the witch

the witch has a gift for me.

her vial glistens in the moonlight as she hands it over and i can feel the warning from the trees.
i ignore them and take it into my hand.

"give this to him and you will be free."

i don't need more instructions,
i don't need more explanations.
i don't need more motives.

i just need to be. 

gone.

i have an obsession with disappearing.

this obsession grips me by its roots,
holding me down and suffocating me with its imperial screams and persuasive devices.
i do not exist.
the skin on my body is not real,
the muscles the sinew the bone
all of these thoughts in my head
are void of reality.

sometimes i can feel my invisibility
in that moment when i am see-through.
if you reached out to touch me,
your hand would go right through.

nothingness.
a dream stuck in an endless cycle.
smoke and mirrors and glass cages.

in the haze of my sanity i can at least make clear
that it's not reality that's fading:
it's me.

tattoo

the party is exclusive, you told me;
a boyish grin crinkles up your face.
I lay on my back, void of clothing.
I hate you and I hate me and I hate this.
you've bought me a dress, strapless, backless;
gold as sin and red as blood.
But those are your words.
I slip it on, and your mothers earrings jingle
as I grip your arm and force a smile.
words blossom against my back,
but they are not meant for you. 

my loneliness will crush me. 

who once was mine.

water droplets on my face,
trails of wetness on my cheeks.
trails of rain or trails of tears?
i don't remember anymore.

soaked, wet, drenched - fallen
on my knee's and now i'm sobbing.
mud soaked tights and sticky dress,
hand in face, i'm such a mess.

a little boy with cheeks flushed pink;
a little boy who belonged to me.

a little boy who's six feet down;
a little boy without a sound.

sit and wait, wait and sit.

in lieu of disaster, I sit and wait.
under the table with my knee's pressed to my chest and my arms wrapped around me.
as if I could ever protect myself.

outside, those not under the table, are silent.
tension filling the air visibly in radioactive waves.
they hit me, and they burn me and I cringe, but they don't stop.

a glass breaks, a slap is heard and cries escapes
and I realize, solely, that the cry was mine.
those radioactive waves keep hitting me, burning me.

I am turning into dust,
right before your very eyes, or maybe not because you can't see me.
but i can see you i can see you i can see you.

as the radioactive waves keep hitting me, I stop cringing,
I let them burn my skin, I let myself melt away.
the last thing I hear is another glass break.

forgetting; forgotten

the waves whisper up to my feet.
slowly they come, as if they don't want to frighten me away;
and they giggle as they touch my skin before they rush back to the sea.

 i wish i could follow them.
quickly i would fly, the water filling my lungs as i floated down;
but i wouldn't be dying, i wouldn't be gone, i would be here and now.

 i can't follow them.
my back is burning from the stare he's giving me from behind;
and i know in that moment that i will never be forgiven.

 and i will never be forgotten.