k.a.c.

Midnight Mourning

Sometimes the devil on my shoulder speaks louder than anyone else and I need to shoot him without possibly hitting myself in the end.

she dug a grave for her body deep within the earth. she waited for someone to water her seeds until she could bloom, back to life

your mouth your smile your hands say all the right things that make me feel special and wanted like i’m the only one for you like i’m all you want which is all i want because you’re all i want but your eyes don’t say my name

The day I left the moon for the sun, an eclipse sucked the light from my throat. I choked on stardust, spat out tiny universes the moon would never dream of orbiting. The sun told me I was the brightest thing she’d ever seen. The moon sighed when I told him, saying he knew the craters in his surface were enough of a flaw to send me rocketing across the galaxy. I think the moon is jealous. He has always wanted her rays to warm him but they could never reach quite close enough. Maybe that’s why he settled for my hands instead; tender, quiet things that fill the holes in his surface. The sun commends me for trying to heal him, but promises me eternal shine, a wine I cannot refuse. Sometimes I look up from my home on her fiery flesh, a solar flare amongst many, feeling sorry for the moon. I know he blocks her beams so I can take note of the dark he feels now. Halos the light around his frame so I can see every curve and scar shaping his being. I tell him, I’m sorry, but I can no longer see my reflection mirrored off his reflecting light. Maybe I never did.

i. last night i dreamed of pulling a white flower from my breast  and the first thing i did was to call you and ask if you could love a girl who is  a garden   ii. i have taken to texting you only  when my throat hurts, which is only after crying,  which is only every morning and every night and almost always   iii. a dream about flowers is a dream about growth; i see our two bodies growing old away from each other so that when we meet again we are forests that the other person is scared to walk in  alone   iv. i miss you more than you miss me   v. i’m gonna bury myself in memory until it crushes me or else it all stops hurting, i’m gonna find some way to love you from seventy four hours away even if it means sending you love poems written on rose petals every single day    vi. could you love a girl like this?    vii. i can’t decide what’s worse: the no or the yes.

Her demons wore halos Made from broken of her soul, A masterpiece that they Destroyed. They curled around her while she cried, They bit into her and told her That they did it because They loved her. And the Angels, they tried, To show her that the halos were not the truth, That the demons were hurting her heart. But she couldn’t hear them, Over the taunting words the demons spoke. And still she listened to them blindly Because they said They loved her. She cried and the demons smiled, Because They did not love her. They smiled because seeing her hurt Was their favourite thing to see. But the saddest thing was not That they said They loved her, When they did not. The saddest thing Was that she believed them. And in believing them, She did not love herself.

Once there was a little girl She had long golden hair And sunshine in her smile But her skies were grey And she ignored them For as long as she could But she got tired of running And the dark clouds caught up And as she grew older The sunshine in her smile faded She cut her hair shorter and shorter Her hips turned red And her closest friends Were the villains in her head And the silver hidden under her bed

I have come to realize that my soul is wild and it demands freedom from shoulds and have tos. However, my brain is trying to tame it really hard. My heart? Well, it’s just sitting there pumping blood, enjoying not being in conflict with my brain for once.

Maybe one day the flowers you inspired in my lungs will wither away and I’ll be able to breathe again.
And maybe one day the wounds you dug into my heart with your bloody hands will heal and I’ll be able to live again.
Maybe one day even the stars I saw in your eyes will give way so I can face the light of day again.
But I know today is not that day. Even though you’re gone, 
You’re here to stay.

Her aura is made of poetry, roses, and galaxies.

My hands are bleeding poetry tonight.

I asked the darkness, ‘will I ever find my light?’