Malinda-Rose

you are still in the spaces behind my bookcase between the notes of my music and in the hollow of my collarbone. you are in the inkstains on my fingers and the corners of my bedposts. your smile is crinkling in my blindspots your scent is in the air of turning pages your skin is brushing my fingertips and singeing them red burned black. i am waiting for this storm to carry it all off. to snap my bones to wrap my body around a lamppost to destroy everything that reminds me of you. including myself. thick limbs of wind are pounding through me but they never hit hard enough to make me forget. my heart is still in

i am going to write until my fingers can not bear the pen anymore. till they make my skin raw, and full of a luminous red color. the arthritis will kick in killing my fingers, and making each stroke of the pen hurt, but i will never stop writing. i will cross my t's and dot the i's, use commas till the reader pukes out their insides of bones and perpendicular organs, and then, then i will show you that i am a writer. and because of this, you will believe me. you will finally believe me. and don't you dare blame me for the hospital bills, and medication; you were the one who doubted me after all. and when you see me, you will remember y

 she feels absolutely splendid. the wind is rustling through her auburn hair as she peers out of her ocean eyes, trying to see the worlds beauty.  there's leaves, changing colors at her fingertips. the sky, it's brighter than she's ever seen it. piercing blue into her veins. her blood, it runs into her arms and legs sending those butterflies out of her mouth and into the sunlight for others to feel. she's letting go of the person who consumed her. she's becoming full of excitement, and ambition. and her smile is actually real. her voice box creates short giggles, and a sweet melody to accompany them. she feels around a million heartbeats more

i write love poems onto my freckled arms hoping someone reads my broken heart like an open book. does anyone care enough to ask why the marker is running down my arms? no, it's too much ink not tears, of  course not. and then they preach to the starlit skies wondering why everyone is so broken.

[we are the world.] afternoon makes me sad. it's something about the color of the sunlight and the length of shadow. it says, this day will never come again. so hold onto it. hold on. [we are charging into battle, shot from a cannon, heads held high, flags waving.] she wears a ring around her left ring finger to pretend she isn't so alone. but really, she knows that there's still only canned soup and her pet goldfish to come home to. [we are blazing hearts of glory, singing for freedom and life at the top of our lungs.] she's mascara-smeared and drowning. they spit those words in the cold metal-bound hallways, bitch. slut

 i'm scared that everything you've spoken is just a bunch of lies. because if they are the whole world is going to go down in flames.

i am not as i seem; sea-witches linger deep within the oceans of my eyes, the pink line of my mouth smooth with siren song. mermaid waves creep like rose-tangle down my spine, thorns jutting from the curls; broken bends of gold. lie; i was born this, angel-skin glowing in the twilight, hellsong rattling from the marrow of my bones. beauty is vague; the rope of my lashes is so, and yet the whisper of my soul is sharp and hollow: my skin is breathing, a melody light as fairies, falling over torn wings.

a poem about dirty rain blood thinning with whiskey swallowing hair thinning from the cancer; places to hide and reasons for the heaviness what weighs our brains down vomitous and tangled; a poem about the music where it comes from, where it goes and the loneliness why it happens and why it stays. a poem about gross bodies once clean and once touched; breathing air stale and dark looking into her mirror to see that she is crying, little girl, lost; little bones, shaking; tears in her kitten's fur. a sadness that breathes in the fog and can be heard through the walls. film over our eyes and this is how we sleep, this is w