Art Thief

You take my breath away, like it belongs to you.

You’ve set my soul on fire, I dream in a yellow hue.

And I don’t get scared when the tides are high, when the darkness covers my eyes- because I know when the fog is lifted it is always you and I on the otherside.

If you could see yourself through my eyes, you’d find the pure admiration running rampant through my bloodline.

I warned you about the uninhabitable home inside my chest, but you shimmied your way in through the destruction and made it feel like home again.

What we have is uncomparable,and undeniable.

I tell everyone to dig into my bones and find you lingering within.

You are the sun inside this blackened chest, shining through the cracks and crevices, reminding me there’s always beauty in the ugliest of things.

I never thought I was capable of love- giving or receiving, but you opened my eyes to a world of oppurtunity.

Your calloused hands touch me like I’m porcelian.

But i’s no secret that you’re the masterpiece and I’m the art theif.

It’s like some twisted version shock therapy stimulating my brain, slowly erasing all evidence of your existence.

I don’t want to forget you, but at the same time I do.

Because every time you cross the surface space of my mind- there’s a sharp knife jabbing my insides.

I want to remember you for who you were but it’s all a blur.

You changed and I just couldn’t keep up the pace.

I want to smother my sorrow, I want to wrap my hands around its throat and crush its windpipe.

I want to take the breath from its lungs.

I don’t want to feel this pain, but I don’t want your death to be in vain.

The poets cry for more, the audience does not wish to hear an encore because it’s dark and twisted and maybe we should just keep our pain to ourselves.

But pain demands to be felt.

I will write till my fingers go numb, till I have completely purged all of this ugliness lingering inside of me.

I lost my best friend, how do you recover from such a massive blow to the chest?

I don’t see any recovery from this.

But I know it’s the grief fogging my glasses.

I’m just not ready to take them off.

I deserve to feel this.

Because you didn’t just kill yourself, you killed me too.

The only difference is I didn’t sign the DNR papers.

take care

Loving you is like an old habit I can’t kick. It’s a part of me. It’s molded into my forte. Like biting my nails and watching the cuticles bleed, I love you relentlessly and violently. I apologize if the pressure of my affection is inconsistent. Truth is— my actions, my words will always be incapable of capturing the immense amount of love I have for you. You are the one-man search party, flashlight in hand, calling out my name when I lose touch with reality. You help center me when the weight of the world is crushing my chest, making it seemingly impossible to breathe.

my spirit desire. Last year the devil tried putting out your flame, the one that burns brightly and resurrects my name. You’re everything I want and more.

You give me a love I never thought I’d be capable of receiving. And I can only hope that, to you, it’s a mutual feeling.

untitled 9/4/19

I wish to reach you but we’re on opposite sides, I could summon your spirit through supernatural forces, but I don’t want to run the risk of your ghost haunting me.

I’ve got enough skeletons buried in the catacombs of my chest— screaming because I didn’t suffocate them good enough.

What I’m trying to say is I’ll let time run its course.

Because my best friend wasn’t occupying that casket, it was just a corpse.

A body you once inhabited, a placeholder for the time being till your soul found a new resting place.

It wasn’t supposed to be on your terms.

And I know you fought back, the rope burns on your hands serve as enough evidence to that.

But you can’t cheat death.

You can’t go back.

There’s a lack of closure that infects the wound, making it impossible to heal.

Is it possible for the heart to shrink?

Because I don’t see mine growing from this loss.

It can be found tucked away behind all the scar tissue, just barley contracting.

I want to heal from this but I’m scared it means leaving you behind.

Our bond was broken by your self destruction- but I still loved you despite your change in direction.

Always chasing the taste of affection no matter the lack of sincerity tied to the hands that glided across your skin.

You felt that if they had the power to make your skin shiver- they were worthy of every ounce you had to offer.

You never thought to save some of that love for yourself.

But I just want you to know I love you.

And I miss you.

And there’s not a day where my heart doesn’t find you.

You left your mark on everyone you came in contact with, you can never be erased or replaced.

But then again maybe that’s what you wanted in the first place.

Untitled (for bambi)

They say lips are there to soothe what teeth have done.

Every day is a reminder of your absence and how I’m learning to live a life without you in it.

Death is the only promise left unbroken, how bitter the taste of words unspoken.

Regret drips from my tongue as I choke on fermented words.

Your ears still hold the same bullet holes piercing the cartilage- and even as the blood drips down your neck you beg for someone to say something beautiful for once.

Because all you ever wanted was to feel a sense of belonging and beauty, protection and comfort.

You sat in a bakery and told a mutual friend about how it’s hard to sleep without the embrace of a man, and how every rib cage gives the impression of a home till you realize those prison bars are made up of bones.

You chose the easier, softer way out but it wasn’t easy for those you left behind.

We’re all plagued with the reality that we just couldn’t save you,

The overwhelming case of survivors guilt that seeps in every time we smile.

You not only took your life, but mine too.

I don’t know how to live without the shame that you don’t get to too.

I’ll drain the word forever from all my sentences as you cast your shadow the width of my shoulders, pulling me into the deep abyss you made a home in.

I never wanted to remember you through salt water tears.

I never wanted to remember you through keloid scars ((you once delicately stitched)) self inflicted symmetrically on my upper thigh.

I think what hurts the most isn’t the lack of goodbye, but the shift in time as the earth stood still and echoed your cries.

You were a model for pain, but only behind the scenes. You wore that fake happy mask for so long— it became another layer of skin.

It’s been a month since you took your life, and it’s getting easier to wake up without the realization cutting like a knife

But there’s not a day that my heart doesn’t find you tucked away in all the cracks and crevices.

And I know you’re finally at peace but I am not.

Not yet at least.

I know my memory of us is the only thing serving as a testament to the undeniable, irreplaceable bond we had— I always chose to remember the goodness you instilled even after you took back the reigns and ran on self-will.

I’ll keep reminding myself that all wounds need air to heal— that way I won’t suppress it.

Because I deserve to feel it.

I just know I do.

Ashes to ashes

Dust to dust

All you are now is a lingering memory in the form of cremation.

Let the fire burn away all your imperfections. Take flight from your body and watch the floodgates give way as you walk your stairway to heaven.

I find comfort in the fact that you’re not suffering anymore.

Your mangled heart can slow, as we begin a new tempo

But we’re always in perfect harmony.

This is not the end.

It’s just the beginning.

Anatomy Of My Mind

• I

sometimes it feels like i’m knocking on a door, even though the word VACANCY is plastered all over the boarded up windows, because i’m convinced i can make that uninhabitable place a home.

(the static in my ears is louder than the silence of the doorbell. )

• II

maybe the problem is i take people like they’re antidepressants — i think that maybe if i fix them it’ll stop the thoughts from gnawing at my brain.

but somehow i always fuck them up more

like, i try to force solutions that don’t work for those particular situations.

(i want so badly to be the puppeteer but i am just the strings.)


i love too hard but show it too little.

i was taught that showing emotions made you weak — so i ripped my heart from my sleeve and hid it under lock and key.

i was afraid if you tore down my walls you’d lose me in all the debris.

• IV

i’m still trying to figure out if i love the smell of smoke— or if i just love to watch things burn.

i always thrived in chaos because it was what i was accustomed to.

i still have to remind myself that i can slow down and breathe.

(sometimes i forget to breathe.)

i practice breathing exercises my therapist told me about— in through your nose, out through your mouth. hold it in. let it go.

• V

i used to keep people warm by the lit end of my cigarettes— but don’t come any closer.

he was the first person i let shimmy his way into every nook and cranny— i let him feel the warm embrace of the fire that burns within me.

• VI

i heard that sometimes we live in fragments because we’re still building the whole. i guess my avoidance issues are starting to become bigger than just a little issue, because my subconscious pays the price for what my conscious stuffs down deep inside the confines of my mind. sometimes it’s a scent or a song or a familiar face that can trigger a memory well suppressed and the night terrors start back up again.


i long to be free but not outside of the comfort zone i have created. i mean, i want to feel serene and at peace without the weight of memory clenching my heart like a vice— when it comes to fight or flight i know i’ll never catch nostalgias backside. but i know it’s all forward progress because for once i can sit with ill feelings and not feel the need fix it temporarily by digging up old skeletons that i should leave buried.


sometimes i’m stuck in the perpetual velocity of my own delusions. but i know i’ll be okay.

sometimes we avoid things because they only serve as a reminder of places we had once been, feelings we once had, people we once were. but i’m learning to face it head on. and i know i can weather the storm. i’m just looking for that silver lining. trying to find solace in the calm after the storm. i know i’ll get there. i just haven’t made it yet.

I’ll Take The Blame So You Don’t Have To

i’ll take the blame so you don’t have to

so you can sleep at night

but be sure to keep one eye open

because karma has no deadline

one day you will ache like i ached

you will bleed like i bled

and it won’t be red it will be pitch black

with yellow clots

and the cut on your body is will never heal

because the memories of me will tear open your flesh

making it seemingly impossible to salt the wound

making it impossible to look at your skin stretched over your frail bones

you will stumble down vacant hallways watching my name echo off the shattered windows

you will feel this pain

and you won’t see yourself as the victim anymore

you’ll finally understand that there’s no villain in this story

there’s no hero

you’re no hero

one day when you feel the backlash from all the chaos you transpired

when you try to right your wrong

i’ll be gone

because if there’s anything you taught me- it’s that time is the only thing that’s really real

time is the only thing that’s real

Crash (part 2)

It was a cool day.

The sun was wide awake.

The tar on the highway kissing the tires gently.

The Strokes were playing, track number three.

Then slowly, but all at once- it happened.


We were hit head on.

You in the drivers seat.

Not paying attention to the one-way street.

You never asked me if I was okay.

I’m still living with whiplash.

The seatbelt is permanently tightened around my stomach.

You immediately started feeding excuses.

You had no proof of insurance.

And sometimes I swear I’m still watching you wipe tears from your eyes in the rear view mirror.

You weren’t crying because you were sorry.

You weren’t crying because you were hurt.

You were crying because it was an inconvenience to you.

Everything was always an inconvenience to you.

You never cared that I was in the backseat.

You never cared that from that day forward you taught me to always flee crime scenes, you taught me to always point my bloody fingers at the victim

You were always the ambassador of bad things.

You always taught me to be the chaos transpiring.

But I just want to be soft, and sweet.

I just want to purge you from my memories and recreate them with something more filling.

I never wanna ride with you again.

All you ever do is


A Soundless Echo

And just like that-

You felt the rush of a thousand heartbreaks.

Like swallowing shards of glass, and grinning as it punctures your lungs.

You didn’t care that it hurt, because at least you could finally feel something.

Do you remember when you were a small child, and you stuck your fingers in hot wax just trying to cover the tired flesh stretched over your shaky hands?

You always told your family you’d leave your handprint on the world but you were constantly covering your tracks.

Remember your first kiss? How everyone told you that you’d feel those butterflies in your stomach, like they’re swarming around in the fresh, crisp spring.

Remember how they told you it would be unforgettable?

But when the time finally came, it felt like black tar settling in the settling in the pit of your stomach.

And you can’t recall who it was or when it happened, all you know is that you’ve kissed a million strangers ever since just chasing that euphoria you read about in story books.

They said your first breakup will teach you a lesson but leave you in shambles.

When you and your first split all it taught you is that love is always conditional and people just fucking suck.

It didn’t leave you in pieces more or less with a blank stare and a soundless echo.

It made you question if you were capable of feeling at all.

You feel more at home at a cemetery than you do in your own house.

Another manic episode comes crashing over and the flickering between your ears gets you buzzing like a bee.

The thing about chasing highs is that once you fall, you hit rock bottom and it’s gonna take more than your impulsive choices to dig you out.

Didn’t they tell you that putting chemicals in your hair won’t make up for the imbalance in your brain?

You beg the psychiatrist to spare some serotonin.

You don’t know how to tell the people closest to you that you’re broken.

So you allow them to admit you into hospital treatment centers.

You sit in group therapy and listen to the boy who nearly died from a heroin overdose.

You listen to him compare the pulsing in his veins to the heartbeat he felt when he’d put his head against her chest.

You promise yourself you’ll never go down that path.

Till one day you’re sitting in a 7/11 bathroom using a dirty needle.

You were never good at keeping promises.

Your wrists serve as enough evidence.

One day you’re coming down from doing enough cocaine to spell out heartbreak and you tell yourself you have to stop living this way.

So here you are again 63 days inpatient.

Swearing up and down you’re gonna get your shit together.

Doing everything you possibly can to try and get better.

Your counselor says you’ve overstayed your welcome so you pack your bags and head back home.

Or not home.

More like the place you just reside.

You always made houses out of flesh and bone instead of brick and board and maybe that’s where it all went wrong.

But today you’ve grown.

You’ve shed the skin of yesterday, and you’ve outgrown old habits you thought you’d never kick.

No more hospital treatment centers, no more padded rooms.

You’ve learned that your pain demands to be felt. So when it comes, invite it in. Let it sit for a moment and allow yourself to feel it. But don’t let it overstay it’s welcome.

Right your wrongs, take inventory of harm you may have caused.

Reconstruct your idea of reality, shift your perspective, change and change again because there’s no limit on who you should be.

Ward off negative energy and surround yourself with those who lift you up rather than remind you of your wrongs.

Of course you’re the villain in someone else’s story, but all that matters is that you’re the hero in yours.

Love and War

I hate to see you this way.

Depression oozing from every pore.

Paranoia strapped to your body like a piggyback you never consented to.

White powdered dust still eminent in your nasal passages.

I’m trying to love and tolerate you with the same compassion I’d have for a sick person.

Because in all reality you are sick.

Mentally and spiritually ill.

I told everyone we lost touch but I’m tired of lying to my fingertips.

It’s the same game with you, I know how this goes.

The ticking clock in your mouth gets louder by the minute.

It gets harder to distinguish the truth in all your lies.

And I’m left with no choice but to cut ties.

Honey it’s okay, I know hands like yours only know how to let go.

And destruct.

You told me how you were just trying to fill the void with anything that’ll pour into it.

You told me you’re sick of waking up with raw knuckles from fist fighting the demons in your sleep.

The ones that whisper in your ear and tell you to question everything.

Question everything.

Like the emptiness in your stomach

And the water in your lungs.

I heard you stopped smoking cigarettes.

But you still hang on to old habits.

I guess they’re hard to kick.

I saw the light fade from your eyes,

there’s nothing left inside them.

No twinkle, no shine.

There used to be so much life inside you.

Now you’re someone I don’t recognize.

Somewhere along the way between finding yourself and finding something to fill the white spaces you gave up hope and abandoned all the qualities that made you unique.

Now you look like a dead end street full of vacant houses and mailboxes are full of all the unopened letters I sent while you were in the treatment center.

I’m not sure if this is something we can replace in all the empty bottles and nickel baggies but you said you’ll find a way to make it work.

I know the human skin can be hard to live in, so you pull at the layers of blackened scar tissue just trying to find some solution to the issue.

But baby the issue is you.

You’d break your own finger just to be sure it’s not pointing at you.

Wake up.

I’m not the enemy.

You’re fighting a war against someone who’s never pulled a weapon on you.