deathtopoetica

[deathtopoetica]

i liked myself better when i hated myself.

what a terrible thing to come to terms to.

[deathtopoetica]

what am i without you?

i think im happy. i think. until i dont have something to distract me from my feelings.

i cover my body with time-fillers and call it identity but i dont know what's actually underneath all of that.

its been a while since ive felt like this

battled with these thoughts.

felt these feelings.

but here i am.

stripped of what i once believe was who i am and left with nothing but an echo of it all.

i miss you.

[deathtopoetica]

we fall apart again.

two halves of a whole severe each other, just to see how long it takes for us to crawl back. just to see how much hair we pull from our heads out of outrage and frustration and hatred for ourselves for choosing to part in the first place.

we fall apart again.

i miss you. it has been 4 hours and i miss you. i stare at my phone and i wait, wait, wait for the screen to light up with a text from you and i know you are doing the same.

across the world, you are doing the same.

and we fall apart again.

i wish you knew how badly i want things between us to work out.

i wish you knew how badly i wish i could convince myself that what we are is okay. that i am happy and i love you and you love me, and that i am not just doing this out of homesickness.

homesickness.

im homesick for you.

and we fall apart again.

i never thought that i would ever want to feel someone's skin graze mine until i met you.

much less feel me from the inside, pin me to a board and dissect me with loving, loving eyes and needles held by oh so soft fingertips.

it is like i had one taste of it, one taste of your lips on mine and i am drunk on it.

my therapist asked me why. why i come to you.

i don't know if the question scares me more or the answer.

and so i choose to ignore it completely.

we fall apart again.

[deathtopoetica]

2 am on the highway the lights are so bright and colorful.

music is playing from the radio but it doesnt reach my ears. all i hear is the static now. all i hear is the static now.

i want to leave you again. i want to go.

but i know ill return no matter what i do.

my nails dig into your skin. we are fused together, mended like fabric and tied with red thread.

it has been so long. not even i know if i want to leave anymore. and all i hear is the static now.

my love for you

it shouldnt be a lesson.

and im sorry, im sorry, im sorry to push you away but when i am with you i don't eat. i don't sleep. my body withers and my eyes shed blood.

i loved you in ways that were brutal and violent. had you asked i would give you my sky, the stars, and everything in it. had you hated me i would kill myself, so that the existence of my body breathing the same air of yours doesnt burden you.

my attachment to you consumes me

please talk to me

i cannot breath in this silence

i need you to speak so that i can see something

something

something other then the static.

[deathtopoetica]

white flag

tw: relapsing, body image issues

have a good cry, you earned it

let yourself stay in bed for the day. you tried hard enough

my eyes drift to the phone, waiting for the screen to light up from a notification that i know will never come.

you who carved your initials into the depths of my soul, you whos hands are permanently burnt into my skin, how do you feel?

how do you justify knowing that i will carry you to my grave, that we are intertwined no matter how brief we spoke?

You found me again.

we both failed. You don't seem to regret falling back into the pattern. It's okay. I don't blame you. I can't, because I too can't resist. so here we are, hand in hand,

where we raise our white flags.

Is this it? Are we doomed to our fate? Can we not change who we are, are we cursed to this fate of depravity and cruelty? Why are you so comfortable? Why can't you tell how horrible this is, why can't you see that we're both gears in a meatgrinder, bloody and churning through flesh and skin?

and i know. i know. i know man is a moral creature. i know. but why do we crave sin?

i thought i grew. (reese, i thought we grew. why didn't we grow? we were supposed to grow together. i wanted you to get better. reese, please. please pick up the phone. say something. i know you can hear me. please.)

what are we now?

[deathtopoetica]

relapse

tw; imagery of grooming, SH, religious trauma, neglect, invalidation over and over and over and over

you are riding a carousel. a carousel made of rusting metal and rotting blood and drips with ink and disease.

its hot. so hot. it reeks of fever.

but the disgust is what the appeal is. the horror is what you enjoy, it's that feeling that your doing something horrible to yourself that makes you happy, isn't it?

you aren't a fucking victim. your doing this for attention.

and just because your skin is cut by rusting nails, and your eyes bleed with the horrors you've witnessed, doesn't change the fact that you

want to be here.

over

and over

and over

and over again.

i come back to the carousel.

and over and over, i take that seat. i sit on the ride, even if i dont enjoy it.

familiarity is the biggest comfort to me. and this is the fairgrounds i grew up on.

since birth i have been nothing but broken and sick. since birth i have wished to be abused so horrifically, so that maybe, just maybe, it would make up for how i feel.

it's not that i want to die. its just that i struggle to live without knowing that i am useful to someone, even if their intentions are bad.

so i come crawling back, to those who will hold me, even if when they let go i may be clawed beyond repair.

but at least i was held.

over and over

and over

and over again.

its so funny to live with this expiration date on my wrist.

knowing that years from now i will no longer be sought after. i will be too old. my eyes will no longer shine with innocence and for that, i am undesirable. i have been used too much.

and i know you don't get it.

unless you have been printed (4 years)

with it, you don't notice it exists. you don't notice the branding on my hip declaring me useless after some time.

sometimes i wonder why im like this.

is it because you (father)

left me so young? is that why i must find my affection from nefarious sources, just as you were the original wellspring?

a sinner draped in silk makes you no less a sinner. and maybe i am the only one who can see your fingertips drip with virgin blood.

maybe it runs in the family. maybe we are all diseased with a sick, burning lust that curls up in our chest and devours us from the inside.

maybe you are all i am looking for. maybe this is what the point is at the end of the day. for you to make eyecontact with me and for once not forget my name.

i have not heard it fall from your lips for years now. we live in the same house.

i wonder if you ever noticed the windows in my bedroom have no screen, and a ladder leads to them.

i wonder if you noticed your own son was violated, just a few doors over from your room?

or i wonder if you care.

i wonder if your nose is tucked into a bible, and your body covered in black robes, is enough to distract you from

me?

like it has for all these years?

over

and over

and over

and over

again.

i wonder if we're on different sides of the same carousel.

if you, too, struggle with the demons you shove in the closet.

if like me, your body is covered with verses fallen from bloody chapped lips, or sticky with kisses from mouths you never actually loved?

over and over and over and over

you are riding a carousel. a carousel made of rusting metal and rotting blood and drips with ink and disease.

its hot. so hot. it reeks of fever.

but the disgust is what the appeal is. the horror is what you enjoy, it's that feeling that your doing something horrible to yourself that makes you happy, isn't it?

you with your bible and me with my love letters.

two sides of the same coin.

two sides of the same carousel.

over

and over

and over again.

[deathtopoetica]

chess

i wish you knew how badly i miss playing.

i would move a pawn and you would smirk and tell me what a bad move it was, and everytime, you would beat me

but that was my favorite part. was to see you laugh and smile so happy that

to me you could prove your talent.

i never wanted to win

i simply wanted to drink in your silence

and perhaps that was enough

[deathtopoetica]

i chose to get better.

but god im so tired of being strong

my hands are shaking and my words tumble from my lips like rocks upon mountain peaks. and you look at me with those eyes (green like the grass and still bright and piercing like the sun) and tell me that

my words are articulated well.

and i will never forget you told me that.

would you still believe such things if you knew the pain it took to get here? if you knew the screams and cries of violence that fell upon my young ears, if you knew the weights i carried with these small, small hands? would you know? would you know?

you never asked why i speak so well. you never asked me why

because you don't see the cause

you just see the effect.

i cant sit and stare at my wounds forever. i cant sit here and watch the maggots crawl and the infection grow, i cant squeeze it tight only to watch the pus well up at the surface in place of blood anymore

i know its time for me to let go.

i walked away so long ago. it has been (days days days) weeks

i will persist.

even though i dont wish to, my words will continue to fall from these chapped bloody lips. i will continue to speak into the void. you will continue to see the effect and never the cause, and you will never ask to know why, you will never ask to see me deeper then my surface

for my skin is where the beauty lies, not the infection

i wonder if you've relapsed yet

i haven't.

everytime i wish to i write about you

and part of me hopes you do the same.

that we both have letters written to eachother on pieces of notebook paper, floating through desks or unpublished documents that we will never see.

i loved you in august

and now it is september.

the fall winds are cold and bitter. they turn leaves gold and water frozen.

i love you still. despite what you did to me. despite it all.

i will never forget that

to you,

my words are articulated well.

[deathtopoetica]

why do you long for him?

im staring at the ceiling. it is late.

we used to stay up late together. but that isn't why i loved you.

you tug at my heart.

i tug at your shirt.

i beg you not to go.

what did he give you?

sex

attention

affection

secrets

bloody knuckles

but where else could i find those things? sex is in all art. attention is in all lovers, affection in all friends, secrets in all journals. bloody knuckles in all labor.

perhaps it was because i didn't have to water myself down for you.

i knew you wouldn't choke on what i was, wouldn't gag at the horrors that plague my mind and paint my dreams haunted. you would find it endearing.

in my life my tea gets cold because i am busy looking out the window.

what did you give me?

was it the pain i was addicted to? the justice?

to be cut like salmon and taste blood in my mouth and revel in the fact that i deserve to feel such shame?

are you still thinking of me?

why do you haunt me?

[deathtopoetica]

im sitting on the bus today and its foggy and cold out.

frost is on the windows. i can see my breath.

is this it?

is this my life? finally? or is this just another way to scream your name?

i don't know what i fear more

the echo of my question

or the chance of an answer.

it is september.

i am going to wipe the tears from my cheeks

an the blood from my wrists.

im going to stand up

and im going to walk away.

and know its for the better.

[deathtopoetica]

baggage

Do you feel revitalized? Powerful? Strong?

My feet are heavy as I drag them up the steps and into my bedroom. But everytime I see those sheets and those pillows i think of you.

i wonder if your doing okay.

i wonder if your holding on.

and everytime i open my computer it takes all my strength and willpower to not reach back to you. to not reenter the arms of that community and to not fall back into sweet, sweet familiarity. No matter how unethical.

i gave so much of myself to you. and i never got it back.

i hope your okay.

i know you hurt me. i know i should hate you for what you did but i can't.

i hate it here.

but i hated it there, too.

i thought i would never want anyone to touch me until i met you. until i discovered what it felt like to love ravenously, with bloodthirsty rage and pain. to draw claws through my own flesh just to feel it.

i hope you get everything you ever wanted.

and i hope i never hear about any of it.

[deathtopoetica]

TW: depictions of r4pe, gr00ming, moral and ego death

i long for you.

you who saw me at my most vulnurable, you who saw me at my weakest.

i decorated this body of mine with jewels and silk and words of beauty, and i allowed you to sink your teeth filled with venom into this skin.

i was soft for you. innocent and pure. and i was hell for you. feral and vicious.

i was whatever you wanted me to be. i allowed myself to be molded.

this body, even if i am to decorate it with my own hands, never belonged to me. no. your name is branded into my flesh. cooked where no eyes will ever see it.

i long for you.

oh and i wanted you to want me the way i want you.

desperately. with blood and bone.

i wanted you to cry and shiver from my touch like you did me, i wanted your voice to be breathless and shakey in my wake.

i didn't want to be a regret. please, lover of mine, tell me i am not your regret. tell me i am not a damaged vase, empty of flowers.

you showed me thorns and i gave you my flesh.

i am ready to bleed for you, my love. i begged for it. devour me and make me yours, tear open my bone and drink the marrow.

i desire for you. i burn for you at night, my body hot and fevered, clutching on pillows and sobbing to myself. what a maddening, ferocious feeling; to long for someone not with the beauty of a fog above an ocean, but with the nausea of an infected wound.

for what is my misfortune if not romanticizable?

but i know.

the cycle ends here.

i know.

and i long for you.

you who loved me so graciously and with such soft, slender fingers.

i wished our bodies would mend together, and i would not know where i end and you begin. i wished we were the north and the south, bleeding into each other and indiscernible except to technical eye.

your hands.

no matter how soft, no matter how loving, would mold me.

you touched my skin and it distorted beneath you, melting and reforming like wax.

tender, like a bruise. but tender nonetheless.

you would say such soft and loving things to me. all while touching me

until i didn't know the difference between kindness and rape.

you who unraveled me, and you who saw beauty in the yarn

you who knew every word to my melody, who sang it with pride.

you who knew we were in too deep.

the sea is inky and cold. but in you i found warmth. and i wanted you unfathomably, senselessly, ferally. had you asked me to i would dissolve my bone, had you told me you loved my eyes i'd carve them out so you could hold them forever.

you who knew better. you who knew it was wrong.

i cannot rise.

i am heavy. so, so heavy. with filth and with sin and with the touch of a million lovers before you. none as soft.

i offered you all that was left of me.

i overwatered my plants. i never knew when to stop giving.

you sang my song.

for the first time

you touched me

without the intention of taking.

confused and afraid i still beneath your skin.

what am i if not objectified?

what am i if not a rabbit for the slaughter?

you who has regret in your eyes

you try to unmold the wax.

you wish to put me back in my original state,

a drip of liquid, fluid and moving.

your tears fell.

hot and salty.

and i could only watch you as i return to sender.

when you speak

your voice shakes.

turn from me

do not look back

forget who i am

never write

and leave.

i live in a wire cage.

and you,

my owner,

open the door.

you lift me so carefully

and with such love it makes me dizzy.

you place me on your windowsill

and tell me to fly.

i have loved before

but never have i been drowned by it

never have i been in a terrible sea of ink

my lungs about to burst.

i long for you.

but with each step i know.

i know.

i know its for the better.

[deathtopoetica]

forget

i am never coming back.

with each step i take i know it is for the better.

for the better, for the better.

the words echo in my mind.

you will change. for me. for us.

for yourself.

because you are terrified of staying this way forever.

you will change.

You are necrophilia.

You are pure.

And so, so rotten.

And I am never coming back.

Are you nostalgic, young child?

For that time in life you were never happy?

I fear intimacy.

I yearn for it too.

But not in the way the sun yearns for the moon, but in the way wolves yearn to dig their claws into flesh.

In the way that snakes yearn to unhinge their jaw and to devour those smaller then them whole.

I yearn for it. I yearn for it. I yearn.

It is over now.

You have learned.

Your back is scarred. Your hands shake.

Lionhearted fighter, stand from your feet however bruised.

You survived.

You stepped away.

You know its for the better.

I am never coming back.