rosemares
She told me I planted
myself in her
heart
but I wonder what
she'd say
if I told her I just
wanted to get
rid of myself
(like the foul weed that
I am.)
-a.d.r.
You could have killed me
in three hundred billion ways
but instead you
chose two--
you told me
that you loved me
and then you
took it back,
and the only thing I was
left with was
the carving you
inscribed
on my right thigh
(right underneath your name)
that said 'checkmate.'
-a.d.r.
You could have killed me
in three billion ways
but instead you
chose two --
you told me
that you loved me
and then you
took it back
and the only thing I was
left with is
the carving you
left me with
on my right thigh
(right underneath your name)
that said checkmate.
-a.d.r.
I'm tired of staring out
the window from
an empty
café,
it's worse than
being trapped
underneath my own
skin,
because at least the
people outside
are
happy.
-a.d.r.
Suppose my blood was
magenta
and yours still a
deep red, how
different would
that make
us? Would you
still shy your eyes
away from mine,
and would
you still let
me go? (I don't
think I'm human
either.)
-a.d.r.
I was beaten and bloody
and bruised
but not on the surface;
my heart was shattered
and my lungs were
deflated,
my bones were broken
and I was bleeding a
story down onto
paper into a
letter that
would never be
read.
-a.d.r.
You filled me in with
a pen full of
my own blood
and licked my ribs dry
of any poison you
could have left behind
and I wish I would have
known that you were
a plague
because now I'm left
with you.
-a.d.r.
I swear I was destined
to look at you
with your small pink lips
and your tiny nose
and your beautiful almond
eyes
but I don't think it was
destined for us to end
up this way
or for you to die the way
you are
(I know it's a work in progress
but you can't leave
me yet)
and it certainly wasn't destined
for me to take my life
before the sand stops
falling in the
hourglass you turned for
me when I said
"recovery."
-a.d.r.
They told to me to
write a poem based
on the word calamity
and immediately my mind
rushed back to
the day you held a knife
to my throat and
kerosene washed down the
walls (you didn't
stop until the sirens sounded.)
-a.d.r.
The music pounded (blasted,
really) and I moved slowly
to the beat and you told
me I wasn't doing
it right (you were drunk)
and I kept holding back the
tears and you kept
drinking
and it wasn't my fault
it wasn't my fault
(it was all my fault.)
-a.d.r.