The Crooked Chronicles

life is a crook


There is too much goodness
in the way you hold me;
there is too much love
in the way you say my name.

One day soon
there will be no one left but me,
and I’ll wonder why
I could never love.

My answer will come
in the dead of night,
when I sleep alone in my bed;
some form of you will tell me:

"You could never give yourself
because you killed every part of you
that was worth giving, and now
there is nothing left.”


Would it kill you to wonder,
at least, what the poison is
that sits so thickly upon my lips?
Would it hurt you to crave
for a moment the texture
of my skin?

I swear I taste like death
in all the right ways;
my tongue is the tomb
over which you will cry;
my lips are my eulogy
scrawled across your flesh.

And tomorrow morning,
I promise,
you’ll fall at the sight of me,
remembering how hard
I made you fall


You peel back the covers
and lie down beside me,
feeling around in the dark
for the tips of my fingers;
we hide, not from anyone
or anything, writing with
our words in the infinite
blackness, our sentences
finite, dotted with the few
unveiled stars that watch us.

You claim me as your own
and I repeat your words;
you tell me you love me
and I return the sentiment;
you paint a picture with
your lips upon my skin,
and I do the same.

I mimic your movements,
echo your kisses, reciprocate
your admiration; and I realize
that if you were anyone else,
I’d be happy.

Self-Destructive Retribution

One night you whispered
in an untouched voice
that you drowned with me
whenever I felt my sadness.
I believed you.

When you left
I did everything I could
to make you feel my pain.
I ate away at the walls
until I could see the sky.
I swallowed the sun,
watched its color
slowly die in my stomach.
I sat in the darkness,
suffocating in my grief,
and I was content.

But you were nowhere
to be found; I heard no cries,
I heard no footsteps.
You did not drown
like you said you would.

Before long I realized
that you had forgotten me.
I was alone,
killing myself
with my sorrow.
Only echoes responded
to my screams.

But I’ll never stop
trying to hurt you;
if I can’t drown you
with my sadness,
then I’ll kill you
with my happiness.


Give me what I’m owed:
the clothes off your back
for the nights I kept you warm;
the smiles from your lips
for the tears I wiped away;
the dreams from your mind
for the nights I held you tight;
the happiness from your soul
for the part of me that I gave you.

Give me what I’m owed,
so that I may be whole
without you.


Your breath is fire on my skin.
You speak to me from afar
Lest I realize your wickedness.
I feel your warmth on some nights
When you can’t help but inch
Towards me, your mouth watering
At the thought of my flesh.
Don’t come too close; I want to keep
The image of your perfection.

I have fallen in love with your lies.


When you sleep on nails,
Rusted from the rain
That trickled through the
Holed roof of your shed
(It’s your own fault, Darling;
You said you would fix it.),
You learn to appreciate
The cold, dirty pavement.

When you open your mouth
And only blood sputters out,
Painful murmurings that
You try so hard to hide,
You learn to appreciate
The close-lipped silence.

When your heart is broken
And you are left to mend it
With nothing more than an
Uninterested friend and
A bottle of poison,
You learn to appreciate
The winds that blow
Beyond the edges of cliffs.

And one day your appreciation
Might culminate in a realization,
And your suffering
Will not have been
Entirely in vain.


Swords and spears
Wouldn’t hurt this much;
I’m a strong boy,
That’s what my mother said.

I have nightmares
About you, silly dreams
Where you leave
And it kills me.

I’m a strong boy,
But stronger men
Have fallen with wounds
In their chests.

Swords and spears
Wouldn’t hurt this much,
And at least that pain
Would kill me.

The Garden

His flaws show at the first sign of emotion; he prunes the garden too often, watches over it for too long a time. It grows slowly, unwillingly, afraid to disappoint him, or it unfolds angrily, provoking him, calling him to try and stop its show of independence as if his meticulousness was threatening to its livelihood.
The pain the garden cultivates within him is a hunger. His want is only for the garden to grow. He yearns for the roses to open up their petals, for the sunflowers to turn towards him instead of the sun; the perfection he craves comes only in pairs, and so he can never know happiness.
He sits in the garden, leaving it to grow on its own for a short while. He thanks the garden for all that he harvests, but his affection is too eager, too expectant; he is ill-received.
Night comes and he is renewed in his efforts, pushed forth by the silent beauty of the stars, but within the garden this can never exist; the chained dogs howl at the gate.
He will never know happiness.

You care for things too much
When they are worth so little;
You would kill for a scrap of food
Even if you weren’t hungry.


Heart refurbished,
Soul bought on sale;
Mind found in the corner
Of a dirty thrift shop
On a dirty street
In a dirty city.

Here I am,
A doctor’s monster,
Dressed in pale
And tattered skin,
Hoping you
Could love me.

But I will understand
If you walk away;
There is only
So much I could do
To hide myself.


Would you lie for me?
Words fall from my mouth,
the sounds tied together
with their intricacies, stories
I’ve never heard before
looped through each other
by the tip of my tongue.

Would you kill for me?
There’s blood on my hands,
horrible thoughts hanging
like incandescent lights
in the back of my mind;
soon they will flicker,
and then they will die.

Would you die for me?
There are holes in my chest,
open wounds in my flesh
that had waited for the chance
to kiss your skin. I will always
be the first to go.

Would you smile for me?
My lips fall into a frown
as I think back on all
that I have done for you,
on the poison that you fed me
to keep me alive,
weak enough to listen
but strong enough to obey.

I cannot smile for you.

Snapchat confessions


I punch walls
until I feel something
other than your thorns.

Soon my house will be dust
and my bones will be bare.

I can’t focus on my homework…

I can’t focus on my homework…

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