I told myself i was imaginary and that all of this wasn’t real but I found that my teeth ache from the grinding and my heart tense from the clenching and my head shrouded with self hate and my brain knocking itself overboard and now i think i need to face that this face is of flesh and I hate being real so I’ll say I’m imaginary at best—’cause in this pretend life I’m a pretend human clothed in a bull shit bulletproof vest.

My feelings are memories

My memories are feelings;

I’m numb now.

So I know I can say,

My feelings were memories

My memories were feelings

I’m dead now.

So I know I can lay,

In a Grave where

My feelings are feelings

My memories are memories

And all of us don’t care about

Either

Because graves keep bodies

Wholly decayed and

Feelings keep souls

Temporarily at bay

I’m done now.

My feelings are dead because

My memories lost their head

and I’m the one who cut it off.

even while sleeping,

our worlds think they forgot their meaning.

all the weight bears the same pain.

all that clumsy footing stands in vain.

even while sleeping,

our lives think they forgot they’re bleeding.

all the hate shares the same pain.

all the concrete footing stands in shame.

even while sleeping,

our lives reveal the secrets we’re keeping.

all the memories sharpen their blades

all the sadness darken their shades.

even while sleeping, we never truly rest.

love tries hard but pain does it best.

I remember little me. Asking so many questions in my head. Voiceless voicebox. Silent chatter. I wanted to know. So much. Not for any reason other than to feel. I wanted to know what was felt. I wanted to feel how anyone felt because I knew they felt so many sorts of feelings and sometimes the eyes of the men at the chip club were sad and others were delighted. Most were lonely. All were loyal. How’d you get here? I’m one of Timmy’s girls. Yeah. But what about you? I know some names on the golden plate up there. Of the dead guys. I like to pick out my uncle. And great one. Then grandpa. I can’t remember if he was on there. Danny meant more anyway. And Buster. Buster. Yeah. Did you know him? The old timers might. They’re all old timers to me. The railing spewed splinters and the pool table could hold tons and cigarette smoke marinated in leather seats became the fragrance of my city’s home. Southie. I remember little me. And she’s still here. Except now my mouth moves. My voice box volume is up. All of my questions, I ask them. I’m still one of Timmy’s girls but I wanna know all about the things that hurt everybody else because I want them to know they mattered too. Sad or drunk or lonely or delighted, tell me. I know you want to. I mean, I’ve always truly known you.

my blood trembled at the verbal pronunciation mechanically released from my own mouth. i say what I want to anyone.

I say, there are some precautions that simply do not prevent hazards;

there are some glasses of liquor that are simply not worthy enough to run and breathe and taste and kiss and suffocate even half of your blood dying to become numb;

there are some memories that can never be uttered without the entire weight of abandoned love. there are some melancholy notes of days when stars glittered gold and words brought purpose to broken hearts;

there are some lives that were birthed dead.

I say, there I live one of those; there I’ve died in them, too.

my blood trembled at the verbal pronunciation mechanically released from my own mouth. i say what I want to anyone.

I say, there are some precautions that simply do not prevent hazards;

there are some glasses of liquor that are simply not worthy enough to run and breathe and taste and kiss and suffocate even half of your blood dying to become numb;

there are some memories that can never be uttered without the entire weight of abandoned love. there are some melancholy notes of days when stars glittered gold and words brought purpose to broken hearts;

there are some lives that were birthed dead.

I say, there I live one of those; there I died in them, too.

“it’s crazy how the warning signs can feel like butterflies.” - Halsey

little blue butterflies, wings patterned in a scarlet red design—mother nature’s blueprint—impressive contrast. symmetrical content that mesmerized my heart.

even my brain, so often in haste with the taste my heart hungered for, was drawn to these little insect bred fairies that never always wanted out—until they, too, needed to see you in the flesh.

the blue my genes knew—the melancholia passed on to the components of these small faeries I dedicate my love too. but the blood red dripping off their arms of flight, my genes shuttered at.

taking a closer glance, this design was in reality, damage. these wounded wings—evidence of internal injury:

evidence of your genes: a burning red warnings hungry for my heart.