rrrrrr

and they're dropping like flies
and i'm holding my heart
and you can't lie
about my bloodstains being art

the rings around your cheeks
match the ones on your fingers
and every time he speaks
your lungs won't stop to linger

watch yourself sink into the ashes
piling on the dust
mama's words will sting like acid
because she's calling it lust

"it's getting easier"
you say
"you're getting sleazier"
"okay"

looking down at your shoes
like they'll save you
they can't save you

looking down at your shoes
but i can't save you
he won't save you


--erin

basilica

you're walking around asking
the wrong questions
because people are always talking
about my red heart

but i'm thinking about my lungs
and i think they're pink
and that feels more important today.

i'm a monument
and you'll be visiting for years.
taking your pictures,
cameras strapped around your neck,
arch support keeping you on your feet,
sandwiches in your backpack.
(everything here is too damn expensive)

marble smooth as i never was,
velvet ropes keeping you from getting too close,
but the gold glittering at sunset
is worth battling the crowd.

they'll turn me into collectibles,
miniature and plastic.
a piece of my lungs watching from a dusty bookshelf
with a smile they never questioned.

remember the color of the sunset.
find the sunrise someday.

your lungs feel like home.


--erin

don't cry in college.

there's an ocean in her eyes.
she looks like a river.
she feels like a desert.

she watches as the light buzzes above her.
she watches as the stars come out.
she watches herself fall.

her face.
her tears.
her everything.

alone.

she can't help but feel.
she feels it all.

she wonders
when she last cried like this.

everything she is,
exposed in the bright spots
when she feels dark.

she asks when her cheeks burned
and the blue in her eyes
started to drown.

she can't remember.

too strong.
too long.

she can't remember.

she can't remember.

she can't remember.

she tries to breathe.

i can't remember.


--erin

runaway is one word run away is two words

when i was little, i tried to run away.
i just wanted someone to ask me where i was going.

no one did.
i wasn't sure, myself.

now everyone is asking where i'm going
and i'm not sure, myself.

i'm asking where i'm going
and i'm not sure, myself.

i used to hold onto faith like it was the life preserver
and now it's becoming the water.

the leaves are falling without my tears
and i can't decide if that's a good thing or not.

questions are calling out from underneath my bed
and they don't know if they want answers

or if they just want to see me break.
i'm not sure, myself.

i don't know when it became so important,
but i just want to know how many coffins

have bloodstains.
i'm not sure, myself.

it's like something is screaming at me,
asking where i belong.

it might be me or my head or my heart
but they are sure things and i

am not

and i can't answer
because i'm not sure where the choices ended

and the expectations began.
the water i'm falling into

is either trying to carry me or drown me.
it isn't sure, itself.

i used to walk the line between right and wrong.
i walked it for so long that i didn't notice

that there was no line.
i'm sure of that, myself.

i've been staring at the stars,
asking them what my name was supposed to be,

and watching the red on my sleeve that my heart left
after it crawled back into my chest.

i've been asking the stars how many coffins have bloodstains.
they aren't sure, themselves.



--erin

[counting raindrops and wellsprings]

[we start light until the rain starts to fall.
heavy follows.]

and the glamour hasn't faded from my eyes,
even if we've stopped spelling it with a "u."

and i am the "u" in glamour and favourite and colour and clamour
and the "o" in ostentatious and obvious.

and they showed me that falling stars aim for my eyes and i let them in
and that falling hearts aim for my chest and i let them stain my favourite shirt.

[and the drops hit your window pane]

"it's the new trend, haven't you heard?
broken chic. bonus points if it's your own blood [i]"

[the river swells]

and they tell me that i can say blood [ii] as many times as i want
because it never goes out of style.

blood [iii] that smells like iron and dirt,
and someone lied when they told you your chest breathes roses.

YOU BEAT BLOOD [iv]

[torrential downpour]

rushing dropping falling lying
about humanity
and the ruby blood [v] between the lines on every page.

[thunder louder than your mouth]

bleed [vi] into the lines like ink.

the general consensus:
"call it love, call it hate, call it joy, call it pain,
you'll always bleed [vii]."

[lightning hits the ash tree]

humanity bleeds [viii].
there is no glamour.

it's raw, it's gritty, it loves dirt in your wounds.

[and the pain won't wash down the street
with the fallen leaves]

and i am the "u" in wounds and humanity and hurt and run
and i am the "o" in blood [ix] and mortality.

and it takes ten to fall apart.



--erin





[because the rain fell like blood]

[x]