Lovellyy

She holds my hand to stop it from shaking. It's not the pain I mind but the time it's taking. Wish it was over, wish it was quick, wish these scars were not quite so thick. She stitches and stitches but the wounds won't close. I tell her I'm sorry but she already knows. I cannot think past all her pleading. Tell myself it won't matter if I'm not breathing. I knew it already and made myself ready. That all of her horses and all of her men could not put  me back together again.

kings and queens         their bloody scenes   knives are              playthings fancy dreams               come apart at              the seams and it seems                  we are not our reflections brutal ends     are not to mend            but to send     us all to hell pretend it's well      just as well                     you can lie                     you can die    at the end just pretend            that you love         that's enough                                   your heart is a dove                                   you are broken

there is someone standing at your ear, standing at your shoulder and they're conducting your fear, controlling your mere thoughts and movements, and they say, with their hand a gentle touch on your arm, tourniquet on your heart, you are too much you are too much and their voice creeps up your spine and through your skull screams too much, too much.

Her words are gold and they fall right off her silver tongue and into your waiting ear. As she stops to sing some lavender lullaby, the clock on the wall begins to spin the wrong way and you sleep only to fall again and again into something like death, something like silence, somewhere with hallowed halls echoing with song sung by the lungs of angels, yet somewhere that reeks with the stench of a graveyard.

We are a flurry of words that don't make sense, a tangle of meanings caught up in their definition. We are not quite dead yet. The heart is just a metronome and we are waiting for it to stop. The truth is that the truth scares you, and the truth is that i am a liar.

-is a blur, is a passing whirr, a mess of a guinea pig maze tainted with the haze of smoke clogged lungs that breathe fire at taxi drivers as if some higher power is sitting in the back seat. There is a strange sort of range from broad shouldered alpha males in board meetings to bone thin panda eyed girls in changing rooms, who flaunt their flair as if it doesn't haunt their gaunt stare. This city is disordered. it hums with the dull buzz of starvation, so get out, before it eats you alive.

He came crashing through the window like a bullet through bone. Slamming against the wall, sticks of glass on the floor and his skin wept red. I leapt up from the bed, up from sleep where I lay in a cradle of ribs. The night crept into the room through the gaping mouth in the wall, moonlight giving his face a ghostly pallor. He told me to stay away, cowered from the window, hands fumbling to pull out sharp splinters like teeth. I shut the curtains, threw us into darkness and the chink chink of glass was music. Before I screamed hands pulled me backwards into the night and I was gone. The streets were burning. I stood and saw his face emerge