Guilty by Association

I used to pray I’d never have to say ‘I told you so’ ,but god damnit I told you so! I warned you not to play with fire. You said you saw sparks but paid no mind to the fire alarms in her chest.

The thing about foreclosed houses is the condition of the estate.

Her chest was deemed uninhabitable but you still shimmied your way into every crack and crevice because you wanted to believe you could make it work.

The stairs are crumbling and the welcome mat is covered in bloodstains.

The deadbolt is locked and even your feeble hands can’t pick the lock.

The thing about abandoned houses is that ghosts live there and they’re vacant for a reason.

You can hang curtains and patch the holes in the drywall but you can’t make that chest a home.

No matter how much you try to insist that it was love, all it ever was were chemical highs followed by an inevitable comedown. It was the kind of love that kept you up for days, high on the feeling of euphoria. But once her fists met the wall, it shocked you back into reality.

You kept insisting the show must go on because the audience applauds at the sight of your clasped hands. She kept reminding you of all the good times spent together and suggested you try to salvage what’s left in the wreckage.

She kept assuring you everything was okay. And you believed her. Not because it was, but because you knew how hard you were trying to make it be.

If you keep letting her hurt the same parts of you over and over, eventually the nerve endings will die and you will feel nothing.

But the waves of electricity running rampant through your veins, the flickering between your thighs, the way she replaced your hollow silence with beautiful, shiny, noise- it all felt like a justification to keep pushing through.

Sure, you separate yourself from her emotionally and mentally, but physically you just can’t break free.

I warned you about stepping foot in the crime scene.

She’s plastered with yellow caution tape, and you were just too color blind to see the warning signs.

She’s got skeletons in her closet she swears don’t belong to her, but if you dig deep enough, you will find DNA convicting her of the crime.

She’s no angel and you’re not capable of performing an exorcisms.

But you felt like it was a privilege to be loved by her.

So you ignored the emotional bruises.

You kept your hands locked with hers because she made you feel real.

You removed the bloodstains from the carpet, and set fire to the evidence.

That was your part of the deal.

Lost In Translation

I’m still trying to translate you.

But I know the language we speak.

It’s not foreign to me.

I know you love me, when you speak between your teeth.

Sweet nothings, sweet everything’s roll off your tongue and drip from your lips.

This I know. Just this.

You love me despite the incisions on my hips and the jargon in my head.

And on the days when the sun forgets to shine, and the weight of every single bad thing is crushing my chest, you remind me it’s okay to stay in bed all day.

I know you love me because you kiss me even when I forget to brush my teeth.

And you tell me to drink water and take my medication.

You remind me to say my prayers.

And every night a bad dream brings a chill to my bones, you hold me and remind me everything’s okay.

We’re okay.

It’s okay.

And I believe you.

Because for once it’s finally true.

Here’s to me and you.


You said you lived your life underwater.

Here I stand at the shoreline as the water meets my feet.

And you’re somewhere out there, but so far out of reach.

I’ll let the waters stand between us as a testament to the vast emptiness that exists there now.

I will scream across the tides, don’t fight the waves.

The water will always win and I was never much of a swimmer.

I can’t keep saving you.

I am still bleeding over an unreachable coastline,

but I will always remind you that letting go isn’t the same as giving up.

I hope that one day you learn to swallow that water instead of drowning.

Until that day I hope the water washes away your sins and blessed be.

Graveyard Dancing

I swore that if you stepped foot in my chest again it would not crumble.

You could tear open my chest and pull on my heartstrings. You could take a sample from the cardiac muscle tissue and try to stop it from contracting but I would not falter.

You could completely dissemble my heart but you would not break it again.

You could open every closet door you left behind but would not find any skeletons. I buried them all and set fire to the evidence so you would not be convicted of the crime.

You can’t say you know what love is but your idea of love is white powdered lines and liquid therapy.

All I could ever do is watch you destroy yourself, watch you roll up dollar bills and take two shots too many.

And I would scream from behind yellow caution tape as you flee the scene.

I was there. I was in every intro, every rising and falling action. I was there at your downfall. I dealt with the drunken phone calls. I was there when you couldn’t sleep. I told you stories till your eyelids got heavy.

I was always there to clean up every single mess you made.

I gave you my lungs just so you could breathe without the smoke blocking your airways.

You are a gaping wound that never fucking heals.

I can still see the scars on your fists, the sheetrock around your wrists, and the holes in my chest from the times you got too angry. But I just learned to hide the heartache in those places.

You did permanent damage to this foundation but I never asked you to renovate me.

I took it as it came. I rode on this emotional roller coaster with you. I held your hand along the way when you were too blind to see. You say you’re grown and can do it on your own.

But deep down you’re just a kid who’s too scared to be anything more than broken.

Skyline Eyes

I was waiting for that burn but it never started a fire.

December’s hands are tangled in my hair, tugging on my roots. Reminding me that she’s still eminent in my skin cells.

I want to rip open your chest and massage your heart with my calloused hands till it starts pumping blood again.

The temperature is dropping inside you at alarming rates.

You mimic winters piercing cold.

But darling it’s only autumn, let’s watch skeletal trees lose their leaves.

Let’s watch the sun set into evening.

Let’s perform an autopsy on pumpkins as if taking its insides out could make up for the blackened scar tissue growing around our bones.

The universe in you yearns for the galaxy in me.

Our stomachs are full of all the words we’re too afraid to tell each other.

I’ve pretended to go mad in order to tell you things, because in the midst of the chaos I can show a shred of honesty.

I promise I’m getting better.

My mouth tastes like a graveyard but yours tastes like sunshine.

Your skyline eyes outshine mine.

When people ask how you became a wreck you never tell them I was driving.

Gas petal floored and burnt out headlights, flying down a darkened , dead-end street.

I promised you if you stepped foot in my chest again, it would not crumble.

But the foundation is damaged and there’s cracks and crevices where your love seeps in.

I’ve spent the last few months wondering if I was the one who dragged you into the water or if I was the coast guard who saved you from the tides.

There are no words for the way the blood seeps out onto the cold tile floor, or for the way the room seems to suffocate itself when we’re in it.

I promised myself I wouldn’t turn you into a poem.

You’ve relinquished your hold when I needed it most but you always end up caving and I always end up breaking.

And here we sit.

And here my bones are brittle so you caress me softly and ever so sweetly.

And you remind me it’s okay to be scared of the tides but to step foot in the shore because the water will wash away our sins.

So blessed be. Everything is as picturesque as can be.

We don’t need a love that looks like the movie scenes.

It all makes sense, just you and me.