.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
.sooner or later,the tooth fairy picks up ahammer and chisel
.my cat has ninelives and i fear he willspend each one doingthe same fuckingthingstaring out of thewindow at the birds onthe fence, when he could beout there, sinking histeeth in
.the shadows bruise thesunlight while the moonweeps in the darkness
.does a weedever wonderwhy it isn'ta flowerdoes a treeever feel likeits roots areholding itdown
.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
.the sun did notkiss my skinyesterday, he sleptlateshowed hisface around noonand then went backto bed; theearth exhaled
.they say that you are thework of the devil; you'll haveblack orbs for eyes and a tongueas sharp as your fathersand i hope you will not feel a thingwhen they pull back your blanketsand carry you out, when they leaveme with nothing but creases
.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
.she carries more mistakes thanthere are stars, behind hereyesa lifetime ofconstellations,a human supernova
.i opened mymouth;you showedme yourteeth
.winter gavebirth to a baby,cold and still
.i dug up thepast again, thosememories viciousand snarlingi set them looseinside the houseand now we haveto leave
.i keep a garden ofdead leaves, their amberribs crack under myfeet, and i smilethe flowers turn theirbacks on me
.a spider weaveshis silver lies on myfront door, and iwalk right in;the flies laugh
.the oaks crouch to greetme, i sit with the ferns andthe forest listens
and we'll rotoh, poet boy,you are notthumbed bruisesor honey bones& you have onlyever been a godinside of your own head
To My Biology TextbookOn page 159 of my biology textbook, it reads,“...cancer is the uncontrolled growth of cells”as though that could explain everything,and I thought it did for a time.But my textbook never warned methat his skin would paleto a point where I could seethe blue freight trainscarrying eighteen pillsthroughout his frail body.My textbook never warned methat his watery irises would freeze over,that he would hurl insults like knives,and that he would clench his jawas tightly as his fist clenched his wine glassbecause the only person to blame is himself,and he can’t swallow that as easilyas he can the olives in his martinis.And my textbook never warned methat it would be this difficult to breathebecause of my acute awarenessthat his breaths are limited,and that there would be nothing I could dobut soldier on searching for that silver liningclinging to these foreboding thunderheads.
wednesday's childit is the third of octoberand i am building a castle for usout of feathers, bird bones, ocean waves and library book pages. anything to keep our feet fromtouching the ground.you are sin, he whispersand his fingers trail cold fire down my side, scorching fleshand freezing bone;brittle pieces of me shatteras they hit the stained linoleum floor.don't wake me from this nightmare.i whisper a nursery rhyme as i walk down ourautumn path.kamikaze leaves fall, trailingfire as they throw themselves fromthe branches, down, down,to cold pavement below.your words echo in my minda constant reminderthat i am sinbut you,you werenevergod
For ScienceBrought toaster to bathtub.Shocking results.
Shy TruthsI spilled a cup of oceanand opened my handshoping to catch the truth.Empty seashells,broken clams,and a palm-fullof worn pebbleswere all I caught.I guessthe truthis shy.
Vertebraewe dressed oursalt burns;purloined ribbons& bone crownsspitting static throughour buzzing t.v. teethyou're a silent migraine:blue-blooded, honey-soaked[& i want to be somethingtoo pristine totouch]
Astrali'm the seraphicromanticist,a hallowed bodyswallowing galaxieslike i am hellbent onself-deterioration
you never taught me how to sleep.one day you'll unfold your bedsheets, and i will still be in the creases.
sati(ate)dit's ironic,isn't it? the waythey say "hunger gnaws"like the way our teethscrape against bones.for all thecalories that are counted,you still feelempty. you aren'tbeautiful untilyou are digestingnothing but airand maybe your own guilt.that's just the wayliving is thesedays: swallowingglass shards toslice up your insides soyou can ignorethe other kind of pain yourstomach is feeling.but when people askif you're doing okay you justsmile and nod even thoughyou can't help butthink "if honesty wastangible, i'd eat it rightnow."life hasan acquired taste andsome days you'dlike to rip yourtongue out.
.crescent moon- silverhook in the sky fishing forstars; you catch my eye