ShayAfterDusk

Would you notice? I think not, but I hoped you might. And it's become clear that the air collects like smog in my lungs. They won't exhale, as they wait to explode. Nail down every last daydream so I won't float on. Rotten fruit sometimes becomes wine, but not today. Stagnant waters birth only ever blood suckers. Everything feels heavy, I can do nothing but shrug. Microdosing existential Dread hoping that time will stand by.... It won't. My age creeps on like the death in my veins, Bitten at a tender age.

At 19 I would have eaten out of your palms. But I've been fed poison by far too many, And I loved to pretend with her that it wouldn't kill me, And I would pretend that this was the only way she knew how to love. And we would pretend that we didn't know any better. We were kids... You want to hold a stranger in your bed? You flirt with statues at the Uffizi Gallery against their unfeeling gaze. yet you anger when you knew they couldn't reciprocate. The past is the past, but you resemble my worst heartaches, and persist far too often. At least the surgeon I once saw was precise with her cuts. This new one is a butcher. And I wait for you to turn monstrous when you can't chain me to your bed. I wait for you to embolden and sour, and pickle, and fester. The patterns of your actions plant flags as red as saturn. I've felt them trampled into my heart as new conquerors invade my peace and calm. I've been haunted by ghosts, and yet you believe I would think fondly of your love bombs. I'm no longer 22, 24, 27 No longer am I the romantic, the partner, or even the sinner. I prayed once for quick departure, but now I know better.

Late mourning by Shay D. Grey __________________________ Where does it all go when the apples begin to spoil?.. Who should I mourn when all that's left is the core? Taking vitamins in creative ways to help with the taste of bile. A hint of blood, a hint of regret is all you'll ever get. These letters aren't for you, my darling. I hope you taste the venom in my heart, when you place it in your mouth.. And you can't quite make out the taste, yet it still does it's job. I hope my blood you've used to fingerpaint never comes off RACHE TAKEN IN TEENY TINY pills, Crush and snort down the bitter love, The words so close together, you may mistake one for the other. You may see a familiar smile dance across my face as the rage tears buries my cheek. Or that old faithful glance turned to vitriol in a quiet moment of reflection. I'm blind to the taste of rot, but the poison kept my heart beating. Why now? Why mourn so late in the game? The only player left stands out in the rain. For years you cloak and numb every festering feeling, every blemish caked with inches of paint. Covering up a murder for the assailant even when you were the victim. What a simple lie, so devastating, so unforgettable, so unfortunate. So sweet.

To notice what is wrong you would need to peer beneath the surface. The lake reflects all of the viewers questions and answers They go home satisfied, yet it all remains unspoken. A trick, the lake is neither as complex or as simple as it appears to others. Run your hand through the water, and the lake returns to it's origin, unchanged.

Everything I touch eventually washes away. The constant flow eventually blurs even me. I can't quite make out who I'm supposed to be. We sometimes revisit the past and waste what matters now. I'll miss you the most, once you leave. The ink sets in and now your present becomes my history. I struggle to steer away at the last possible second. I birth nightmares and cast them into the corners of my room. The distance gets smaller as the monsters grow in the womb. They scatter under the bed, crawl under my covers, in my head, on the curtains, on the walls. I slither the same way my demons do, I know exactly who made my bed. It's the very same tyrant who'll do me in. It's the very same troll who leaves notes everywhere. It's the very same garbage, made from the material, which comes from unethical sweat shops. The blood makes the linen feel smooth to the touch. And I know exactly how the story ends.

Where does the time go? Does it melt like sugar in hot water? Does it sound like the regrets that will one day outlast the regretter. The days consume me, without thought, without pause, a vampire without remorse. When the best days are far behind, And her eyes are but a speck glimmering in the distance. A waste of my thoughts that have wound up in your compost pile. Feed the poisonous thoughts that dissolve nicely in my tea, unclouded. The rash of your love has stretched across my mind. Each scratch replaces a brain cell with a freshly made scab. No more hatred, just pain. What bitter leaves these are that sit in my cup. Where hope goes to die is the same place we kissed for the last time. We listed the all the places we would go, but never how far.

With failure comes beauty. Pulling off my wings until they come in clean. Feather by feather, pile them up, make compost, and refresh the soil. A thousand days I've toiled, yet nothing brings the youth back. To give back to nature would be sublime, for my eyes have been greedy. A thousand pleas, and never respite from her fire. Reformed and lit again. Purged and I lean again, too close. This I chose, alone. Inspired to destroy every cell, and every fibre of my being that she ever touched. Every picture, a house fire, deep down, spreading beneath the surface, unnoticed. Crowned fool and clown, I dance for you still, yet the jig is up. Annihilate every candy floss memory we ever tasted. Cloying and sour, some bitter aftertaste knowing that our future contained nothing sweet. No substance, and yet the abuse, substantial. Subpar sob story. I'm her willing accomplice. Murder me, my darling. Wake, one day, anew, naked of her shadow. Wallowing in hollow affairs, what's does it matter whether fair or shallow? Her jack-o-lantern grin, so bright.. Her lips have sunk a thousand ships. Loosen the tight hooks that protrude from my hips. She hacks my limbs with a cleaver, though she's named me deceiver. These words spread as quickly as Gatling gun fire.

The echoes of myself are just that. They never fit the same. A trick mirror reflecting all the best and worst parts. Here lies the greatest hits of triumph and despair. the author died a long time ago. This was written posthumously. A worn painting, the cracks are easily shown. In the good old days, it still was just a counterfeit. Now the flaws overtake the detailed line work. Each stroke meticulous, all just a ploy for her to see my worth. Of course, the same could never be said for her. For years, the edges blurred, and when she left, pieces of me tore. Poisoned from the start, love is the cruelest death, fed to you with the tiniest of drops. No choice but to bend and break against her rocky spine. To adapt or be burned at the stake. To yearn for the poison that quickens your fate. The canvas left out on the lawn. An owner, callous and undeserving. You handle paintings much more delicately now, is this how it feel to be jealous? The worms crawl in, making a home in my soul made of dirt. A pawn sacrifice taken out before she reaches the other side of the board.  Lord over me all the ways I could never reach you. A phone without a connection, our love, another dead line. Hurt people hurt people, never did I ever please her. The fungal growth of our romance, destroyed our home. And infected my mind. Condemned before all, and taken to the barn to be shot.

Sometimes her breath is still visible on a cold night. A whisper or two comes through the static station, And then there goes the restful night. Pining my way to an early grave. The bloodshot eyes taste different today. Inside grows an awful waste of empty bottles and cyanide. Such a waste, what a waste, your farce, your face. The lies I sucked on to calm my nerves are the same rounds you used to put me down. Three rebirths, and the first two I just hid. The lady, she waits for me near the entrance. Hobbled now. Remembered vastly different than I was. Human to monster. Plaything to harbinger. Playing the role so I don't let her down. And all I utter are words from a script.

A single drop of poison drops into my glass. To fortify my spirit against the oncoming storm. Maladpt a melody and play on as the meat falls off of the bone. So tender are the cockles and sharp is the tongue. Muddy up the waters, so no one dare makes it out. The water becomes dirty from what you keep inside. A bath bomb made with shrapnel. A bar of soap, not totally cured. A decade has taught me, my ideal partners come from the depths of Hell. The dirtiest I've ever been, you've came up smelling like a rose. Well, I'll reap all the goddamn weeds, so they don't spread to someone else. And the prophets that they've promised Don't ever make a lick of sense. Chewing up the glass shards So the words come out easier, as they're coated with blood. You ruined absolutely everything, You should have left it alone.