Tag Archives: dark

Little Secrets


His legs hang over the side of the railing and his eyes stare straight ahead. Between his fingers is burning death and he takes every drag slow and meticulously, willing it’s magic to work faster.

Bright lights shine from down below and he contemplates his options. Guiltless chance or a surefire suicide. Maybe it could look like an accident.

Smoke gushes from between parted lips and he’s grown to like the taste.

He wonders how many flowers have grown in his graveyard chest but thinks maybe he’s barren. It feels like he’s barren. It feels like all he is, is death waiting to happen. Eyelids shut tightly and he wonders why it has yet to happen.

One foot slips behind the other and a shoe dangles precariously above the rushing traffic. He thinks of this as picking petals off of roses; to, or to not.

Instead of letting chance make it’s mind up, he takes both shoes off and lays them beside him. Knowing they’re safely next to him gives him a false comfort and an unsettling ache.

His mind wanders into the crevices of his thoughts that he blocks off in the daylight, the caution tape torn off. There are dark bags beneath his eyes and he can barely remember the last time he slept. The ache never wanes and the tired never gets comforted by sleep.

Burned to the end, he flicks his cigarette to the ground and slowly, so slowly, he lets himself rise to the challenge of not actually jumping when he can. Instead he turns and grabs his shoes, stepping down from the metal railing and letting himself enter into a more sturdy ground.


Not tonight, he thinks.


Never tonight.



We tear our skin off so that our souls are bare and when they touch it feels electric. I feel the pulse of my heart and I wonder if you feel it too; I swear it takes up the whole room.

Your hands are on me and I try my damnedest not to think of him. My eyes fight to stay locked onto yours so I don’t lose myself in dreams of the past I can’t seem to shake off. I don’t think you see it that way.

You tell me things so sweet it make my eyes water and I try so hard not to hear his voice. I know I can’t say them back. I know you know it, too.


I haven’t been able to understand why you accept so little.


We dance like lovers do and I breathe you in to the best of my ability. In, out. In a little deeper. Hold. Exhale. I pray this silent wish is granted.

Side by side we lay, our limbs intertwined and mixed like they were meant to be that way. We look like an art piece and I think it looks a little sad. I wonder if you see it, too. But I don’t ask.

I could never pry my lips open wide enough to make anything in my mind a reality. I ignore the beat of my heart and try to get lost in yours.

I sink into you and I’m so glad you pull me closer. I empty my lungs in a desperate attempt to let myself be pulled so far in I melt into your skin, into your bones, into your life. I want to let you breathe for me because I can only seem to find toxicity every time I open my mouth.

When your eyes close and your breathing evens out, I whisper my love for you until my throat runs dry. Maybe if I say it enough it’ll find it’s way into reality. Maybe if I wish hard enough, it’ll come true.


I love you I love you I love you.



Sometimes it feel likes a stone arch, one that you would find in the ruins of some old place. There’s something so beautiful and yet so sad about it. You press your hand to it and try to breathe in the life that used to be there.

I’m sure that when others say they have an old soul they don’t mean one that was born into the world already in ruins. Or so easily able to be crumbled. Like it has already weathered from time that had yet to even touch it. Yet sometimes it feels like an ancient stone arch. Or maybe pieces of one.

I’m not a landmark that everyone wants to see, to wish they had been apart of or had seen in it’s glory. In the midst of everything, a few wandering glances might catch sight of me and see beauty from the wreckage, but mostly I’m an overlooked, rundown, nothing-great.

The stories found here aren’t so wondrous. They aren’t magical and they don’t take you to some far-off place.

The stories found here are as plain as stone and maybe just as cold. Don’t forget to wear your jacket and tread carefully. Don’t slip on any cracks.

Pretty Distortion

We pull at our tightly strewn stitches
Trying to desperately break free
The strings got mixed up, though
I had yours and you mine,
Only tighter were we squeezed
Into our pretty packaged facades
Unable to breathe, unable to scream for help
The cloth of lies too tightly like a second skin
And those smiles took over, hiding anything
That could have possibly been underneath


I pray for forgiveness at the heart of the body I don’t belong in
The words don’t feel right and they don’t sound like me
But that’s probably because I was never the type to apologize
Still his arms find their way around me and his voice is in my hair
If I shut my eyes tightly, I can pretend I’m someone who deserves it,
I can pretend I didn’t show him the wreck of him I just made
And act like it wasn’t my fault, like I can’t believe that even happened
His words are meant to soothe but it pricks at my skin like thorns;
Even in this softness that is him, it still feels like sandpaper
My fingers grip onto his shirt and my eyes hurt and my bones ache
I can never tell if he is the source of this pain or it’s just me,
But it could never be him because he is the only thing beautiful I have
And my eyes need to rest on him after having so much ugliness
Love was supposed to be beautiful, it was supposed to be lightening
Yet it slithers in my blood and turns me into something ugly and it hurts
Because he is so beautiful and I am nothing but bad for him
So in this place where he loves me, I will destroy all that he is
It’s all that I’ve ever been capable of and even in my desire,
The only beauty I will ever create will be the destruction of this love


There was  time I could remember how light felt inside me. I remember the warmth of it, the innocence of it. I could remember what it felt like not to have a swarming sickness in my belly, beckoning me into the dark like an old friend.

I remember when it and I were never friends at all.

But that was a long time ago.

Before I had a smile that would illuminate any room, bring to life any kind of rapture found in the souls of any person in its path. Now there is no smile. I could swear instead of illuminating souls, I now take them, perpetually haunted by sorrows hidden away so tightly by their once-owners.

To see so much and to feel so much has done its damage. Too much too young and too soon. No family left, no friends. Everyone gone in some form or another. None of it good, none of it pleasant.

Sometimes I can still remember how many times my heart broke. At some point it just got tired of fixing itself. So now I am just a shadow, collecting souls and sorrows like I was the only true owner of any of it.

It would give me relief to lay them down to rest, but they have burned into my skin and sunk deep into my bones. Forever imprinted by those who pause in my path, locking eyes with me. I wonder if cold chills ever spill across them and they know what they’ve somehow lost. I wonder if they know it was me who took everything.

Even my candles burn black with my sins and their sins. Even they turn cold against my skin.

Only when the first rays of sun hit my skin do I remember the light and how I once had it. Then I remember how I lost it.

Then it goes cold.

Terrible Things

They both whisper in your ear, and what does it mean when you choose one over the other because of the way the sound makes your skin prickle, your hair stand on end?

They both sound like love, but maybe that’s not true. A terrible thing is you know nothing of love and one sounds sultry and the other sounds parental. Who are you to know which to follow when you’ve never had a mothers love nor a fathers pride?

Hands can grip your waist and lips can find your neck – after all this time can you yet tell love from lust? You think your beating heart speeds up at everyone one of them because you have so much love to give. A terrible thing is you have never known what love feels like, given or received.

Rejection tastes like a shadow and you give it no heed – there are many others with open arms and pulled down pants. You think they love you and think they want you – a terrible thing is they just want someone to use. So you’re used.

Lips no longer taste like honey and skin no longer feels like a home you could create. You stare into the mirror and look at your face and you can think whatever you want. All of the people you’ve held, all of those whom have shared your bed, you can create something beautiful out of that. A terrible thing is you find yourself heartbroken in the most awful way of never having had love in it in the first place.

The dark coolness in your eyes gives nothing away but sorrow, though it enchants some, it chases most away. Though it’s not like it matters anymore. No fleshy desires bring comfort. A terrible thing is you didn’t know you could feel more alone than being alone, but you find yourself feeling like a ghost.

Who’s to blame you when you find it hard to open your eyes and push food through your lips? Who’s to blame you when Death feels like the only home you’ve ever belonged to? When you drag your hand through the dirt and feel more warmth from that than any body, who’s to blame you when you so crave it desperately, like the seduction of a first lover? A terrible thing is, no one can blame you, but everyone does.

Your head gets heavy and hard to keep up. Your feet hurt and your eyes ache. Your heart throbs at the lack of love to give and take. You can stare into the soft eyes of Death from afar and know it will eventually belong to you. A terrible thing is, you can’t stop, and Death isn’t yet yours.

And what a terrible thing it is.