Original Works by Courtney Krystek is loading...

Original Works by Courtney Krystek


There are scuff marks on the floor

from my heels

neck bent

drug by lonely nights 

searching for the waves of candor rushing through the hollow spaces in my bones. 

Electricity rolls up from the wooden floor into the soles of my feet




split ends



to the leather-clad night

"she misses you she misses you she misses you"

A Proposal


PLEASE The note reads. I feel like lightning just ran through me reading the word, and when I turn around you’re on one knee.

"Please marry me Courtney Krystek," you say. I am speechless. This is not how you propose. Not at the end of a break-up, while I’m getting all my things out of what used to be our house. Not begging and groveling at my feet. Not manipulating me with the one thing I want to get me to stay in this relationship. This is not how you propose.

When we first started, I thought this is it. My great love. My paradise. My soft place to heal. My lovely Coraline. 

You know, we unpacked boxes slowly, starting with one a month, because you were like a possum, any sudden movement and you’d play with death. I still remember when we sat on the counter putting away your pink, very delicate, very expensive chinaware away. 

"Now remember to always ask me before using one of these cups Courtney," you said. 

That’s how it always was with you. Tiptoe before the pointed gun.

You didn’t touch me for months, as if repulsed by my body, which made me think something was very much wrong with me

because then you’d go and fuck strangers on the street

like your skin was a penny and you didn’t care how worn it became.

(Now don’t get me wrong, I’m for all kinds of fucking, but not however, leaving your girlfriend alone while she is seriously ill in a hospital bed to go to a bar and fuck a strange man).

When I came home from the hospital, the fighting and screaming started peeling down the walls of the house, 

I was so afraid that I’d finally caught the truth of you,

and despised it.

So afraid that those perfect, pink china cups 

were all chipped and rusted,

that the bathtub where you cradled my hair was really coated with lime.

"Please" you say again.

I look down on you and quietly shake my head,

tears breaking like crystal from my cheeks,

like the diamond in your hand.

"No," I spit out.

And walk away. 

Our eyes meet as the story drops to a hum between us. Hum, hum, it presses against our chests, hum, hum, woke the hummingbird from the nest. Love me, love me as my wings press my breast. Love me, love me, oh hold my heart, the beats fold when the clouds part. In your hands seperation is sweet.

— (via courtneykrystek)

There is no single home. There is no single place to which you crave with your lips as thirsty as the dry sky. Sometimes we find home in the profound clarity of our memory, but sometime home rests in people. Sometimes just walking down a crisscrossed street, merchants and children running up and down like fireworks over running water, sometimes then you find your home. By looking into the eyes of a partial stranger, by brushing besides them with your clothing ragged yet alive; maybe you share a curvature of the lips, maybe you resist the sparkle of their eye, the spark that threatens to incite you with just a single hushed word. Maybe you’ll never meet again, and maybe you’ll spend the rest of your life waking beside their smile, coffee stains like oil on your hands. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll forget to yearn and instead you’ll live, crumbling hope in your hands.

— (via courtneykrystek)

Cracked Pavement



Run down


Uncross me from the pins

crashing into my wrists.




bare burning bulb



crochet masterpieces

pricked in skin.





tree shaken down to Winter.

Bitten lip

swinging map

drawn over irises


If I cheat enough

will it still feel like stealing a heart

everytime I leave her?

Or just a sweeping pendulum

too scared to break open and fall?

Don’t make promises to my ring finger

or it’ll be the middle that leaves

in the morning.

When did I become

the one unattached





bed sprung?


Your words remind me of her.

Make love to my body

but don’t even think about cuddling up to my soul.



They told me the bruises ringing my legs were anemia

a simple iron deficiency

eat more beef, one doctor told me.

eat five meals instead of three, he said.

take supplements, another said.

Well I did all three

until the lumps on my breasts were questioned

like suspects in a murder

which very well could soon be the case,

was it you,

or you,

or you that killed her?

Was it the tempered gland on her kidney turning around too fast?

Did we catch her heart too late,

our clockwork machines too weak to carry

a burden such as mine?

Advanced directives,

advanced directives,

so many people keep throwing them in my face with urgency

saying fill out the papers Courtney

fill out the papers with your shaking fists

but I can’t line the red with my ghost-like signature,

I can’t seem to curve the C and the K in the manner that says I am going to survive.

Because I am terrified.

Because my bones are sealed in concrete

watching the world spin around them

sickening and weary.

I’m waiting for appointments

and I’m waiting for tests


waiting for the results.

And all this time, a question brands my brain like the hot metal pressed hard against the horse’s flesh,

when did I learn to live?

Where did I find the will to stay?

I want to stay I want to stay god goddess please please let me stay let me stay

I’m a kaleidoscope-
star collision headed for the full moon,
a broken glass screaming ‘NO!’
to the hand nearing with clear superglue.

I want the thunder to shake my bones
I want the lightning to strike my pale pigment into fire
there is fire on your lips.

I want to shatter in the sick rain
let the tears run along
every ceramic crack
of my china bowl body
thrown against a wall five years ago.

I want to scream
my vocal cords snapping open
you open
they’re turning into purple ash
my brain is on fire
my eyes are facing the dying sun.

I’m painting my soul into expressionistic
and it’s scattered
dug out with a clawed fist
but each black shard
only attracts more light
and moths are my best friends
surrounding this burning
burning bulb heart of mine.

I’m a sun-drenched boot
and I prefer it this way.

Don’t lace me up.

I want to feel the wind.

— (via courtneykrystek)

No you’re not her.
Nothing about you screams “Taylor!”
My hand brushes a teardrop of your hair
And it’s not fiery
It’s not fighting
It’s not the red root
Bleed because I fucking can

We talk about existentialism
And forensic anthropology in the same breath
And i’ve met only one other girl
With a brain so versatile
But I press a fingertip against your skin
And my hand comes back clean
And hers would’ve burned.

No you’re not her.

Your eyelashes blink burnt sienna sunsets
But hers are hot emeralds
Blinking like streetlights
The one night you hung out in the middle of the street daring a car not to swerve.

You are safety I can wrap spiderwebs into.

But you aren’t her.

No you aren’t her.

— (via courtneykrystek)