the beautiful edge of ugly -co

"you know, we are made of ugly things."


"yes, but have you not heard? ugly is the new beautiful. like the way you always seem to pry at my thoughts and know what i'm thinking; the way you make me talk when i really don't feel like parting my lips and lying to you. it's just like the cyanide and razor blades i keep in my medicine cabinet, waiting for the day when i master the definition of defeat."


"then we are the most beautiful thing in the world, because we are spending our days chewing on gunpowder and wilted roses. i spent ten minutes this morning carving your name on the inside of my thigh; somehow, replicating that pain makes me think of you. makes me think of the day when you broke my skin and told me you liked me better when i was coming apart at the seams. i never did tell you, but i've been falling apart ever since."


"i know you've been falling apart, because i've been picking up the pieces i find scattered around. it hurts me more than you would think, but i am made of ugly things. so while the blood trickles down past the creases in your knees to your shins, from the place where you carved my seventeen letter name, what will you be thinking about?"


"i'll be thinking about the way your name tastes like ash and how my tongue is
unraveling at a hundred broken promises a minute every time i try to whisper it. i'll be thinking of how my thigh now looks like a graveyard garden with the scattered rose carcasses and how no matter how hard i try, the weeds keep growing back."


"it's so strange how we get along so well but yet we think so differently. just in case you were wondering, while you cut yourself up so you can grow pretend roses for a lost juliet, i'll be sitting in the highest room of the tallest tower in the strangest fairytale, trying to forget your name and the way your hair gets a shade darker when it's wet. i'll be trying to forget what it was like to hear your voice, and how it used to sound when you spelled out my name in nonchalance and broken glass."


"if i had the strength, i would lock you in that tower and swallow the key. i'd board up the doors and burn myself away in the sunset. because you're a disease and the flowers are wilting every time you walk by. because you're chewing through the ozone layer and spitting pollution in the ocean and the world keeps inviting you back. because you're the most beautiful death i've ever seen and i'm scared if i linger i'll just end up with black lungs and a desperate need to take another drag."


"so go ahead and take another drag, and see what shade of charcoal your lungs seem to fade to. i'll make more flowers wilt and i'll try and see through the clouds as i lie on the floor with a pair of barber sheers. i can cut away our paper tears and i can cut away your nightmares, but darling, i can't cut away reality. so i don't think i'll be shimmying down the side of the tower anytime soon, because i seem to have trapped my mind somewhere inside and i need to find it before i escape and we do something reckless."


"you'll be inside weaving poetry out of my blackened emotions and i'll be outside painting our heartache on the walls, but it's better then what would happen if we were together. we'd make a mess, we'd make a tragedy, we'd rip apart the continents and strew the damage about. we'd lick the blood off our fingers and sew together the mangled bodies of our fiction and their bleeding reality. we'd call it beautiful."


"but just remember - ugly is the new beautiful."