the cold moon

the house is cold

and the snow falls

and i can feel my soul cave in on itself

the doctor calls is seasonal affective disorder

that i don't get enough sunlight

and that's why i feel so empty

but it's not the sun

and i'm not empty

its just that the moon is with me longer

and she makes me feel everything

and my soul can only feel so much

at one time

that's why i can't function in the winter

she fills me up so much

that i can't lift my head against the weight

and my heart can't pump properly

with the entire universe crammed inside it

hell, it's a miracle that i'm breathing

but i don't mind

i'm just grateful that i'm feeling

because for so many years i was numb

and the moon tried to shine into me

but the bruises were too dark for light to pass through

so now i bask in her glow

and listen to everything she has to say

because i want to hear it all

i want to feel everything i can possibly feel in a lifetime

and if that means the snow should fall

let it storm

and if the house will be cold

let it freeze

draft 5

i've been meaning to write for a while now.

there are 4 drafts that weren't good enough. 4 letters to never be read because the person they're addressed to isn't ready to see the blood spilt on the page. and maybe it's a bit cliché to write in blood, but you took all the ink and left me with the quill.

what was i supposed to do?

you even took some of my blood. when we kissed the other night you bruised my lip. were you as lonely as i was? did you want to feel someone else bleed for once? because i don't blame you. if i was stronger i would've done the same thing.

do you stay awake till all hours wondering what your love is doing? do you ever miss holding them in the dark? do you ever miss the rush of blood to their cheeks when you told them how beautiful they were? i do. i miss everything about you. i miss you when we're in the same room. i miss you when your holding me against your breast. i miss you when your mouth is against mine because the person i once knew behind those lips is gone.

his heart shattered and bled dry. i know because i tried to put it back together once, but he told me not to. so i had to stop. because even though i was trying to put him back together the slivers were cutting deep and tearing me apart. but i didn't mind the pain.

i'm a masochist.

i'm willing to take on your pain at night, even if it means you won't tell me you love me in the morning. i'm nailing myself to your cross because i don't want you to scar. and the wine from your bottle spills onto my open wounds and i smile at the searing pain. you burn me with your cigarette bud and i gape in awe at the burn.

i gape in awe at the burn.

and i write in my own blood to tell you that i have loved every second of pain that you have given me.

and i write to tell you that i wouldn't have changed a thing.

so the next time you feel pain please call me and bring the lash, because i'd rather you hurt me than you hurt yourself.


love,

charles darnell

home

long nails almost black hair beauty mark on the right cheek red swollen lips blue/grey bedroom eyes small nose pale eyebrows three dry patches broken vein tramp stamp hidden cheek bones stretch marks petite ballerina feet incredibly small hands long legs 38 inch bust mole on ring finger freckled shoulders rosy cheeks curved spine 3 stomach rolls one scar above the left knee

constellations

the vines crawled down her thighs
and the stars made constellations upon the vast galaxy of her skin
and the black obsidian water flowed down her spine
into the small of her back where his hand rested

he looked at her and saw the universe in its fullness

he understood how the two atoms collided
he understood why God created such a space

it happened just so that she could inhabit it

all of this was for her pleasure

and he was just there to point out the stars on her skin
he was there to tend the vines in her garden
he was there to swim in the dark river of her hair
he was there to show her the beauty of her universe

because she could not see it herself

although this universe was created for her
she was blind to the beauty that inhabited it

those who are beautiful cannot see what lies before them
but those who can see the beauty within themselves can see the beauty in others

so those who can see must guide the beautiful hands to the sky
and help them feel the constellations they cannot see

stuck in the basement

everyone is moving on and i'm still in my parents basement. i'm not even using the apartment down there, i'm just on my laptop in my room. i don't even have a job. i'm not going to school this fall. i would be caught dead at a singles ward. today i didn't even go to church. i laid on my couch and watched every episode of Sherlock.

i told my mom two nights ago that i didn't really want to be a member of the church anymore and she was supportive but i know i broke her heart. mom, i know that the gosple you have taught me since infancy is true, it's just that i'm terrified of conforming. so please give me time. i'll come around eventually.

i told my therapist about the triggers that i have when i'm out at night and when fireworks go off. she said that they are healthy but it's hard to see it that way when you scream at the sound of poppers going off and when you can't help but run to your car because you heard a twig snap in the yard. and i understand why everyone says that Hounds of Baskerville is the boring episode of the series but to me it is the only relatable one. shows rarely show the affects of PTSD years later.

i'm not very poetic anymore. i can't make my pain sound beautiful like i used to. it's impossible for me to tell you about my self harm relapse and make it metaphorical at the same time. it just happened and i couldn't control myself. there's no message in that.

i guess i'm just stuck in the basement where my words are meaningless and the walls are deep enough to dull the sound of fireworks and the voice of God.

they're back.

and i would apologize,

but this time I deserved it.