When in doubt, take a knife
Slice it across the vein along the wrist
Don't go soft, make it count
Make that shit bleed
Watch as it pours over the skin
Do you feel it?
Do you feel any different?
Probably not!
Feeling that coldness along your cheeks
That's still not enough
The tiled floor is within reach
Do you feel it?
Do you feel different?
Probably not!
The knife is still within your hand
Slide it along both your thighs
Make it bleed
Come on now
Don't be a baby
You want it to go away
You know how to do it
Not once, not twice, three times is nice
You're beginning to feel it now
All that pain is starting to ease
The wall is crumbling
The salt pouring along your lips
Yes, let it all out
If this isn't enough and you've had enough
Let the cold water cover the skin
Relax and lay back
Let it all out
Take your last breath cause it's time
Now you are going cold
Do you feel any better?
I'm sure you do
No more pain
No more complaints and disappointments
No more worries
Now just hope you end up where you want to go
With this letter I say goodbye,
As the daylight fades to night,
Tears roll down my cheeks,
Pen trembles in my hand,
My lungs gasping for air,
The monsters under my bed,
The voices in my head,
Hypnotised by the shiny metal,
I feel numb and dead inside,
Totally zombified but without purpose,
Lies and lies that have been said,
Pumped full of chaos,
Traumatised by the outside,
For as long as I can remember,
I have wanted to die,
Feeding off my broken heart and mind,
Despair swirld round like smoke,
Emptiness becoming normal,
Fill my veins with formaldehyde,
The day has finally come,
The day my heart died.
Are you ready for it?
I shouldn’t have to ask you that question after all that you have done.
It would’ve been rude of me not to give you a heads-up like this.
Your reign of terror is steps closer to its endgame.
If I do not draw my sword and face the ghosts of my past, checkmate is guaranteed.
I did something bad long ago, but can you blame me?
I’m just a human being that made a mistake because I was not in the right mind.
Anguish and love do not mix because both made my life worse before.
If you respect that my situation is delicate, why do you keep poking the hornet nest?
If you crack it open and the wasps sting you so much their poison burns,
don’t be surprised if I say, “Look what you made me do.”
Your empathy is lacking so why should I care if you are put to rest the next day?
Princes don’t negotiate with paupers like me.
So it goes because fame and violence are always placed above justice and peace.
Isn’t it gorgeous to be the one in control? To run a country or a sect without a care in the world?
Doesn’t it feel amazing when your subjects obey you unconditionally as if you are an almighty god?
These questions reveal to me that aristocrats and celebrities use their authority
for insolence and seduction. No wonder we can’t have nice things.
You are not entitled to my throne even though a liar was the king of my heart before.
What was “yes” today could be “no” tomorrow so I keep fewer promises.
I’ve heard enough empty platitudes from your devotees to realize that an oath is not to be made lightly.
Anything else you want to preach about before I take the getaway car to escape additional agony?
Go ahead and dress your possessive wiles by telling me you love me
And shower me with material goods to let my guard down against my better judgment.
But when you try to use your tenderness as leverage, it is all the more reason for me to leave.
The longer I stay here, the more certain it is that my life is in danger.
My hands are tied keeping the darkness around me at bay for as long as I can.
Fortune is never on my side when I dance, but my sword will always be my partner.
Call it what you want, but the battlefield is my ballroom.
If dancing alone is the only way I can retain my individuality, so be it.
Happy Raʼs as-Sanah al-Hijrīyah, Vlad Dracula.
I’ll see you in Hell.
There was a café at the end of the road
where the patio trickled onto the sidewalk
and umbrellas opened like snowdrop petals
allowing only splatters of sunlight to decorate the plates
placed in front of posied forks and clinking glasses.
At noon we sat with people sipping rosé
and nibbling the edges of pastries:
you with your cupcake, I with my
tart. Your mouth full of mischief, you spoke
with your hands to clear my head and
there was something like sweetness
on your fingers. Words sifted between your eyes and
a token of my innocence saw the sun
when icing stuck to your bottom lip.
I barely noticed the tremor in your fingers
when you raised your glass to toast the afternoon or
the acidic taste of the powder I wiped off your nose with my thumb.
As real as this is, as real as this feels,
I know it won’t feel really real
until I experience something tangible
like a riot
or being told to wear a star.
There’s a certain appeal to the bruise colored haze at the bottom
of a six-pack. She sits
on the kitchen floor, knees bent
out at acute angles, shuddering shoulder
blades pressing against skin
until the fine human film splits
and she falls – splits down the center
like the bottom of the Colorado mountain valleys we hiked last spring.
The skin of her cheeks would flush in the brisk mornings and I, alone,
learned every shade of tension stretched through her shoulders
when she’d bend
over to wash her hair in the stream.
Like the willow tree bends: graceful
limbs reaching to touch a quivering reflection.
the carpenter
cuts the wood
with a blade clean
sharp straight and
true muscles con-
tract with measured
constraint this will
be his life’s work
this labour of
l o v e every-
thing his hand touches be-comes a crucifix of sorts built with blood and sweat and
tears he loves to work and so he works with love he has a good eye for beauty they
say the elegant simple beauty of a carpenter who himself is weighed and measured
cut and sanded patiently fashioned the secrets of the trade not the son but the father
suspended on a
crucifix of our de-
sign he trades his
labour for a loaf of
bread how he misses
home still hammer
and nail and clamp
and glue the wine
of life his blood
that flows he is
building the king-
dom of heaven un-
awares hammer in
hand he is con-
structing a dream
yet all he knows is
that he is working
He chose you because you are everything he never wanted in a partner.
Someone with tattoos
Someone with children
Someone easy
A whore
He chose you because you are everything he never wanted in a partner
Someone who would cheat on their husband
Someone who would cheat on their children
Someone easy
A whore
He chose you because you are everything he never wanted in a partner
Someone weak
Someone with low self respect
Someone easy
A whore
He chose you because you are everything he never wanted in a partner
Someone with no class
Someone with low self esteem
Someone easy
A whore
He chose you because he knew he would never want you. He wanted me but he needed a whore.
To me and everyone else you were always Alex C.
I fell in love with Alex C.
I married Alex C.
I travelled with Alex C.
I wanted children with Alex C.
Alex C. Told me I was his everything
Alex C. Told me he could never hurt me
Alex C. Told me I was the only one for him
Alex C. Vowed to be loyal to me forever
My Husband Alex C.
Then one day you were Alexander.
I cried because of Alexander
I broke because of Alexander
I lost my love because of Alexander
I have a hole in my heart because of Alexander.
Alexander knowingly hurt me, more than anyone has hurt me in my life.
Alexander did unspeakable things to me
Alexander broke his vows
Alexander gave himself to someone else.
A whore’s lover, Alexander.
You told everyone you wanted to be Alexander but no one listened. Is that still what you want Alexander?