There is no bed in her room.
Light from the stars juts crookedly
Across the floorboards.

She has torn down the curtains.
And sleeps on the kitchen floor,
Wary of breath.

Where she had loved now lies bare.
The paint peeling off the walls.

She can't remember the last time she ever truly felt loved.

The harsh phosphorescence of his touch sparks at the memory. She smothers it in the ashes from the burning fire they had started in the name of love. She hides it in the garden, under broken branches and poison hemlock roots.

She stays in the attic, painting names on the floorboards of the children she could have loved.

I can't touch you.
Peeling your words from my skin,
Bleeding flesh, piece by piece.
Carving out your warmth,
Dissecting thoughts and ideas
Just a little too deep.
I'm working day and night,
To rid you of my bones.
But you just won't go.
Infused memories in my fingertips.
Entangling the edge of my tongue.
A dripping faucet in the corners of my mind.
I need you so much because I know
I'll never touch you again.

Fuck them.
You're disintegrating at my touch.
And I can't get around your crooked angles.
Let me in.
I need your touch. I need your skin.

A place in the stars that knows no pain.
I hang my troubles on the crooked moon.
I've run away from you so many times.
Won't you bring me back this time?

Feathers fall from her hair as she shivers cold regrets in an empty stairwell. Her fingers twist like hooks around the metal rail. She laughs, a sudden hoarse cough in the stale silence, as she pries change from pockets of flesh. Her eyes are luminescent and all at the same time flecked and scattered with rust. She camouflages in with the caked on mud and grime; a step, a lampost, a cracked and broken window, some forgotten and aging wallpaper.

She turns towards the setting sun, "I lost you once." Her face is carved soap stone, the night seems to tremble with every word. Her fingers, once his to hold, dance around her hair and throw away shadows.
The ocean seems to stretch farther with each passing moment. The once placid blue has darkened and faces bulge from the waves, clawing at the air, fastening to the stars.
"I needed you then, too."

Hola. He hecho mis maletas. En dos semana, viajare a Espana. El verano pasado, fui a Espana con mi amiga, Charlotte. Charlotte y yo nos quedamos en la casa de mi amiga, Laura. Laura me dijo, "Sabes que mi novio y yo rompimos ayer?" Charlotte y yo hablamos con Laura y nosotros salimos. Como tuve solo cinco euros, compre un helado y lo di a Laura. Pobrecita! Ahora, es malo que comas dulces. Fue divertido! Charlotte y yo volvimos a Canada en septiembre. No hemos visto todo el mundo, pero veremos todo pronto.

(Blast the memorization..)

I count the kitchen tiles,
Thinking you could be
If I wanted you to.

But I don't realize
I'm not the magician's daughter
I used to be.

I don't know what to do with this empty time of missing you.

And I've become so obsessive-compulsive in your absence.

This love suicide.
Your heart beats slower at my touch.

I wonder how often you think of me.
I wonder if you lay awake at night,
counting stars and street lights.

I'm growing wildfire in your eyes.
I'm collecting ashes from your burning touch.

Torrents of rain.
That hallowing, ebony sunshine.
The drought that stole your mind.
The girl that almost killed you.

I wonder how much you remember.

I'd imagine I was in love.

The first match.

I wonder how I'd look to you.

You've got it all wrong.
I would never let myself be happy.

There's that sinking feeling again.
Those words draped across my neck,
"Run away."
I can't seem to fight this fleeting feeling.
The cold is much more welcoming.

Oh baby, I'm feeling self-destructive.

{The droughts of Venice; your masquerade}

Oh, we could be.