Because there’s yes,
and there’s no, and
then there’s that
hollow place between them where
the lack of an
absolute
keeps leaving me distraught,
keeps pointing out
things to me
I’d rather not remember

like how your hair smelled
that day I broke your heart.

I wasn’t always this
confused, you know.
There was a point where
I found comfort
in black
and white,
solace in right
and wrong. But it doesn’t
always work that way,
does it darling?
    I’m in the grey.
Different shade each
day,
and my actions?
All I know is that
I keep swaying back
and forth between
what the devil whispers
into my ears
and what lies inside
my skull, but I’m reaching a point
where both entities are starting
to agree with one another.

And I will beg of you to go
the more I need you to stay,
because I’m trying not
to need so much.

Skin me alive and leave me be

-    and go.

I realize

I’ve been dipped in
your ocean for far too long,

I’ve been swimming around
inside you
I’ve been swaying my hips
back and forth
with the movement of your
majestic waves,
that I’ve forgotten how it feels
to be at the surface; to fly,
to light up the world
in red and orange,
to fill up the sky
with self-ignited
blaze.

I’ll rise like the sun,
declaring independence,
singing solidarity
and self-love.
The more I burn,
the more of myself
I throw into the fire,
the more beautiful my flame,

and I’ll shine this blinding light
to wipe out

the darkness,     me and my luminous heat
soaring high

above all else.

I’d rather not.

Please, don’t make me.

I’ve killed you off so many times
in my head, I wouldn’t know
what to do with you
should you face me.

Walk the other way.
For someone who’s so imperfect,
you sure know how to
make me feel small -
but won’t you have a little mercy, baby? January
is when you lost me,
and every year
around this time

I strip myself bare,     like clockwork,

but maybe you just don’t want this debt paid back.

I guess
I’ll just try to bury the knife a little deeper.
And maybe this time,
I wouldn’t be
so inclined to kiss you back to life.

It sinks in,

drip drops,

music,
rehearsed lines and all;
perfect acting. Surreal.
It’s not murder if you’re
still fucking alive.

I know,
I know,
you’ve heard it all before.
I’ve seen it a million times.

I’m just recycling old dreams
because I’m running out of new ones.

In a sense, our minds probably
predicted this kind of outcome.

But the angel in you and
the rebel in me
took the reigns
and lashed our horses
into a world where we
were strangers
and nothing you and I
could say or do
could determine
the color of our future.

With eyes so red with toxic desire,
I contemplated freedom in the form
of loss.
And I gave it up.

  You.

Had you stayed, I would have
continued to build forts
all over and around me,
walls so high, and so thick,
even the devil himself
would give up on me
and walk away.

But you didn’t really need that much motivation.

And maybe I remember far more
than you ever would. And maybe
I’ll forever be preoccupied by the intention
of forgetting.