Her deeds are a knife,
Slicing across me,
From the middle of my palm,
To the base of my wrist,
Splitting open threads of my skin.
Yet there is no crimson seepin’ from the slit.
i can't hold everything she does,
but i want to.
if she decided to become the sun,
i would wrap her in my arms
and let myself melt into
I feel as though I am not enough,
Yet simultaneously too much.
I hunger for the air,
Burdened by this breathlessness
As I stare the overhead down,
With yellowed eyes.
But I yearn not to the be sun,
Rather the skies.
The air that fades away as I get high.
this blood inside of me
is only half my own,
the rest replaced with my semi love
for the dirt under my fingernails and
a soul with humanity
weighing them down like
a locket filled with a wolf pack.
This emptiness sits flat on my chest,
Like a wildebeest took a seat where my heart used to be.
Leaving a crater full with my punctured lungs,
And torn muscles.
Her blank stares and swallowed words,
Never felt so heavy or spoke so clearly.
we were a mess in a forest,
and she answered the age old question of
if a tree falls and no-one is around to
hear it, does it make a noise?
i watched her cut one down
just too see, because she said
that she was nobody. then
i watched her cry,
because she realized with a shock
that all pain roars.