a distraction

It's all part of their master plan

To ruin the once free land