erie star

they promise nothing, yet i wait. i cant stop thinking they might. flirting for the idea of change, but they stay the same, as do you.

i seem to lose sight when i open my eyes letting you wander along my field of view, losing the image of myself amidst the blur— not to mention a picture of you i could have had

you could have spared us both from the wounds carved along my bones. an act of compassion could have softened the blade now i sharpen it in your name.

can’t wrap my head around the blushing feeling of hate, lovers to enemies— that won’t change.

vulnerable and weak— that’s not me, i can’t accept you for what you are. the butterflies in my stomach are just parasites of anxiety disguised with broken wings.

cut me open rip them out it would be better than to live without

the bright lights briefly hold down the pit in my stomach, if only the extension cord could reach—could i put it into words ?

the next is only a smudge of what was, your face, or was it mine. i pay no mind to it now.

the static only pops behind me, i don’t choose to watch. the sense of nostalgia is almost eerie. the tape ceases to mention why, ripping through fluorescence— without ignoring the forboading senses.

the casting changed before i remembered their names, it’s obvious you don’t belong here. i can’t tell if i do either.

would you put me in the credits, could i be the lense, could i choose the end?

i’ve had enough endings, a film would be fitting to resolve the plot. if only it ended sooner, the seasons carry me though scenes dragging me through leaves.

said you’ll see me soon

doubt i’ll be the only one walking

fishnets on

want to rip them off every

checkered leg you see

whatever i do it’s only skin to you

your eyes darker with every time you know

no different than strangers are you

ropes around my neck

you’re scared to tighten it?

you wanna touch me right now

you’ll have to toughen up now

if it feels good

it can’t be bad

you say you’re sad

know that’s just a fad

i want to know u

let me in

through the back door dark

dressed in sin

shake my ass

don’t stand and stare come over here

checked the bottle just to know if you’re here

wish you shared

can’t decide what you want

decided i don’t want it either way

don’t feel crazy for you no more

know you won’t come knocking on my window

don’t want you sneaking in at night

have to turn on all the lights just to make sure you’re not right behind me

could be something good

won’t let it get that far

no witch could poison u

tell me what you see when u look at me

you tell me you love me

i write it out in blood

you love me more when im

weaker and distraught

have to feel the pain you caused me

slice the blade across your body

no i don’t believe your story

my instagram story

i hope you stop, hope you’ll care

no one lingers

to feed attention and greed 
left behind in a desert
of dried-up promises
and forgotten repair.

each step hurts but i can’t run

my breath is tight and burns my lungs

counting steps to counter sins chasing thinner skin
sleep won’t give my mind a break

shows me a body i can’t 
fake

dream that i am big and wide
eyes all staring, nowhere to hide.
i walk again in heat and pain

hoping this time i might gain

not more weight but something true

a sense of achievement

of the tall and thin birch trees girls

who used to peel the layers of skin off of the birch trees backyards

how beautiful the colours would unravel from black and white to

raw pink salmon colour of flesh as soft

i loved the messy look of each stripe

i couldn’t help but to turn my body into the tree

the birch was only covering up its beautiful peach in

black and white scars

thought it would just be a movie
your force can’t move through me
like a scene on loop—
always chasing my skin

your touch is a tactic,
like you love the curve
but not the collapse

my body once gaunt and sheen

no longer as it was, no longer as it should be.

each glance a betrayal, the mirror mocks me.

will it be a promise or a ploy?

truth in the glass once resides, now shadows that whisper and beauty that hides.

i weep not for wounds but for what fades unseen

nothing like salt in cuts to ease the sting

and the way i’m held down

by the tears on my thighs