i want to be
loved i just wanted to be
loved but i guess that’s what
you wanted to too and neither of us
got it we just got empty
promises and broken
blood vessels leading to our still pumping
hearts and we don’t know why they
persist when our dreams died
so long ago and i don’t know why i say
“we” when i haven’t spoken to you in a
year and i don’t want to ever hear your voice
again because in my ears it feels like razor blades
or what i imagine they’d feel like if i ever had
ones good enough to break my skin
and i just want you gone but it’s
not you here anymore so i can’t
just say “goodbye” and slam the
door i already did that you already did that
“we” already did that and your teeth tasted like
vomit and your thighs made love to
knives and your skull parted separate
ways and you said without me you’d
die and i was ready to die
with you but i’m glad i didn’t because you weren’t
worth it and everyone takes not being
worth it as some kind of
insult but it’s not my life is just
my own and i wish you wouldn’t use yours
against me with your open throats and the bleach you

200 scars from one summer nearly
killed me and three suicide attempts nearly
killed many and i couldn’t see through love what was
more important and i still felt like i needed to
die for there to be some kind of
justice because with that many
broken hearts in my hand i must have been
lucky but i didn’t feel that way so i deserved
to make friends with the worms

i broke his heart and he broke my
ribs and i drained his skin and he removed my
eyes and this was all what i
dreamed of when i was young, because i’ve always been
fucked up so maybe it’s always been
my fault and maybe no one
broke my bones and maybe no one
made me dirty and maybe i deserve for you to
treat me like nothing too
i don’t wanna treat you like nothing too
im sorry to all of you too

thighs are wet and round
you’re never around
i don’t know
who this poem’s

i used to run free verse and
feel peppermint and ice
in my imagination
it was pretend, my words were pretend
they aren’t now, they’re pink bruises
they’re black spots left by tongues
they’re memories
they’re a sickness i medicate with my keyboard

somebody drained me
and i was empty and i filled with charcoal
i need to be drained but i’m not ready
help me

The Witch’s Son - Chapter 2/?? - Destiel

(A/N: this was gonna be a way longer chapter but god i’m taking forever on this here have a short chapter. hopefully i’ll have longer chapters in the future

read on ao3

chapter 1)

Sam is gone that night.

Read More

i knew i should have cut every single last tie
even just
the passing glances that i told myself
gave me validation and some sort of
sick ugly amusement.

but i didn’t, i kept that
and your words still own me
you still hold my soul and maybe -
maybe it’s not really you,
because i don’t know you anymore
(you’re happy now, i never knew you
when you were happy. even though you lied
and said i was what made you smile.)
but the ghost of you, the memory that lives
inside me
maybe it will own me forever

maybe you’ll suffocate me
(like when you asked me
to hold your breath
for you
and i went too hard, always
too little
too much)
maybe i’ll die for you
like i promised all that time ago

please don’t
make me
keep my word.
i never did on anything else anyway.

my fingers laid down bruises, they did
and i wonder if it is cruel of me to not tell everyone this
if maybe nail down a sign, should recount my tale like a movie
but if i did - i’d just end up crying
and you’d be just like everyone else, you’d tell me
a sneer on your face and wrath in your eyes,
"you just want pity, you’re pathetic. stop it already."

no, no, that’s so far from it, i’m sorry
i’m not good at composing myself -
i’m so bad at it, i cried while i pulled her hair
please, please let this be enough
please believe i am strong and can take care of you
believe me so we don’t try to one-up each other with blood tattoos

i never was strong and i never had restraint
i told you tears turned me on,
my tears revolted you.
i think maybe we were both lying to placate the other
i think none of it worked and now we both taste of lemons and too much salt.

you tell me you love being lost -
not in nature, not among the woods and songbirds (though you love those too)
just in a car, driving down two lane roads, taking turns you haven’t taken
ones you didn’t expect and now you get to learn all about them
see the road pass you by.

and i think that’s lovely, it has a charm to it
and maybe that love is what makes it so i love
gettin lost in you, in your eyes
in your voice when you tell me stories.

oh, how i love being lost in you.


her lips tasted like her older sister’s lipstick

she always tried too hard to grow up, and i was chained at her heels,

dragging behind like the cans on a car that reads “just married”.

i remember when her breath smelled like booze and she asked me to fuck her against the fridge,

                                    i didn’t understand.

her friends were gathered around and their eyes bore into us, hot like the sun on black concrete, like they knew,

like they saw the way she carved at me, the way she turned my bones to dust,

        the way they called me “whipped” and they knew i tried to break from the chains, 

                         but i couldn’t.

they laughed and they didn’t help me while i squirmed and coughed on the rusted specks of metal in the air.

and on those nights at 11:11, when shooting stars aimed for their targets, and when i had spare change to give to a lucky well,

i wished that i would be strong enough for her, but i wonder

if what i really wished was for her to be gentle enough to hold me

when my eyes felt the morning dew.


i was a hollow tree that was long past any rings or life inside,

i never understood how all that tree could just disappear - was it termites?

               squirrels who infested it?

               little fairies making little fairy homes?

i haven’t researched it - i never was good at keeping focus - but i guess sometimes it just happens

and i’m still not sure if my hollowness just happened; or if could have been a greedy squirrel who tasted like an older sister’s lipstick.

either way i tried to fill it, but i couldn’t focus and i couldn’t decide what with

so hands went across my sides, they dug into me, they begged me and told me,

             ”i am the only one who loves you.”

what i loved was a forest fire though, and she paid me no heed.

the bark i had left though, it thanks her for it.


i told myself i was human but really i was just a robot.

i lived off lunar power, and in my backyard at night i would

call a girl who i was sure was six feet tall and who could carry me like a princess.

she didn’t want a princess though - the girl with eyes of 24 karat gold didn’t seem to want one either.

(i didn’t want to be one either, that’s what i said.)

i wonder if maybe i could’ve loved her if all my bark wasn’t scratched off already (at least not burned)

but when she carved her initials into me, it felt like fire and i fled.

i didn’t want to fuck her on the refrigerator, and even if she promised -

i didn’t trust her to calmly hold me while i cried.

two weeks come, four months go.

summer tasted bittersweet, and i missed

the ice cream man from when i was still six on nights like those,

back before i hit my head and lost my innocent imagination.

i do not care about your broken heart.

i care about my broken mind and soul and dignity and skin and sanity.

i don’t need forever and i wish the world would stop telling me i do. i don’t need to know flowers will smell lovely in ten years, i need them to now so i can enjoy them and smile. i don’t need to know what kind of dinner i will be craving in seven months, i need to know what food excites me tonight so i can put on my apron and get to cooking. i don’t need to know what the sunset will be like in four days, whether it will be purple or red or both or neither, i want to watch it tonight and be filled with the awe of now.

i don’t need someone to tell me they’ll love me in years and up until and on the day i die, because those will be then. those will be different days, those will be new me’s that i haven’t met yet.

i need you to love the me of today and that is good enough. we’ll deal with tomorrow when it becomes today. see you in the morning.

a list of objects from a thursday:

an old-style phone on a chord
rose-shaped candles (they don’t smell like roses)
burnt shelves made of fake wood
obsidian in a plastic bag
a jewlerybox made of seashells
a dogleash - the pattern is pink hearts
grocery store uniform polo shirt
solar panels big enough to nap under
a tree shaped like a star
a hammock blown over by the wind
bird wings with neon orange feathers