Friday, June 8, 2012

I am glass. I crack and burn and jump but I don't leave. I hide in the cracks you missed, watching you fall apart. I'm broken, but I'm together in different forms. You are broken.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Rubber paint chips at the lid. Black circles mark your lost nights. Waking up seems so trivial to you at this point. Your hands are writhed in glass. You move and a thousand tiny cracks puncture diamonds into your flesh. Your hair is thin as ice, rough and chapped. Your knuckles are hard as stone as they crack to the rhythm of your hate. Each stutter and hard gasp is left in anger.

Torn between the divides

My heart throbs against my chest and barren bones for ribs. It's thumping loudly in the silence. My tongue grazes chapped lips, locking in moisture that is bound to leave a dirty mark. My words relay a message for you, but means something for him. I know I'm over you.

I sometimes think about the curve of his jaw. The way it sets when he's smirking.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Daughter, you're one of a kind.

Mother, do you see me? See through me? Paper thin, smudges of lead. Smeared. Messy. I'm pulling through, mother, hold on. I'm pulling through. Rumble, Rumble my stomach aches. My eyes see two. Floating figures dancing in pairs. Short, sick gasps of air. Can you hear me? Hear me struggling for breath, mother? I know you just want to break free. Am I keeping you prisoner? I'm keeping myself prisoner.

You taught my heart a sense I never knew I had.

Nasty blues and blacks surround your composure. Your smile is weak, but pleading. Do you see mine too, mother? Do you see how we match? We always wear the same colors. We always wear the same lines. Our blood always carries the same medicine. Helping, healing, destroying, deteriorating. Your body is frozen to the touch, a perfectly sculpted crystal. Fire licks at your glass bones, shivering. Do you see me shiver, mother? I'm so cold. So cold.

I stare blank. The colors mesh. The dark, stiff air surrounds me and hugs me closely. My knees shield me. Outside, the earth moves in distant patterns, but in here, life is still. Silence. Dark shadows. A picture curls from the dust playing with its frame. My lids kiss. They are pressed tightly, fearful of the slim shards of light. I see night. Do you see it, too, mother? Eternal darkness in view -- alluring and seducing. I'm tempted.