dear diary ―

rage is a monster that consumes you whole, red underbelly struck out forget world to poke at, bleeding noses and crushed knuckles. rage is a pursuer of injustice and you know who that is. beaten gold and the brightest blues; husks of people left behind. redemption is not easy and― [[redemption is a word here which means FORGIVENESS AND ACCEPTANCE ]] you do not forgive easy. you are quick to anger, like a language your mother spoke to you when you were home.

if she spoke to you at all
dying graces need not be seen is all:
gold blood spills from your bones.

when you love someone you give them the opportunity to stab you with gratitude; but if the wounds don't heal you might just have a reminder to never to do it again / maybe that's why you don't open your ribcage / you don't like people with knives.

acceptance is stitched into your collarbone. you slashed it into your skin - blunt, uncaring, you're pretty until you open your mouth / you must have teeth so sharp in your mouth it cuts people when they can see it; maybe that's why you don't redeem yourself——
you have cut yourself on your own tongues ― velvet blood like a prayer you've said over
and over
    too many times
    to count.
    treading on infinity
        how many times can you
                             forgive yourself?
can you? can you?

―tell you a secret.
there's a ghost living in your house and it has my name.

february 9, 23. mami i'm scared is carved unto the bridge between life and death; the tunnel to hell has a wooden sign that reads i miss you in a language that nobody knows.

can you please
promise me to live
until i
forgive myself?

they say ― (who are they? do they sleep in your bed, dream in your head, lie in you stead? like i do? do they crush themselves so you might say their remains look like stardust?)  that when you're living for revenge dig two graves―me and you? we've dug thousands!
c'mon baby, live a little!

we'll spend our last days alive screaming for immortality but we won't regret it even when we've got more casket to sleep in - between us and them i prefer them but this isn't about preference. it's about sin and―

hell with you
is divine violence in it's own right
don't you think?

(I Could Swallow My Own Dreams; i live on your time and you tell me to jump so i ask how high? In Scrawled Letters ; burned by your light is so pleasant death. )
What is happiness? What are we? What are we doing?

nosotras ya no amamos el rojo /

i fell so far out of line that i don't remember your favorite color anymore (we used to love red together remember? remember? ) ; doesn't the sun taste brighter with you? i miss you. rage is an ugly color on us both but really well just dress up in it to cover the grief.

i miss you. i miss you. i miss you.

dear diary,
the sun rose again. i wish it didn't.