Low point.
Rain.
Chapped lips.
Dirty hair.

I want to hide from the world.

You moved like a fire through the forest
Your hands were as red as the skin on your lips
You'd been flirting with distance, princess
I tasted its spit in your kiss

both butterflies and dragonflies have wings like when you sing. i swear you hit two different notes but they don't harmonize as clean as when you speak there is a rhythm in the scraping of your tongue along your teeth. that comes across as well as hell inside of heaven in a feast of flies, and anything with wings that tries to sing but where you ripped two different holes, see, they won't cauterize as cleanly as you think and if you listen to the rhythm in your sleep you can hear me speaking, "you are a wolf to me."

don't believe your ears nor trust your mouth. i think that every single feeble doubt-soaked promise of trust had a mind to leave you out in the rain with your hands to the train tracks, pulling the ropes with your teeth, but you're too weak and you're too tired. lay down--i will tear every ghost from your dream.

(oh, you've stepped on the wrong crack.)

we turned our water into whining, shouting, "let us be like christ."
but then the whining turned to wonder, and the wonder turned to ice.
once, we were graceful steeples, hands held upward and eyes wide in suspense.
now, we are tangled like intruders in the wires of the fence.

for a fence is built to protect what lies inside of it.
the lion isn't sacred when not sleeping near the lamb,
it is evil when it eats - unless it's feeding from the damned,
all the children painted diagrams of god upon their hands,
hoping somewhere on this shaking earth they could find a place to stand.

and whoever called night a blanket,
had never the felt the cold.
and whoever called the night a blanket--
so use your fingers, and tear away at the restraints they call the body.
it's the temporary things that rip us apart.
for the body is but a piece of art for you to tear to pieces.

and it hits like a brick to the back of your head. like, goodbye, five times.
one for each finger.
do you still feel sick? because i do.

I have half a mind to make you hurt, to make you bleed, to make you suffer.
I swear, if you've touched her—oh, heaven,
forgive what I would do to you, you monster.

BUT YOU HAD AN OPTION.
I was your chance to feel complete,
But when I leaned in close to you,
YOU KISSED YOUR FEAR INSTEAD OF ME.
Now at the end of everyday I lie awake at night and wait --
to feel the wires of my brain get cut and quietly rearranged.

I will give your heart a place to rest when everything you had has turned and left.
I'll weave your names into my ribcage; lock your heart inside my chest.
Underneath the laughs there lies a need that nobody is getting. and an honesty that doesn't stretch far enough.

lay your scars out in rows,
lay your scars out in rows,
lay your scars out in rows
to show me what i've done to you.

lay your scars out in rows,
lay your scars out in rows,
it was my weakness that couldn't save us.

so lay your scars out in rows,
so lay your scars out in rows,
so lay your scars out in rows for me.

I love that xanga has archived entries. it makes my overwhelming 5 years of xanga entries seem less... um, overwhelming.

November 08.

This is remembering the last time we spoke, the last time we touched. Words ricocheting off of empty tables. Vandalizing the pictures on these smoke-stained walls, and I can hear your mouth as it opens from across the room. Your tongue and lips forming the shape of your laughter, it’s the curve of your stomach, it’s the bend in your legs. It’s the remnants of the pages framed in the cracks of your bleeding lips, it’s the curve of your stomach, it’s the bend in your legs. Your crooked teeth.

I spoke too soon, it seems, for you made a home in my dreams.
While I slept you kept running yourself through my head.

How strange to think we once were lovers. Now we’ve wrapped the past up in broken glass. And when you speak my name you shudder.

You still cross my mind from time to time. And I mostly smile.
Still so set on finding out where we went wrong and why, so I retrace our every step with an unsure pen, trying to figure out what my head thinks, but my head just isn’t what it used to be.

And then again, what’s the point anyway? I remember you ascending all the stairs up to the balcony to see if you could see me - hidden quietly away. And I remember the skin of your fingers, the spot three quarters up I’d always touch when I was out of things to say. You held my hand, but you were too afraid to speak and I could never understand. I remember when you leaned in quick to kiss me, and I swear, that not a single force on earth could stop the trembling of my hand. And I remember how you smiled through the smoke in a crowded little coffeehouse and laughed at all my jokes. And I remember the way that you dressed and how we wasted all the best of us in alcohol and sweat. And I remember when I knew that you’d be leaving, how I barely kept up breathing and I bet if I had to do it all again, I’d feel the same pain. And I remember panicked circles in the terminal in tears. How I wept to god in fits. I’ve hated airports ever since.

It must be true what people say, that only time can heal the pain. And every single day I feel it fade away, but I still remember how the distance tricked us, and lead us helpless by the wrist into a pit to be devoured. I still remember how we held so strong to this, though we had never really settled on a way out. I still remember the silence, and how we’d always find a way to turn and run to our mistakes. I still remember how it all came back together just to fall apart again.

My dear, I hear your voice in mine.

I breathed your name into the air; I etched your name into me. I felt my anger swelling; I swam into its sea. I held your name inside my heart, but it got buried in my fear. It tore the wiring of my brain; I did my best to keep it clear. So, dear, no matter how we part, I hold you sweetly in my head. And if I do not miss a part of you, a part of me is dead.

I told you that I love you once and I meant every word I said. I will love you until the day that I am dead.

I'm hungry.
I'm sleepy.
I have no life.
I had the intention of writing something amazing, but this is the way it goes.

I . NEED. INSPIRATION.