She was okay when I couldn’t quite speak.

Couldn’t get my words and my thoughts to part. So she’d lay her head against my chest to hear the beat and read it like a chart. I guess you can say…

She knew me by heart.

And she was okay when the ice set in.

When I let my emotions be replaced with depression. When my need to sleep became an obsession. Everything I once loved, I viewed as less then. When I looked at what was gone instead of what I was left with…

She was okay. I guess, in a way..

it did not feel like she was leaving me. She didn’t know this version of me.. She could not read this loveless being. Didn’t know the darkness, the anger, or the sadness she was seeing…

Seeing a stranger made it easy for her to part. The space in my chest was now empty, and…

She only knew me by heart.

Closing Act.

Back here again.

The most familiar place I’ve ever been.

This is the part where I’m forgotten… again.

Where I fold into the shadows of memories that blend in with empty spaces and cold wind.

The part where I am let go of.

Where I come crashing down from above. Where I’m reminded that the embarrassing fall out of love often comes with a beastly shove.

The part where the end is near. Closer than it appears.

Where my eyes build up with tears- blinding me, so I won’t have to face my fears.

The part where I become another “was”.

Because my “ends and odds” are finally realized as flaws.

So before my scene gets paused and the curtain draws…

Let me give my best.

If it has to end,

let it be to the sound of a grand applause.


He bleeds honesty. So.

She keeps a knife in his chest.

Penetrates his flesh.

He cries integrity, so she keeps his tears fresh.

She’d mention she has good intentions.

Encouraging him to be his best.

Connected to him through his weakness and pain.

She knew it was possible to make someone change.

Somewhere between the hurt of her last broken heart and gathering the will to restart, she picked up a piece of knowledge to which she held firm:

They will only learn if it burns.


I know I need to leave you,

But how does one split the moon?

How can you separate the dirt from the wind in a monsoon?

You were me and I was you. Always one. Never two.

The time will come soon,

The great divide of one of a kind.

A masterpiece awoken and burned alive.

Inside, it evokes a feeling much like peeling apart the bones of my spine.

Inevitably interrupting the design of my mind.

Disrupting the rhyme on the two and four.

Won’t cry, just gaze in my eyes- puffy and sore, one last time, before the pieces of the moon hit the floor.


In my dreams, I’d pack up my things, open the door and he’d get on his knees.

I’d try to push past him and he’d scream.

Telling me it’s not what it seems, and maybe promise me everything… Possibly beside a diamond ring.

Maybe he’d cut his seams and I’d see that he bleeds sincerity.

Or maybe he’d crumple into a million roses and fall at my feet like I’m his queen.

Id forgive him and love him like a king.

A royal love theme.

Golden crowned silver linings.

When asked why I have such depressing fantasies of breakups and makeups interweaved…

because when I walked away,

he watched me leave.


Someone told me to just let go. If it comes back to you, it was always yours. So I picked myself up from the bathroom floor, and held onto him.

Locked the front door.

Never was a fan of unnecessary steps… Just skip the complex and get to what’s next.

Stuffed my fingers in between the jealousy. Plugged my ears when he’d disagree.


refused to believe

that if my hand suddenly released,

I’d just have to….wait and see?

Relinquish control of my own destiny?

No…. That didn’t seem productive to me.

Way more inclined to watch my knuckles bleed, then dig my nails in his chest, and force his head against my breast. Said he needed a break, so I’d break every bone he tried to rest with a grip resembling death. Fist compressed. Muffled, squashed, and squeezed him into faithfulness, and I guess…

Trying not to let go of him,

I lost myself.

So I let go of me and… just held my breath…

Time Out.

I was in love with you


I was reliving the day before


I was dreaming of tomorrow


Today, I wish I knew that tomorrow was only a day away.

I would have found a way to turn time into space.

I would have made the sun stay in its place.

Please don’t move…It’s too soon.

I would have turned every clock that ticks into something toxic.

Turned watches into handcuffs.. attach them to the hour and lock it.

Glued down the Earth’s axis and make the day stick.

bring yesterday

into today

or turn today into


just so I can lay

beside you and remember when tomorrow was not the day

everything would change.

It was simply just a day away.


She stayed awake for six days and seven nights.

On the first day, she separated her darkness from her light.

Hoping to gain some insight.

Day two- she analyzed the sky.

And watched the clouds drift by.

On the third day, she stood barefoot on dry land.

Took a stick and drew her name in the sand.

Fourth day- she stood outside in the rain.

Dried off in the warmest of sun rays.

Day number five- she took a swim in the ocean.

Waves led her every motion.

Day after that- she watched a spider create its home.

Made her think about her own…

And past midnight- day seven,

Oh Yes…

she rested.

-the Sunday visuals-


They could breathe fire when things transpired.

Much more than drama…

They spit lava on top of the trauma.

Flames fly and blaze lies.

Smoke swells when flames die.

Slept in ashes. Rolled in dust.

Incinerated trust.

Faith obliterated from doubts reinterred. Any sudden motions triggered explosions.

But so afraid of being frozen…

Watched elders grown old in a love that grew cold.

Quivering hearts in ice covered mold.

So they Singed bridges and scorched buildings.

Dragons dragging damage down deadly ditches.

Burning blessings and mistaking stresses for life lessons.

Never weary of defeat

They fell in love with the heat

And burned in peace.

Memory Foam


None of his words, she memorized.

She didn’t have to. They were printed on her skull. She can recite them anytime.

Almost as if She can find his hand prints in random places. Her lungs. Her thighs. Shoulders. Mind. His fingerprints left at the scene of the crime.

Her neck permanently tilted from sleeping with her head on his chest. The outline of his face, carved between her breast.

Her hips still adjusted to the width of his waist. Laying across him, covering every inch like the stars in space.

Her toes curl up like they did behind his knee cap. Her back still arched from sitting in his lap.

Her arm always twists like its wrapping around the sides of this man. Their arms laced together like a beautiful long band. Her fingers still curved like they’re holding his hand.

The butterflies are dead. The Stars have fallen. But her body has not forgotten.
Thought she’d forget when he was long gone.

She didn’t notice until she was alone.
Her whole entire being was nothing more than Memory Foam.