bedtimezombies

you are the hollow ache in my bones the caustic taste on the tip of my tongue the stifling terror in the middle of the night. you are the shadow in the corner of my vision the sudden breath on the back of my neck the voice that echoes in my ears when i'm alone. you are the bitter edge to my words the cruel intentions behind my actions the smile that hides the anger. you are the ghost that i'll never quite escape.

and i've never felt so alone before; at the foot of the bed that used to be ours, cold down to my bones and staring at the space where you used to be.

5:30 AM; shaky footsteps, wandering through the charred skeleton of what was, once upon a time, a safe haven. (once upon a time, in a land far away.) 5:40 AM; curled up under a thin blanket, facing the back of a couch while ghosts breathe and whisper, taunting. (but if i can't see you, you can't see me.) 5:50 AM; I'm finally asleep and Lucifer comes to say goodnight, wearing your face and speaking with your voice. (maybe this will be more to your tastes?) 6:00 AM; i don't know how to believe in god anymore.

a tempest. of thoughts, and words, and imagined actions - hate and anger and frustration, exhaustion and tears and desperation. poison bubbling out from between cracked, lying, tired lips. a collapse. cities crumble; the sky falls, and demons crawl from the shadows, their shrieks piercing; unearthly. slowly, the careful veil of normalcy and happiness deteriorates. a pause. the dust settles on the rubble; the sky lays in pieces bright blue turned dusty, gaping nothingness where it should be. the demons slink back into the shadows; their work done. a final shriek pierces the air; a funeral song. and then,

"I'm a bad influence," you tell me in the silence, utterly guiltless as teeth graze against damaged porcelain. "I don't care," is the whispered response, as I reach up - half-lidded, smirking - to do the same.

I always promised myself I'd never be one of those disgusting, lovestruck fools contributing to the abundance of annoyingly catchy love songs and bad poetry. and yet here I am.

I've never been happier sitting across from you holding hands under the table and pointedly ignoring the way the waitresses glare. I've never been giddier watching you sink further into your seat while I hide under the table, away from my grandpa. and it's times like that - laughing nervously, breathlessly - that I wonder how a creature as perfect as you saw anything worthwhile in someone like me.

oddly enough, I've never felt more at home than on a concrete floor little rocks digging into my weak knees as I trace patterns into your skin. oddly enough, i've never felt more at home being held by you on a thin blue blanket underneath an inverted cross and a 666 that I'll be sorry to leave behind in a few months' time.

he says it like dropping a stack of plates. the plates are his heart and i am gravity and i am the earth that catches them and scatters them around

she awaits the passing of seasons—for the debris to heap up on the horizon of her frame: a chrysalis constructed from decaying time. she will be reborn.

you know when the person you love and you decide to break up, and you both say to each other, you both agree that you will be friends. and you think it, for a day a week even, and he is still texting you and you are still texting him, laughing like you would do when you were one. and then you meet his girlfriend at the mall, some butter blonde bitch whose decolletage busts out in peach ovals and she can't even tell you how many guys she's fucked or let alone loved and your boyfriend, or your lover who no longer is yours is smiling like he has what he has always wanted, all that is not you, and you become bitter and backbitten and say someth

out of all the bitches you've chosen to put in your yard, i'm the one you should have left at the pound; here, on the hardwood you wither from your wounds that mimic the width of my mouth there is something about being left outside while others dine on the meat of your rafters that distills stability; watching from the back window i froth with greed at my lips, and you, now pitted with my marks, will too.

i’m drowning on the pavement and all the voices are repeating over and over and over again words i can’t make out i wanted to be something beautiful but my cells can only perform mechanical operations no stars supernovas oceans exist in me and the moon is like a hard knot in the sky bleeding ichor on his other side the sun flashes hot cancerous light blinding and i am blind nonexistent in the daylight invisible refracting the world around me repeating over and over and over again hard drum beats and tangled roots that reach out rhythmic dying in the cold winter sun god             oh god, i wanted to believe in something

there is a god and he will not save you