A good wine

The thread is growing thin
the apocalypse has come
damn that was a good wine
but it’s done.



My soul is a plastic shopping bag
full of broken plates.


Nobody saw me until you saw me.
I was a ghost who in your eyes became,
and could breathe the air,
and taste, and smell, and touch the sun.
I miss you so much. But oh, I enjoyed you.
Because you knew me, I knew that I could feel,
and if it was only once, it was at least once.


You bring me to the door
again and again
hold my trembling hand
pour your voice over my aching soul.
You hold me although
the jagged pieces of me
cut your skin.
I refuse to open my eyes
so you tell me what you can see.
And when I turn away without stepping through
and climb back down into my hell
you climb down with me
to keep me company.


The wounds of your betrayal
it seems
won’t ever properly heal.
I’ll always love
At best
With a limp.
Paralyzed and clogged with scar tissue
my heart occasionally
attempts to beat;
but somewhere along the way
I forgot how
to be alive,
how to want
anything at all.


I have to destroy something
I’ve already destroyed a lot
but I need more.
Screaming isn’t enough
tears aren’t enough
the ruin inside needs to get out
and be ruin in the world.
I need explosions,
pain, and blood. My own,