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The world falls apart today.

It happens when you are washing yesterday's and today's dishes
or at the party full of college friends
or lying on your bed with your hands already covering your eyes.

It hits.

It is a soft wave, like nausea
like five minutes and finally realizing that your feet are numb in the ocean water
like yellow fatigue dripping down the walls
like your body dripping down the walls.

Or it is a fist
pulling down hard on your stomach
until you almost throw up or almost make yourself throw up or what's the difference
it's all the same now
or it is a sudden thought

Fuck, I wanna kill myself right now.

And just like that, whether you're hungry or drunk or sleeping or happy

you can't answer the phone or call
because your boyfriend is mad at you for spending time with your friend
but not really mad because he understands but there's this tension every time you say anything
and everyone else just hates you or should hate you
or you can't write the poem
you need to write the poem but you can't write any poem
because it sucks and you sucks
and nothing sounds right and everything feels useless inside and when you write it
it just sounds pathetic and heart-broken and
fuck i just wanna die right now.

And you can't wash the knife in the bottom of the dishwater
fuck i wanna kill myself right now.
i wrote this on the back of a used piece of paper instead of cutting into my wrists with the really sharp knife like i want to.

i really want to put my fist through my computer or stab my screen with a pen but i'll just leave this here for a while so i feel like i've done my duty and reached out to someone about being suicidal for the first time in a year.

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You hover over me sleeping,
a bread knife in your hands,
whispering how selfish it is to close my eyes.

Intercourse is rough and
involves more apologies than orgasms.

Wet. In the shower.
I thread my fingers through your hair
so you cannot slide away.

I know he trusts me when he hands me the razor.
I have never been on the giving end.
I am nervous for all the wrong reasons
when it grazes his chin, trickles down his throat.
I have been suicidal but never murderous.
Today, I would love to see you bleed like I did.

Red Cross prohibits the selling of blood - safety hazard.
I hook myself to machines for a feeling.
Tired of wasting my red down the garbage disposal,
the shower drain, the library's bathroom sink.
I smile as the phlebotomist digs in my veins.

Pills for anxiety.
Pills for depression.
Pills to counteract worsened depression.
Pills for back pain.
Pills for neck pain.
Pills to counteract reactions from the combined reactions of all the other pills.
Pills for sleeping, that really just exacerbate the wanting to kill myself.

Living with chronic pain
is begging my boyfriend to cut my spine out.
It is [not] super sexy.
Not like the ways he bends me over the bed, curls my hands into the blankets,
grips my hair as he whispers oh my god you're beautiful.
Not like me asking him to undress me,
with the lights on or off or on,
my scars lighting across his face in reflection
as he kisses each and every one.
Not like how I touch him when he lies beside me.
How he curves perfectly from C1 to T7,
a dark fish, breathing air heavily.

Poetry is not worth anything.

Sometimes I long for the return of the vomiting,
the opening of my veins each night at bedtime,
for a tangible reason to hate.

Ghosts hover at daybreak.
I go running at daybreak.
Like I used to.
Drink weak ciders, straight vodka, viridian tequila.
Like I never used to.
Our Wait for the Lengthening Days
I am really not ok, and that is not ok but i am going to eventually be ok, unless I'm not.

I always knew it would be one addiction or another.
in march I passed over this same place, but it was colder.
now the sun shimmers down through layers of black foilage;
auburn spatters and cools in the river in the ravine below.
on the bridge, footprints lingered in the frost like breath-marks on a pane of glass;
now the wood creaks, cedar so hot it burns its heart out, steams and moans with my body.
over the rail, flamingos legs lie abandoned, its plastic body somewhere buried under ivy, having fallen first from the tree.
in march, i passed this same way.
my hands and feet still mark the railing;
the birds above echo the hymn: my mother wailing
we weave through portland’s drunken streets with hands clasped so long my shoulder shakes.
thread pennies out of our pockets to pay the tab.
the waitress says we look adorable, and i wonder how many times
your eyes have landed on the gap between her black stockings and skirt.
i know mine have too.

portland threatens to swallow me, cold air and neon spotlights beaming to high heaven.
we lick our lips outside the seven-eleven, but don’t kiss.
homeless men talk to us about the shopkeeper who left for a smoke;
we pretend we are not spending our last five dollars on condoms.

key shakes in the hole, doesn’t want to let us inside.
cushions removed from the sofa.
i get redressed so you can undress me.
bend me backward over the pile of blankets.
tights torn away, turned inside out, laid on the carpet like shed skin.
the violin rattle of your breath against my throat.

i lay your head on a limp and musty pillow.
lay my chilled pale flesh on yours, coming unglued to you.
lay on you until the clock gives up its glow, tattling on the hour.
lay until eyes begin to slip closed.
lay on you until the streetlight flickers, and goes off.
portrait of us,
about to have sex on your father's fold-out couch.

((i told you i was writing more poems, honey))
10/30 napowrimo

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I slit my thighs deep
and benign
as a farmer
into the sun-baked earth,
cutting parallel furrows
in which tomatoes will blossom,
transforming this fallow soil into
a sea of red.

I imagine
my daughter unfolds
from out of my vein
red with her first scream.
White, as she dries,
like a lily.

I begin the difficult task
of sowing.
I'm in my bed in my dad's house. It is snowing outside. I'm trying to write a poem. Any poem. 

I don't feel safe with myself right now.



Artist | Student | Literature
United States
My book:…

"I want the count down inside of me to stop being so precise; I want to jump to zero and back to infinity. I believe in infinity. It's my fatal flaw."

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Add a Comment:
AlloenDreams Featured By Owner Dec 17, 2015
you are loved and missed, but i hope you are off making yourself happy.

if not, i'm always here :heart:
panosozi Featured By Owner Feb 23, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
thanks a lot for the fav on my photo.
wish u the best.
if you have time take a look at my rest gallery 
Sammur-amat Featured By Owner Edited Jan 9, 2015   General Artist
hello there, lovely person! :huggle:
this is to inform you that i have made use of one of the titles in your poetry in my title poem over here: :love:
i hope that this is alright with you, pray that you enjiy the read, and thank you for your inspirational artistry! :eager: <3
fadedworlds Featured By Owner Nov 11, 2014  Student Writer
Thank you for the fav!  
PsychoBeast Featured By Owner Oct 20, 2014
You inspire me so much, your works make me write, write write. If you ever need anyone to talk to, you can always msg me. (even though you dont know me :P)
sense-and-stupidity Featured By Owner Nov 2, 2014  Student Writer
Thank you so much for this. I've kept from replying just so I can keep it in my inbox and look at it when I log on. One of my greatest wishes in life is to inspire other people, in whatever way. :) I'm glad you are writing and writing and writing; it's the only way to live, in my opinion. Have a splendid day, friend.
PsychoBeast Featured By Owner Sep 25, 2015
wow this was so long go, im so sorry i didnt see this sooner. please msg me on my tumblr if you forgive me and/ or wish to conversate upon how awesome your work is
sense-and-stupidity Featured By Owner Sep 26, 2015  Student Writer
Just followed you. I'm theproperverb. :)
(1 Reply)
Choque-Plumbeo Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
hey wanna read a play with me?
sense-and-stupidity Featured By Owner Sep 11, 2014  Student Writer
Yes. Which and how and when?
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