I hold my arms around my knees, pressing my heart to my palms, my feet tucked beneath the sheets of my bed. I can hear my lungs flood anger and grief into the air around me. I can hear my heartbeats weave hieroglyphs of sorrow in the chemicals around you as you lean against the doorway, your glass eyes shattering. I can take the warmth of my bed no longer; I fall to floor, my chin jutting into the wood, desperately trying to cut into the earth, to force my body through the floor. The pain is building inside of me, like a thousand knives pressing against the vulnerable parts of my body. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. The words cloud my mind like a drug, as if Darkness is breathing into my scalp, his breath saturating every root. I can not take the words in. I can not force myself to swallow their jagged edges. I press my hands to my head, pulling my hair from my head in desperation. I am writhing inside, throwing myself around the sky, the moon breaking my ribs, the tree snapping my legs. I am destroying the world inside. Burning every flower of my mind, but keeping the memories. I have to keep the memories. The memories that torture me with truth. I wish I could forget. I am bleeding inside. But all you can see is the fragile body molding the earth with her fists clenched in her fading hair. I wish you could see. I wish you could see. I wish you could save me.

My Dearest Forest,

You may notice that I write to all of you more frequently than I write to the singular individual. It is not because I have started to lose care in each and all of you, no, it is simply a matter by which I am coping with several loses that have occurred at once.  As I am sure most of you know, the Fox has otherwise been banished from our home - though I pine for her return partly that I may finish what I started, but that is a beast I should not let have satisfaction. There was also news that the White Rabbit may have been caught by huntsman. This news only shook me slightly, but the knowledge of it was enough to cause a slight tremble in my bowels. The Turtle has left as well, but for all our sake it was on a good note and she will keep a continuous envoy between our home and her land. I am sorry that I must bring such bad news all at once, but I have it not in me to elongate these happenings and given them to you bit by bit. I am receding to my cave for some time to lay, swish my tail, and ponder these things, but I am still here and you are still protected. 

With my love
and my sorrow,

Wolf 

she’ll shove you
under the bus
so she can make
her safe getaway

(she’ll throw you
off of the bridge,
she’ll leave you
to the wolves)

i like ruined pictures

(i like pictures
taken in the middle
of a moment,
when someone’s
mouth is open,
when their
eyes are red
and their lips
are quivering,
when laughter is
bubbling up from
somewhere deep
inside of them)

i like ruined pictures
because nobody else
does

I used to count steps instead of heartbreaks,
wondering if I was only ten steps away from
the last, or ten steps towards the future.
I stomped on cracks in the pavement,
hoping that if superstitious gods thought
I was trying to break my mother’s back,
they’d cripple me with Karma and riddle 
me cut off from the world and plastered
with broken bones and broken rules.  

I can’t count steps anymore; one turns to
six and sixteen reminds me of the nights
I lived that summer and the days it took
me to realize he wasn’t coming back and
the hearts I’ve broken in the time since
waiting turned to wondering turned to
hoping the day never fell to night in a 
pitfall of reminiscent love stories. Because
all in all, you are the most right of anyone,
no matter how wrong you believe,
summer is finally over, and it’s time to fall.  

I am the razor that grows dull over time. 

My lack of use, allows for me to collect

dust, and lose intensity. 

I am the razor that grows dull over time. 

Waiting in the back of the shed.

Covered by shadows and tarps. 

I am the razor that grows dull over time. 

My tip rusted from the wet air. 

My handle musty, being exposed to the elements. 

I am the razor that grows dull over time. 

And man has found his new toy to replace me. 

Man has a new tool, that deems me obsolete. 

Wreck my sheets with eyes like hope
and tell me where you want to go.

Make my heart your dwellers cave
and I will give you all I already gave.

Silver are the words that drip from your tongue
and heavy are the lies that the world has sung.

This time, be ruthless and destroy me with your breath.
Bring me down to where your lies thrive
and tell me where we should go next.

Im not so sure about these times we live in
and I’m not so sure if I’m one of the people
who should give in.

But I have got you here to take over my hunger.
I’ve got nothing left to give you but eyes that constantly wonder.

If I wrote you a poem about food it would be the final straw, the camel’s back collapsing

and rightfully so.

Who can listen to me describing the cherries I wish I had picked

myself rather than bought and

then tracing their outlines with my fingertips

deciding: you, not you, not yet anyways

while the large problems of mankind

and my own kind, especially this type,

stay unmentioned.