The witch’s hour approaches-
What an unearthly time to be alive,
To open your eyes in fear,
To shut them back into illusion.

In your tired veins, yesterday’s sorrow sneaks through;
Do they burn with numbness?
Does the air caress your venomous pores?

This girl is a witch;
A witch is a saint,
For all the saints have confessed
To having sinned.
Can a god resign?
Can he seek forgiveness?
I hold him in the palm of my hand-
Tired creature,
Old with time,
Dark with worry.
There are no resurrections left to save
What is to be forgotten anyway.

The witch’s hour passes by—
The almighty can be put to rest once more;

Sleep in a mattress of distress,
Slip in oblivious bliss.

if this room bites,
then so do I;
remember how many times change has been spoken,
uttered though ****** teeth.
you make your own wounds,
you collect your own tears,
you tear apart your own red string.

If this room bites,
There’s no need to knock-
I’ll be here.

Courteously skipping through petals and broken glass,
I make my way home.
It’s been a while.

Trees bow down in greeting;
Rain dampens my cheeks,
Mildly reminding me of the way things used to be,
When innocence still stained me red,
When stars still blinked at me.

So now I walk with steady steps
That the ground doesn’t recognize.
Only depth and chasm know my pace.

I push open the door--
“Good evening, girl of ice.
Same darkness, same time?”

Do angels taste regret?
It seems unnatural
To count the feathers that remain,
When all the rest have turned to ash.
Reclaim your wings,
Even if broken,
Even if unholy,
Even if they cut into your ribs
when you try to sleep.

The sky never swore to protect;
It only promised to allow the fall.

Nothingness is having a conversation
With the human it created.

Soft-faced, the moon looks down
On a not so soft girl.
Call for me-
I’ve been waiting,
I’ve been longing,
I’ve forgotten what it means
To burn.

It’s been a while since the world bothered with my presence.

Us, lonely creatures, we’ve got something special: we can rebuild ourselves several times,
only from the pieces we saved on the way down on a night not unlike this one
under a moon not unlike
the colour of your skin since you’ve been giving yourself away without reason
only to maybe stop the ticking in your head
time is running
time is flying
time is taking a spaceship to where you want to be but never will be able to reach
because that’s what you found out when you screamed your way into this world and somehow you managed to stop the screaming
even if you’re just as terrified as when you first saw the light you never asked for.
Find me, universe. Even you forgot where you tossed me.
You are a melancholic soul, child.
You turned yourself inside out and still haven’t found the source of this feeling.
Some things shouldn’t be seen during the day.
Clean up all your vulnerable parts and stack them under the carpet.
Pack up your heart and tape it shut.
Don’t let the red escape, because red is poisonous and you’ve got so much venom inside your mouth
that you forgot what being pure tastes like.
I’ve been seeing red
I’ve been breathing red
I’ve been crying red.
Does loneliness mean anything anymore?
You’ve chewed it up and spit it out so many times
10 times each morning and
20 times each night just to keep it under control.
Where is your control?
Where is your essence?
Where is your patience?
You’ll need it when every inch of you asks for harmony in a million different ways that go against each other
and which voices are you supposed to listen to when you’ve been talking to yourself so much you forgot what your own voice sounds like?
Home is nowhere and everywhere all at once
and sometimes I find it within myself but
sometimes this body is a strange building I’ve never set foot in before.
I let the wind cleanse me from the inside out.
His whispers are comforting; his touch is the rebirth I crave.
May I try again? I’m not quite sure I understand what it means to live in this world.
I’m still longing for the one I left.

It’s alright,
It doesn’t have to be forever;
Does it?

Do you ever watch the stars and think of the ones that have fallen?
I do.
I think so much at night it hurts.

Foolishly thinking distance has any power.
It doesn’t.
Look at the sky- I feel it so close.

If ever the moon reaches you quietly, shyly,
With a light so soft it could only be my own-
Know I have sent her.

Without any words, I’ll learn to let go
In my own time;
Or maybe not at all.