sourcitrusjuice

[sourcitrusjuice]

every minute you don't talk to me

i remember the promises we made

i remember all the things you said

you would always love me.

you would never want to hurt me.

i remember the days you were the one crying

and i was there

but here i am, in the same place you left me in

to rot alone

crying over you.

and you exist, oblivious

or maybe you're not, and you just have better things to do.

the words coming out of your mouth don't fit your actions,

and I'd rather just be told how you truly feel, rather than whatever you say

to keep the wool over my eyes.

the wool has long been soaked in blood.

[sourcitrusjuice]

i can feel the knife twist in my chest

like a key going into a lock

the cruel evidence of it trickling down my breast

scarlet hues soak and blotch

i have been rendered a fool again

as i collapse, waiting for eternal rest

i don't feel the pain

as i give up and let it happen again and again

it's almost like a sick relief

my heart bleeds

knowing i will never be free of this grief.

[sourcitrusjuice]

I have always had a fascination with things that don't last.

snow,

it melts.

fire,

it rains.

lovers,

they rot.

i dance here with a woman that has not laid her eyes on me for the entire night

i wonder if she has died.

the serenading, all consuming melody from orchestra begins to terrify me

each sound played from the violinists steady hand begins to cut and gouge

the music sharpens, and we quicken

i see something dripping from her frilled rouge dress

it hits my clean, lacquered black shoe with a splat

it smells, and I can't quite make out the color.

I dance, dance, dance

and she melts, melts, melts

her skin seems to sag, her face hollow

i lean in for a kiss,

and all that i can taste is pained sorrow.

[sourcitrusjuice]

my heart cries out to you

but i don't think you listen

silently i say more and more,

and get back in return less and less

should i lower my voice higher?

should i higher my low voice?

i squeak like a mouse

as you squeal like a beast

i realize I'm not speaking anymore

just uselessly mouthing words

but as i watch you grow more and more irate

i see your mouth isn't forming words at all

you have a haunting kind of anger

the kind that reverberates

the kind that rattles,

the kind that shakes,

the kind that abuses everything around it.

i remember when looking at your lips was an exhilarating thing

something full of what could be; potential surrounded by butterflies

and now I'm full of dread

wondering if this is all a sick dream,

in my head.

[sourcitrusjuice]

i always seem to fail something, someone, sometime

the apology laden flowers i craft appear as mockings of the real thing

how could i ever make something so beautiful with hands so stained

i try to bend so far backward that i break my spine

how could i ever care when the feelings i hurt weren't mine?

with every stroke of my pen

the unaccepted fruits of my labor rot and fester

the colors start to mold together

putrefying into blood-red wine

flecks of previously vibrant colors now undefined

and i wish

somewhere, somehow, sometime

i could of repaired

what wasn't mine.

in good time.

[sourcitrusjuice]

sometimes i feel like the only thing that missed me when i get home

is the fleas.

hard faces look upon me

and look away.

why do i feel so tired?

sometimes i feel like my life is a web of lies

and every time i try to fix things, the only thing I'm met with

is spiders.

i can't go in too deep, but i also can't go back

like a butterfly stuck in metamorphosis,

i have been completely dissolved

rendered skinless by my own lymph

but yet i cannot reshape,

i cannot go back,

i cannot go forward.

[sourcitrusjuice]

i want to lose my face in the wind

have my blood spill the same shade of red as the autumn leaves around me

my skin become the same gray pallor as the stones underneath me

i want to return to the place where all humanity has come from

the earth.

my dark brown hair can appear as twigs from the large oak trees above me

maybe my body can become a flourishing ecosystem

for thriving fungus, bugs, flowers

or carrion for coyotes.

can my dropping temperature become as cold as fresh winter snow?

i want my bones bleached the same shade of white as the highest angel-kissed cloud

i want to be lost remains,

in a forest that will never reply to the calls of those who search for me,

only echo them back.

i just

want

to decay.

[sourcitrusjuice]

this feeling,

this inconsolable feeling

drags across my heart

digs into the flesh of my clavicle

i am left with blood on my hands

that is nothing but my own.

like a caged bird my lungs flutter in my chest,

it becomes a dartboard

with a human nail piercing through my breast.

it's an agonizing sensation

that i can do nothing to aid

but scratch and dig and pierce,

trying to keep myself sane.

[sourcitrusjuice]

I am the Lemon.

I am bitter, unsavory, tart

The skin on my back is yellow, dimpled and fresh.

The color of nourishing sunshine and everlasting happiness

My aroma is alluring, sweet, tangy

Won’t you take a bite?

The taste of my juice is acidic, rotten, repulsive

The flesh of my membrane attacking your mouth, digging into your tongue

You spit me out, your body salivating as if I were a poison, but I have yet to be removed

You have given me a chance, a heartbeat of trust, and I have ruined it

My ravishing outside is starkly contrasted with the reactive, volcanic contents of my inside

As you eat me up, I wish to eat you too

I react swiftly, terrifyingly, to those who try to learn the taste of my flesh

For inside, I have nothing but bitterness. I am raw, inedible, hard to digest.

There is nothing that is consumable in my core.

I would rather you just drink the lemonade.

I have been processed, properly sugared, sweetened like the deceiving peel that adorns my outside should be.

I would rather you just drink the lemonade.

I should be sweet.

But I am sour.

I am sour.

The true me, is sour.

And I don't want you to taste me.