Does his love make me a sinner? Does me dreaming of his lips when the rainstorms come make him a sin?
I’m too busy thinking of my kiss staining the back of his neck to remember that prayers shouldn’t be aimed at his eyes. He’s too busy pondering ways to make me kneel at his altar to tell me not to count on his hymns to put me to sleep.
Loving a fallen angel is God’s greatest sin. I didn’t know that then. I do now.
—  fallen angel // abby, day 186
Easy Mistake

Fulfillment
When unexpected
Is always
The sweetest mayhem
As untimely interruption
By disaster
With saving grace
That leads to dreams
Unspoken
From the roads
We’d once rejected
For the clear
And favored pathways
That lead to
Frequent death
As belittling
But common anthems
Of the favorite lies
That claim us
Or casual glimpse
Which falters
After years
Of pretending to break
What busy
And troubled reasons
Are attempts
At cyclical nonsense
And contemptuous thrills
We’ve sponsored
As the god
Of permanent ends -
A mistake
Of easy changes
And choices
That seem indecent
As the method
Of ensuing orders
Which employs
A rational threat
Of losing
What love has issued
As a cheap
And romantic prison
We’ve bargained
With rights for bragging
Or in believing
The loss of self
As if knowledge
Of others’ kindness
Is indulgence
Not gone unpunished
By the blessing
That beckons
Procedure
And demands of gifts
Their age
To place all sights
On limits
And the finite
Yet imagined cushions
Of forever
As heaven waiting
By the strides
We pace toward
Loss
Like a sentence
I cannot argue
But in action
Combat by feeling
And with morals
Determine value
Of an explicit
But meaningless end
As a grave
I breathe not fearing
Or grieve
As a witness missing
But believe
As a damaging concept
Corrupted by weakness
Alone.

- J. Pigno

ode to my heart;
— 

constantly pounding
at the sight of her,
with coarse edges
and sutured parts.

(she’s breathtaking
but she broke me)

bleeding words for
no one to care about,
needing to appease
the pain from inside.

(poetry is my vice
but it can be useless)

barely holding together,
leaking pools of tainted
blood– so sorry for the
abuse and torment.

(frosty veins run dry
freezing my body)

so many boys and girls
ripped off pieces, leaving
them in flames as they
walked away forever.

(emptiness now rests
in the caverns of my chest)

I sat there,
falling in love
with every ounce of who you are
just at the sound of your voice.
—  E. Grin, phone calls
And though your eyes
Are not blue like the sea
And are instead the colour of the forest
That is fine by me
As I have never longed for
The smell and the taste of salt water
But I seek stable ground in
The form of forgotten trees.
—  another thing i wrote for my not girlfriend // Adrian Diane Epps
I am so tired but I can’t sleep.
I’m so angry,
but I don’t know how to let it go.
I want to be happy but I can’t stop crying.
I love people,
but can’t stop hurting them.
I want to be calm,
but I have so much anxiety.
No matter how much I try,
I can’t quite seem to get where I want to be.
—  Chapters from my life
I break my own heart
every now and again
just to give myself the feeling
that maybe,
just maybe,
it’s still there
after all the pain.
—  E. Grin
i am waiting
for someone
to come along;
to see the best of me,
to see the worst of me,
and still decide to stay.
You know,
I get drunk when it hurts
and sometimes it’s a blade to the skin.
When I’m angry I kick and scream,
I break things just for the hell of it,
just to see something as broken as I am.
Someone touched me too soon,
apparently blood isn’t thicker than water.
I was left before I breathed my first breath of life,
I never felt as though I was somebody’s daughter.
I only feel useful when I’m being used
and I crave to be hurt again,
sick right?
I stay up late at night
contemplating taking my life,
I count backwards,
then I find myself at zero again with the same dreadful feeling lingering over my head.
I don’t eat enough
or I eat too much,
either way I turn away from the mirror.
I push those closest to me away,
intimacy issues crawling out of my chest.
I will turn you into me,
I will make you ugly,
run while you can still leave.
—  I promise you don’t want to ‘get to know’ me.