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Pisces"…so drown me. I mean, if you can."
A threat in her eyes. Triple dog dare.
And I'm on edge but I don't wanna show her just yet.
"Now you can't honestly expect me to be foolish enough?
Drowning fish is a fruitless endeavor."
She smiles, all fury and triumph. Her ocher eyes ignite; flickering then flaming.
"O' but sister, are you not a fish, same as I?
Are we not of the same blood, the same scales?"
And I hesitate, ever-cautious.
What's she hinting at? Huh, sis'?
What's that card sewn up your sleeve?
I hesitate for just a moment too long.
"And you would believe it impossible, no?
A difficult enterprise to say the least?"
She carves words out of atmosphere,
pronounces every syllable with refined practice.
An artisan's articulation.
I find myself shivering; hyperaware and feverish.
I am not of you, I am of nothing.
Blood is water, blood is air.
And I'm too silent and shaky and she knows,
I Feel ? This.
It will begin like light cascading through fleshy membranes. The sudden awareness of electromagnetic feeling that pulses through every nerve, and yes finally, today signifies the start of animation. Because yes, you can finally feel.
You are alive.
[Breathe] Inhale the tattered stars. Gasp as they tear open galaxies, destroying themselves and whatever is left of the O-zone layer. [Gulp. Gulp.] Choke down their destruction and remember, that those ever-so-distant wishes, they shredded the sky for you.
It started for you.
Static climbing into my tissue, and it burns like white noise or bleach or frostbite, and as I'm amputating things I sure hope I won't need, I look beyond earth's mutilated atmosphere, searching for the flicker of those ever-so-distant fireflies, but oh, they died the day you began to
It asked me with those ivory teeth, all smooth and valuable. I sneered at the bribery amongst kings, scoffing in the face of a wi
The Nectars of Irony and Self-PreservationInverted influx
I have not the strength to care.
Your eyes were shark skin
greasy, greasy tears.
Honesty was always optional
but I couldn't quite grasp it
why someone would say
the exact opposite
of what they really mean.
Then I thought of irony and of you
and that grin
that isn't really even a grin
it's a snicker.
The sweetness of enjoying your own joke.
LEGALLY literally INSANE I could tell you a story of beauty and butterflies and fuzzy feelings, but it wouldn't be accurate or useful. It wouldn't be entertaining, or helpful, or even truthful. It would be lying, and I would be the liar.
So I'll start by saying, I have a freckle between one of my toes. His name is Fred, and I try to talk to him, but he refuses to respond. I speak of the garbage disposal, tell him of the tiny teeth people trying to grind away my fingers, and even though Fred doesn't talk back, I bet that if he did, he wouldn't believe me.
Sometimes, when I'm shuddering and paralyzed beneath my sheets, I call out to him. "Fred?" I say, "If ever you were going to speak, please
I am what you made me to be.You know what this is.
(I never knew
No matter how hard,
typical of reptilian whores,
and you were dirty,
much the same,
alive in kaleidoscope
(Intercourse at every
Only in the seconds I
(We are but
Red Feathers and Metaphorical OceansI found her degraded,
slathered in pomegranate puddles. Juicy sweet.
Timid blueberry tears dribbled
atop her raw pancake tissues.
Her offended coconut flesh
feigned feminine composure;
I noticed off-white muscles
paranoid and taunt.
Bones bracing for the sizzle.
into someone solid.
blackened texture - rabid, raven-eyed
complexity beyond explanation
submission - succumbing to indifference
Ghosts boast the ability
to seethe adicity through cemetery breath.
They remain inaccurate, spewing centur
truth is, I don't wanna love you.Is it really fear?
Till my blood runs silver, pure mercury.
I know little of coherency.
Today feels like chalk and phlegm and pheromones.
I remain a retching mound of meat.
An undulating mass of muscles and organs.
When I thought of you I thought of flesh.
Sensation and numbness,
breathing while holding my breath
alive but always dead
I saw red, maraschino streaks.
Lines of flamingo pink creased across the surface.
Then I thought of flesh and blood and feeling
and for a second,
I couldn't hate you.
Is this fear?
Does It Bother Your Mind The Way You Bother MineIt could be defined as this unintelligible sympathy, refined
and infinitely describable. Words are a feeble comparison.
My speech is slop, fecal matter. Repulsive residues spew from ineffective
communication. And you're speaking, but what the fuck are you saying?
To be wrong.
It may run deeper than that, an invasive core crowding the marrow of your bones.
Humiliation in strength, pungent structure uniting beneath sinuous muscle and
skin. Imperative awareness skittered across paranoid psyche - psychosomatic ridicule glorifying nausea.
Illness; festering determination.
You are difficult in your footholds.
The Beginning To A Better Ending.That's me, the quiet one popping her fingers in the corner. At the moment I'm feeling acutely awkward. I really don't know anyone in this room except for my "x" and his new girlfriend, not exactly prime candidates for conversation.
I notice Austin: six foot four, quarter-inch shaved hair and patches on a bleachedout jacket. Sam persists that he's hilarious but I've yet to hear his German pornstar impression. He mozzies on over to join our circle, plopping down beside me.
I feel the cool of glass pressing against my wristbone. Someone passes me the pipe. I think her name is Minnie but most people calls her Hollywood. I ignite the neon green, sucking in a lungful of skunky sweetness. The world swoons, a subtle inflation. Glistening. Some quality bud. I knock the pipe against Austin's forearm. He turns and takes it from my hand, a wordless exchange.
I sit here silent, stoned and attempting to pop my knuckles in
i haven't forgottentell me, boy
who is your god.
do not say it
is the limbs
that spread you
do not tell me it is
hands wrapping a head
board, nor a mouth
tugging your name
i want to know who it is
that makes you lucent,
bent beneath the dark,
because there is no divinity
like the one that makes
Oceanic Love Does Not Mean ForeverI do not want you to tell me
of crooked smiles and offshore
moonbeams woven with nightingale
words. You are living in
after memories. You have forgotten
I will live in a way that's unorthodox.
I only want for you
to be lonely and small,
but it's for your own good, you know.
Breathe it in, hold it in, hold yourself
between each of your heartbeats.
Change because some things are
like estranged runaways caught between
the tilt of the earth.
I was the ocean in you
and you didn't understand.
Havens of WoolThe safety of home
It's too novel to me
I've wandered alone
Was lost at sea
But lights took me home
Away from my demons
And the homesickness I've always known
Became buried beneath lighter feelings
My heart's no longer in chains
My soul's no longer a prisoner
For a sailor saved me from the waves
Together we leave behind the sea forever.
note to self.dear me,
stop loving the boy with the aquamarine eyes and the irregular heartbeats.
he's a kleptomaniac and he's stealing your breaths
(like he stole your heart to replace his failing one)
because his lungs are full of smoke and cobwebbed sadness and you're exhaling
stardust and dreams.
he stole a little bit more of your sun showered soul each time he gave you one
of his starshine kisses
(a fair trade, i think)
and he could've slit your throat with his razor-edged smile each time he planted
his lips on your collar bone but he spared your life because it meant something
[i think he'd like to watch you die because your last words would still be iloveyou.]
My Prickly LegsI haven't shaved my prickly legs in a week, and I smell like moldy tacos, but he still can't sleep without me.
Sunlight smiles through the missing plastic blinders on our window. The explosion of Sunday morning through my eyelids shakes me up, and I stretch below the blanket, basking in the warmth of his clingy skin. My hair is sprawled on his face, and he crunches his nose when I brush it away. I giggle. He is beautiful.
I stare as his eyebrows twitch in some unnamed dream and he clings tighter to my waist, as if I would ever want to leave this sinful bliss and the stench of morning-after lust. His body is unsculpted, and soft; a neckbeard springs closely below his chin and tickles my cheek where it fits so perfectly. I start to tear up the longer I look at him, but then I notice that I haven't blinked in 3 minutes.
The apartment is a mess- a cozy studio sprinkled with the laundry we can't afford to wash, surrounding the bed like a moat of sweaty poverty. But all I smell is him, and h
Happily Never AfterIt appears we are nothing more than just mere puppets, childhood playthings to be thrown around and disposed of as you wish.
I remember when we used to be able to wish upon a shooting star, sit atop the traffic lights and watch the cars pass us by. (Back then we had all the time in the world.) Its crazy how quickly things can change. I turned my head for one second and then you were gone. Poof, right into the thin air. I closed my eyes, rubbed them, shook my head; I did all I could think of in hopes you would magically return. (But you never did, and I fear you never will) I now sit atop those same traffic lights alone and dejected, pathetically continuing to watch the cars pass us, no now just me, by. I believe if I stay there long enough youll come back to me. (I never was one to think realistically) Every now and then someone will honk at me and wave and it will lift my spirits a little, only to have them crash right back down when
*Waterfall*Waterfall of words
Thoughts tumble onto paper
where the dust settlesyou drew away with the filth of the tide,
took a promise you would never keep.
i look for you in everyone.
are you bruised and bleeding and on your knees.
is the light in your eyes,
you were so god-damn beautiful.
A Year Ago Today1)
Joe's become a functioning alcoholic,
which I'm okay with. As long as he drives
in a straight line, I don't refuse our meandering
journeys: around the cornfields surrounding Plano,
where the suburbanites raise chickens and flirt
with country music. I like Johnny Cash but
Joe blasts something drawling, with an acoustic
bass thumping to the time of a drunk tractor's
sparking cables, returning from the bar and
driving crookedly behind us. Joe passes me
the joint, then takes a long swig from his flask.
He was a heavy guy before the cocaine,
but after I moved from the city, he went clean,
and there's something about the rounded
slope of his jaw that makes me want to cut
every excess fold of him until he's beautiful,
like the night he drove up to Bridgeport and
bought me a case of beer, fucked me on the stairs,
then pleaded for five more minutes in a voice
that sighed and pitched like the unsteady sway
of a pontoon boat on a windy lake,
"The thing about you is,
I always end up comin
Note To SelfTruth is, I don't know anymore.
Every string, unwinding, unweaving.
The unlikely demise of a tapestry.
I'd like to remind you of… well, a lot of things.
And I'm sorry, but there's no theme.
No message to be had.
These are just words.
I am just words.
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