How Should I


I could hear him inhaling my scent, his chest expanded

against me as he buried his face inthe nape of my neck.

I lie there silently,

my face glued to the bay windows across the room.

He asks me what’s wrong. I kiss him in reply, then go back to staring

at the blanketed skies. He tries to hold

me but my body is heavy like a doll’s. He gives up after a while and falls asleep with his back to mine.

I think about touching his

scars but decide against it. I go to sleep instead,wondering how I would tell him

that I didn’t love him anymore.


Love Crimes


And he loves me, I know he does.
He holds a gun to my waist while he kisses
me softly. And he’s loaded with
passion and promises and the gun is loaded
with metal.
Murder murder murder
on the mirrors in red lipstick and on his collar.

And I was a good girl. I used to be.
But he used to push me around and Iiked
it. And I’m backed into a corner
and he backs up his threats with a steel
cylinder. I still
love love love
him even if it is wrong. I’m not guilty.



I wish I could write with my eyes
wide shut and just
sketch the outlines on my eyelids and the
spots I see when I forget where
I am. But I’m afraid of
the dark and I always open my eyes to
a blank page and
an empty room and I often think it
is quite sad that I have more
company when I cannot see those in
front of me.



It was a murder,
the way he loved
A grave
promised, toxic kisses
and those sweet little
it was
all so
my trust splattered on
eyes wide
open, still seeing
no one
can. Bruises
from the blows
truth I always
saw coming
but never
I never

Love contained
in my chalk
it dies with my

The yellow tape
the scene and
I wonder
it had always sectioned
us off
the world, from
the reality
that you


Between Silences


The drip drip of the faucet makes
me cringe as I
listen to you
It’s getting harder and harder to
stare at your
eyelids as the uneasiness
fills the room.
The longer hand on
the clock ticks
on and on
like a metronome, the
drone of my thoughts
vibrating my
I wish you would
look up at me but you

don’t, just continue
to deepen the water grooves in the
wood with
your nails,
impatience peeling away the
thin shavings of

trust. “So..?”
The voice didn’t sound like
but of that
of a little girl holding
her hand
punishment. You look

finally and the
emotion has leaked from
your eyes and
I am
a stranger in
Your eyelids flutter
again and
mouth quivers
and my
breath catches
my throat as
the drip drip and
all become a
little detail
in the
I have of


A Phone Call Away From A Heartbreak


I was anxious, I’ll admit. I drummed my nails furiously on the heavy wooden desk, listening to the infinite buzz of the computer screen. My phone lay idly on the plush comforter of my bed and I couldn’t help but to glance at it for the fifth time. The screen was dark; there weren’t any messages from John or any missed calls. I groaned.
I ran my badly bitten fingers through my tangled hair and focused once more on the computer screen. I grabbed the mouse with little purpose and scrolled through the latest celebrity gossip. The screen seemed too bright, the wardrobe malfunctions and breakups failed to grab my attention. With renewed hope I spun around to check my phone’s screen once more.
It was still dark.

Maybe he’s busy.

Yeah maybe. I busied myself by creating excuses for why he hadn’t called yet. I’m sure whatever he has to say is important, he didn’t sound like himself this morning.

Maybe he’s out with friends, cut him some slack.

I was satisfied with that thought and held onto its coattails. I closed the window on the screen and turned on some music. My soft, soprano voice fills the room as I sing to one of my favorite songs, ignoring the sickening pit forming in my stomach and the black face of my phone burning into my skin.


The room was hazy and full of smoke. I woke up to a woman’s wild laugh and soft music. Beads of sweat are racing down my angular face, my hair is plastered onto my forehead. I’m trying to speak but my throat is dry. I reach out, groping for a glass of water, something to relieve me. Instead a smaller hand grabs mine and brings it to a pair of painted lips. I can’t find the face; the smoke veils their features. I look down to see the hand is very feminine, the nails freshly manicured.


A small, brunette woman leans forward and takes my hand once again, kissing each of my fingertips and smearing them with her bloody lipstick. My waist is numb and I cannot keep my body from shivering. I must have made a face because the woman chuckles and whispers, “Relax sweetheart, you’re safe.” Her voice was seductive, almost melodic. It sank into my muscles, easing the tension immediately and even instilling a sense of trust. I let her tug my shirt from my waist without doubt or question – I helped her unbutton my pants. Laying back, I let her probe my body as she wished and I laughed and she laughed too, both drowing in the high of the ecstacy.
I felt my phone digging into my skin so I pulled it out of my jeans pocket and checked the screen. It was past midnight. I checked my call log to see that the last time I spoke to Amy was in the morning, when I told her we had to talk.


I hurriedly dialed her number but the brunette beauty gently pulled the phone from my fingers and kissed me hard on the lips. I embraced her and kissed her back, letting the thought of Amy, my girlfriend, slip away.