Axis-13

your are hands on my thighs and your opened mouth against my closed one i go to sleep with an empty empty stomach, an empty chest, an empty heart and in the morning you hand brushes against the small of my back and you don't understand why i scream but there is no alcohol on your breath, we do not sit in the gloom of night and you don't understand

It's 2 AM, and only the ghost and I are awake. I tell him my dreams, the ones that chase the sleep away, the ones that wake me with thoughts silver and red and cold limonium and musky porcelain. He listens and take the time to remind me of a girl who slept soundly, who planted gardens in her heart and let the flowers bloom into dreams of light. His voice is soothing and patient and chilled. It's 2 AM, and the ghost is drawing me a warm bath of lavender. He fills the tub and scrubs my wrists and thighs clean of mistakes. He washes the cobwebs from my bones, and he rinses the soap from my hair. His hand are gentle and firm and cold. It's 2 AM,

I like to tell you that you are pretty. I tell you when your eyes flutter shut against my palm and when your lips --full and and pink and pretty-- part so that your lungs may collapse into mine. I like to tell you this especially when your hand slides up to the back of my neck to grip and pull hair so that you might look at me with eyes dark and bright all at once. But I am finding, the more and more I say it, that is is not true. Every gleam of your eyes, every questioning smile, every breathy chuckle or breathless hitch of your breath is NOT pretty. No. YOU are not pretty. No. YOU are beautiful. You are filled with the glorious inner lig

Have you ever missed someone so much it physically HURT you to the point of headaches and nausea and a hollowness in your chest? Have you ever missed someone so much to the point where you couldn't sleep no matter how hard you tried? To the point where you're filled up with just so much longing you feel like your insides are going to implode in on themselves? To the point where just nothing else seems to matter and it just hurtHurtHURTS?

It's raw, physical pain. It's an empty, hollow pain in your chest, and every beat of your heart is a sledgehammer against your ribcage. It's an ache in your bones, and you feel brittle, like you're going to break at the slightest touch. It's a pounding in your head, and words have no meaning, promises, reassuring word...they are nothing. You look at things that usually make you want to smile, and you only want to cry. It's a sick, hollow anger in your stomach like nausea, and anything you put into your mouth is bittersweet at best and it comes back up just as bitter in the form of burning bile. It's exhaustion past the point of rest, and all

what gratification is there in breaking a heart? what satisfaction is there in breaking a person? what what do you feel knowing a light has gone out and you are the cause?

your things don't smell like you anymore, they smell like the walls of my room where they've been kept hostage and i'd like to think that maybe i would feel better if they still smelled like you but they don't.

i keep the numbers close to my heart because sometimes i think that maybe if i hear your voice i'll feel better ((i usually don't))

i'd like to imagine that maybe some day you'll figure out the magic words aren't "go to sleep, i'll see you tomorrow"

sometimes when i'm laying in bed late at night i close my eyes and remember a long haired child   who didn't kiss steel or count pills, who saw the stars and the moon in the middle of the day and believed i close my eyes and remember how you stole her.