.in the nighttime you arebetter; moonlightembroiders yourskin and stitchesyou up with apurer love, untilthe morning comes,the sun runs histeeth through yourseams again, splitsyou open
.he splits hearts likeoranges in themorningsinks his teeth intoripened flesh, andleaves nothing but therind, too hard toswallow
.horrors prey ondreams, and sleep cando nothing about ita lamb straysfrom the flock;a wolf grins
.she calls down angelsjust to burn theirrighteous wings,to see them rise thenfall, those flailingdovesshe tells them, thisis what it's liketo be humanand they say judgementwill arrive for you, mygirl, you will becleansed by burninglightand i strike another match
.a tattoo for everysin, a poppyten yearslater- a meadow
.the cat keepsleaving dead meaton my doormat,a pile of bones,bloody and rawhe wants me toknow what i'mwalking into, hewants me to knowjust what i am
.fistsclench; i brush myheart frommy sleeve, thenditch thesweater
.i dream of drowning inlakes, belly up, a petalshaped bruise of your thumbon either wristi dream that what laysin my bed is so muchmore terrifying than whatlurks underneath it
.i don't wantto push updaisies,be the bearerof bad newsfor a yearningheart,he lovesme not
.crescent moon- silverhook in the sky fishing forstars; you catch my eye
.the sea spitsme back ontothe shore -the waves saythis is not theright tide, theright time
.time will only heal yourwounds on the conditionyou'll let him prise themopen again, upon return
.she carries more mistakes thanthere are stars, behind hereyesa lifetime ofconstellations,a human supernova
.you are dead and buriedsix feet under yourself,still feeling the way you didwhen you were seventeenand when you bathe, you stillkeep your head under thewater, wrists upturned, redeyes open, trying to drown yourselfout
.we are one and thesame, that old willow andme, we stand tall with thescars that life gave us -with the names of loverscarved deep in our limbs,and old burns from mydads cigarettes
.sooner or later,the tooth fairy picks up ahammer and chisel
.a scalpel fromwrist to elbow-you will not beliving under myskin anymore
.hangman, could you showme the ropes? i'd rather doit all on my own
Our DutyWe swallowed the path homeBecause we were hungry,Though starving is an ongoingStory, an empty bagDancing in the streets,Full of an unfastened voiceWalking through the house,Wind unchained, heart admonished.Heaven fills its eyes, crawls away,That sleeping boat content to followThe vacant waves, intervalsOf dying that we dare not interrupt,And we watch the kind ear shrinkingFrom our charcoal docks; heavenWith a full stomach crawls away.This is what we were put here for.
wallflower clippingsthere's scar tissue in her throat,swollen around the words she never said;dark rings around her eyeslike planets unremembered, anda staleness to her touch,the crystalline Dead Sea.she's living like a storythat's already been told"if no one loved youwould you mean anything at all?"in that moment,we forget to exist.
Pocket UniverseI can smell the typewriters beneath your skinmetallic, halting, smudged vibratowavering note stretched out far beyondthe edge of the universe tucked in your front pocketbreathing out in time with your heartbeats.All along the wall I find notebook pagesold teabags hung for too long, green flakes whirlingwhile you sit in the lean of the willow treeand watch the play that is my lifechew the scenery; the stage collapses with a groan.You pull your scarf inand wrap the scars in burnt umberwhile the show goes onagain.
salti of you,such a beautiful mess, intertwined and overrun.your arms, copper lips, citrus,a lovin' with a twist.my summer away at space pirate camp,i took to howling with you the first thunder of june;flesh, storms,the hunt for human brains, Maybe Zombies Just Want To Hug? - 6 lies to tell yourself if shipwrecked.i can't explain the feelings i get.wakewalking, blue dream before i sleep: the soul cupping rice (glass figurines, lamp light eyes).my fear is milk two sugars. drink drink drink beneath it all, floral growth, silver spoons, featherweight fox teeth, losing my spine, strange preoccupations with skin, idle... maps.
deconstructing in your sighsiit’s not like they said it would be easy.when you look at meopen-mouthed and dewey-eyed,negligent; and your laughterslurs together like runoff sewage,and your voice is drowning ina certain kind of sadness, the onereserved for the faultswe never asked for; and you sigh,heavy, like I am back sitting inyour throat between your adam’s appleand the truths you dare not speak;you pity me.iiit’s that very same weakness whichdelivered me naked and tremblinginto the skin of a personI never was; pitydoes not require action, disappointmentdoes not take away from the burning human needto overcome oneself. I’m sick of livingtomorrow regretting the person I am today;I drained her all out in a fit of desperation,and filled myself through with vodka gigglesand scribbled lines and you, darling, you,who fears nothing but the skeleton girlsleeping quietly in your closet.
Otherwise Good ConditionI have worn the same dressfor four days, becauseI am sick, exquisitelysick --black and gold, your drunkdimestore Nefertiti. Awhite stain announcesitself, a muddy star:she coughedhere. Undo yourself,those sallow words you drink,let the silk fall loose. I've gota face like dirty laundryand burial grounds --What I touch becomesunwell. I wear my hairlike it pains me,blow kisseslike a little girlsucking her teethat cars, the caked littletombs of sugar that crumble,nakedunder the hot milkof the sun.
i haven't forgottentell me, boywho is your god.do not say itis the limbsthat spread youbetween knowingand comfort;do not tell me it ishands wrapping a headboard, nor a mouthtugging your namefor salvation.i want to know who it isthat makes you lucent,bent beneath the dark,weeping,because there is no divinitylike the one that makesyou bleed
defeatheredand this is where we bury our hearts,between self-defeating personality disordersand burnt bridges and midnight ramblingswe promise ourselves aren’t true;embedding our memories in forsaken homeslike it is a conscious decision to shedour wings (reptiles don’t fly)and maybe I am the monster of everymyth: wide-eyed and jagged toothed andlooking to regain a piece of myself theworld borrowed, many moons agoas I falter and stumble over my own unawarefeet, wreaking havoc, reeking of self-acquittal--all I ever wanted to do was belong.dreams are flaws much like the hearts weflaunt on our sleeves, and I seem tohave lent all mine away; I amsomething entirely ignorant, in the dark,believing fingers fumbling can find answers.they never told me reflections are backwardsand the world spins the wrong way andhurricanes are really an embodimentof all our own withdrawals:but one day, these walls will crumble,and I will learn to breathe in dust.
Paper-Thin Promisesthe first time I caught sight of yourglistening, marble eyes,I decided you disgust me.I hate you the way I hate perfection:merciless, like the snap of mantis jaws.every fact of you is pretentious,held high like you raise a middle finger.You, the artist, always sculpting things,tried to squeeze my malleable heart like white clayand stash it in your pocket to rattle with stones.paint me an unflinching self portrait, my dear:this skyscraper of a boy shaking with anticipationto build and destroy, build and destroy.you sink in tooth and talon at first mention of beauty,love-biting Aphrodite as though you were equals.you're a statue, a prison,a tasteless reproduction of a child's Heavenbut you are no museum.you may hang yourself in gilded frames,forcing masses to silence with obscurity,but that does not make you a hallowed hall.no, I fear you're no Metropolitan.you look at me, daring to think you understand.your words trickle from my lips like a waterfallas you tell m
.i keep a garden ofdead leaves, their amberribs crack under myfeet, and i smilethe flowers turn theirbacks on me