Red

I had that dream again

Where the ceiling falls and everything is red

And every time you're there

With the depths of oceans coming from your pointed stare

And oh, you still pull me under

Oh, just like when we were younger

Oh, when my body hits the sea

Don't forget to look for me 

You woke up screaming again

Can't seem to stop the ghosts from getting in your head

You wield your words like knives 

to show the world it hasn't won tonight

The Flowers fell from our halos
leaving only thorns And stems

the petals swept into our closets

We decorate our skeletons

 The cuts you made to my body
the wounds you stitch and sew
 I'm tearing at the seams blindly to try to get to your bones

Untitled

The problem with having no memory
is that it fills itself in as it pleases
With falsities
With four, four, four going on five
With polaroids that have yet to be determined

Rise Up.

What rises?

The sun. On another day of four, four, four, going on five.

Vomit. Real nausea that accompanies fake memories.

Heart rate.

Temper.

Heat.

Questions.

Words. Piles and Piles of letters and sounds.

Silence.

If I assume no one is reading this it must be true.

But I can still always just say that I'm talking to you.