I never thought it would be like this
fragmented pieces of bitterness
arranged in an orderly fashion.
Its all beneath the surface
of this malfunctioning reverie,
disguised as a black and white nightmare.
And you tell me that you dream in color,
yet your words are gray with distance.
and all I can do is choke another throat
just so I can see the color purple.
And with my thumbs pressing into flesh
I wonder if its me, or the rest of the world
who can’t stop shaking.

Little bits of stars stuck underneath my fingernails
after trying to scratch away the night sky
in search of a colorful sunset.

I’m always asleep when the sun goes down.

because tears are like sleeping pills,
and I’m addicted to the smell of
saturated pillowcases, broken hearts
and worn out faces
and every time I cross paths with my reflection,
I’m reminded that you never gave up without a fight.

At night, I attempt to pin my own shoulders
to the mattress, but this time,
I don’t struggle to get away.

I just lay there and pretend I wanted it.

You said you were a suicide gone wrong
and I’ve been thinking about that night
your hips left me for the last time and you whispered,
“this could be different.”

But nothing changed except for purple
becoming the only color you painted with.
Your fist became the brush and
My body the canvas
and for the first time in my life
I felt beautiful.

but beauty can’t save a broken conscience,
and pretty whispers can’t color the sky.
so I paint the ceiling with perfect bruises,
and an infection of scars
recalling the days when everything seemed reckless.

When you would look at me
and forget the consequences
when the air around us
was thick with regret,
and we both refused to breathe it in.
we let our insecurities get the best of us
and we were OK with that.

You don’t look at me anymore.

Avoiding my eyes like two land mines
hidden beneath layers of unconscious guilt.
But this unbreakable wall that you’ve built
is held together by abandoned promises
and trembling hands
I want to be first in line to watch
this all fall down around you.

The sky is always black these days
the stars cauterize your ceiling
yet there is no one to burn with.
I scratch away the night sky
in hopes of finding something beneath its reaches
but there is only darkness
and my hands are covered with ashes.

Purple is just a memory,
and everyone assures me I’m more
dependable and quiet.
But silence is nothing other than gold.
I’m looking for something more than
wealth, and miserable days spent hiding
under the covers, in a sea of memory-filled sheets
I’m stuck here scarred and ashen
wishing I had searched for something
more than just ordinary.

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