Blaire Nicole E.

welcome to Boca: the palm trees are dripping with freshly painted, acrylic frawns and the ground is shining with mirrors and with lotion. it’s inhabitants are blazed, hopped up, starving, and wealthy. they are not powerful, they are not intelligent, and they are not important. a false sense of importance, however, does loom over the city. the clouds are mixes of water and champagne, because every person feels as though they deserve applause for simply surviving. barely human, those who live here are “better off than most, but not better than anyone”. barely human, bones are prized and silicone exists more than flesh. air is not inhaled, toxic fumes ridden with arrogance and ignorance are. food is forbidden, adultery is encouraged, and secrets are the game. no one wins, no one excels, because everyone dies. and the only thing that lives on is the debt created and the lives wasted.

that’s life. two simple words strung together that can mean so much and so little. we are dealt the hands we are dealt out of luck, chance, and out of nature. chances come and go, but the ones you will regret are the ones you didn’t take. regrets don’t last forever, unless you regret never knowing what happened. you can always undo a mistake, no matter how grand, this is true. but some have lasting effects, not on he who made the mistake, but on he who was affected by the mistake. we tend to trample over each other in order to reach the finish line, but what’s past the line? an empty crowd. an empty crowd that will walk away after the shock value is gone and the congratulations are said. no one really cares whether you win or lose, succeed or fail, drown or float. no one really cares how you wear your hair, what drugs you do, or what your gpa is. the truth of the matter is, “this is your life, and it’s ending one minute at a time.”

You are not as strong, as quick, or as cunning as you believe. You are no king, You are no queen. You do not rule, you follow. Now, what you follow is debateable. You take from those around you; you swallow their hope and their dreams. You make them into dirt. You make them into mud; dirt ridden with tears, in retrospect. You are not alone. You are not special. Nor are you unique. You are nothing worth celebrating or worth grieving when gone. You are indifference, in a person.

my hands are sore from the beating, over and over again;

my wrists are sore from the flicking and swishing and bleeding;

and my throat is sore from the screaming; god that screaming.

my ears bleed with broken glass and broken promises,

as my mouth begins to rot with the same coming out of me.

my feet, bare to the bones, from walking in circles;

and a spine that prays to be free.

a spine that prays to be free.

my claws were never sharp enough to keep your teeth from sinking in;

once again, this race has proven to me to be full of infidelity and lies.

just as before, he with charm ends up being he who shall bring harm;

just as before, I trusted before getting to notice how long those teeth were,

and how sharp..

these words, laced with charm and lies, worked for a certain time.

those words, laced with compassion and deep conversation, tricked her long enough.

string me along no more; I am cutting the cord.

my lips are sealed and these secrets will accompany me to the grave;
like your words and my memories of your nervously strong hands.

you will become but another memory that will be long lost,
buried in a slew of forgotten words and misplaced trust.

your eyes will be forgotten and your touch will burn;
never again will I feel comfortable with skin on skin.

my head will construe and constrict until the air is gone,
until the livelihood of our past has suffocated,
until there is nothing left;
until there is no one left.

Have you ever placed everything into something, only to get nothing out? Only to feel hollow and even more empty than before. But so empty, that it consumes you. So empty, that it wears you down.. That you can feel the weight of the emptiness.

Gliding over snow without visable pawprints,
pressing palm against palm without leaving blood,
my fingers laced in yours has never been regretted,
and now these ice cold hands begin to defrost.

never before have I trusted one with such prominent fangs,
fangs not of just evil, but power.
will you gas and burn me,
or let me prosper and rise?
but she fell.
and so will I.

rewinding the days, months, seconds, hours.
replaying that car ride like a film.
I'll never be able to forget the words exchanged,
even more so, I'll never be able to forget the eyes locked.
the words said in the gasps of breath.

pretending nothing was there,
while you pushed for everything to be there.
you wanted what I easily give,
and I wanted what you once gave me a taste of,
but neither got what they wanted;
too afraid to dive in deep,
too afraid to give into the other.

I didn't want to risk my shell,
you appeared not ready to lose your innocence,
something I've been robbing many of lately,
something I can't remember ever possessing.

hell was pleased with you re-entery,
and so was I. but now, with this permanent exit,
an exit that I insured and constructed,
hell's glory is burning even more,
and I am the only one being singed.

words that dangle from your lips have never fallen into a convincing shape,
your sentences are in fact fragments and your fragments are just backward.
demands and commands that make no sense;
demands and commands demanded and commanded by a harsh, repetitive voice;
a voice of shrills and a voice lacking sincerity but strong in hunger.

hunger for power and hunger for control,
using your inability to apologize to your advantage,
using your manipulation of emotional deprivation,
using your lack of soul and lack of common sense,
you attempt to set yourself free,
only to fall.
only to have broken wings.

I have imagined and predicted and wondering and contemplated.
I have made lists of what ifs, I have made post its of how comes/
There are two sides to every story and there are two sides to you.
Two sides to me and two sides to my intentions.
The intention of stealing what was not mine to steal;
the intention of robbing innocence and dirtying what is clean.
The intention of manipulation;
the intention of pursuing something more meaningful than a crime;
more meaningful than just an action that can be replicated with another.

But it is not mine and it will never be.
What I have attempted to rob you of, will never belong to me.
And for that, I still have the intention of manipulation.

I watch from above as my legs drag me into this dark room;
I watch from above as my hands reach into the jars and bags;
I watch from above as my fingers rip and tear and dissect.

I no longer feel control;
I no longer feel self-empowerment.

I am weak.
I am broken.

The mind once set on strict goals, strict decisions,
it is now filled with little to no morals;
it is now filled with little to no goals;
it is now directed with little to no direction.

I have changed;
I have disintegrated.

inhale, then exhale. feel your bones collapse, feel your mind relapse.
refusing to give in is the same as being stubborn, giving in is the same as giving up.I was never meant for you, nor were you meant for me. fatal attraction brought me here;
led me in with hopes of comfort and hopes of love. what I came across was nothing of the sorts.
I found discomforting actions, I found a hug laced with needles, and needles laced with lust.
A lust that would never be fulfilled, a lust that would never make it past paper and onto skin.

Your words swam, swim, and will always be, in my head. dancing like Cecchetti ballet.
the meaning, sincerity, honesty, motives behind your words are never to be uncovered;
leaving me here, day after day, pondering and analyzing each word and piece of punctuation.

"silence of course can speak in volumes" was the basis of our tangled relationship,
silence was the key voice that spoke days, months, and now, even years.
years of wondering what if and wondering why.
all for a friend? all over a friend?

years of wondering if I could trust you,
if this was just lust.

and now, now we'll never know. I'll never know.
and that Cecchetti ballet will keep going,
for it stops for no one, and neither do I.

just as before, just as always, we end up apart, we end up alone.
fatal attraction will never prove to be a positive course of action,
being lonesome will never prove to be an acceptable way of life.

I placed my trust in your arms, I watched you rip it apart.
limb to limb, vein to vein, the blood of my words fell, again.
ying and yang doesn't work when it's not good verse evil.
ying and yang will never work because it's alive verse dead,
it's contaminated verse pure, two things that never exist together.
like us. like them. like you, and like me.
I watched our conversations burn out like a cigarette,
slowly becoming smaller, shorter, but still harming, still hurting.

ying and yang don't work when it's you verse me,
when it's us verse everyone else,
when it's all odds against us,
and no one sees it working, including ourselves.

ying and yang can't work when it's indulge then starve,
when it's in, then out. when it's high, then low.

watching our interactions make others cringe,
the awkwardness of our bodies is pathetic, a cruel site.
my eyes studied your lips moving, taking in each word.
making my memories something more than they actually were,

remembering how I never dreamed to acquire you,
remember how I never even imagined confronting you,
emotions on my tongue, desire in my bones.

these bones are weak now, worn out from pacing.
my spine's worn out, from supporting these lies.

ying verse yang doesn't work,
especially when it's truth verse manipulation.
especially when it's you verse me.

no matter what the circumstances, I will always crave you.
I will beg for the hollowness inside your eyes,
the shape of your bones, the feel of your spine.

it's amazing how realistic I can make you, how much I can personify you.
it's amazing how much I've always and always will depend on you.
I refuse to make even two steps without asking your permission.

whether or not you say yes, whether or not you say no,
my mind is made up and as much as I cherish you,
as much as I want you apart of me, forever, I am selfish.

I am greedy. and I always, always want too much.

she's gone, and this time, it's scientific.
now, i know I'd do anything for her.

to get her back and receive her instructions would be a blessing,
the sharp hisses of the words "ssssslllliiiiimmm"
encouraging me to fast, and run, and lift.

those times, my body was dying, this is true.
my mind was alive and awake and manic.

but now, I'm so cold, so lifeless, so dead.

nobody, nobody knew.
and while no one, not a soul, not a ghost, not a body, knew, I was falling.
falling for you, perhaps. but more so for the idea of you.
the perfection of your lips meeting mine,
and the idealistic words that would pour from such a set of lips,
such a set of memorizing lips.

lips that I've watched move up and down time after time,
when you speak those words, those harmful and helpful words,
full of bile and full of heartache and full of smiles.

lips that are laced in anthrax and laced in sugar,
never knowing which powder you get.
is it cocaine or is it simply flour?

are we one or are we apart?
watching this grow and then disintegrate,
watching my hope climb and end up lower than my lowest low,
hearing the sound of my heart ripping,
into not two, but eight, maybe twelve, pieces.

and while this goes on, I hold onto the idea that you'll change,
that you'll see and realize and feel and listen and press those laced lips against mine,
a lie for a lie and a break for a break,
fatal attraction lives on.

digging deeper into the rabbit hole, scratching the walls in fake attempts to get out.
jumping with little energy and running in circles.
fasting, destroying, cleansing, flying.
none of the above have worked.

I come to you in hopes that you'll be able to rid me of this monster,
this monster that has made a home in my veins and in my cells.

I hope to hear the sweet sound of reassuring words, to never hear the bitter sound of regret.

Of course, I want all of this,
and more.

I want to hear the crinkling of tin foil and watch the burning of ashes.
I want to listen to the kilos drop, and stones fall too.
I want to watch gaps build and mass decrease,
but I want this with your love, care, and support.
Of course, they will be masked in anger and fear.
That is if I get rid of this monster.

This is not your home, this is not your bed.