.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
.when you claim your slotin the ground, it will claim yourbody in return
.my head isthe apple and youare the worm;watch mesquirm
.i wanted to bathein fire; for the amber tonguesto lick me clean, pure
.horrors prey ondreams, and sleep cando nothing about ita lamb straysfrom the flock;a wolf grins
.i opened mymouth;you showedme yourteeth
.a scalpel fromwrist to elbow-you will not beliving under myskin anymore
.she carries more mistakes thanthere are stars, behind hereyesa lifetime ofconstellations,a human supernova
.i dug up thepast again, thosememories viciousand snarlingi set them looseinside the houseand now we haveto leave
.a spider weaveshis silver lies on myfront door, and iwalk right in;the flies laugh
.little robin, wingsoutstretched in the dirt, a smearof red on your breast
.is it worse tohear a truth,or give oneto tell a lie,or live one
.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
.i was born with thecord wrapped tightaround my neck; itwould seem fitting todie the same way
.does a weedever wonderwhy it isn'ta flowerdoes a treeever feel likeits roots areholding itdown
.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
.i would shed my skinwith autumn, but my veins wouldcrack like the dry leaves
.i shudderwhen you speak;your words arecold when theytouch me
lung canceri will die with your name on my lipsbecause there is nothing else i'll need to say.you are my coffin, my funeral pyre.as my bones disintegrate, popping and snapping,you will greedily swallow my ashesuntil nothing is left of me but secondhand smoke.i've danced with you, love, across hospital tile,the scent of antiseptic cloying as valentine's chocolate.you dipped me into unconsciousness,and i willingly closed my eyes.the intrusion of your scalpel teeth no longer scares me.you, my rigor mortis soul mate, always take me under.your tent of frostbitten shelter pulls me down, an anchor,while i gag on pills too abstract to save me.forgive me, lungs, of my cigarette abuse,but i've found happiness in a reaper's cloak.i find comfort in these carcinogens.i've made my nest in a swaying tree,my body destroyed by the nauseous rocking.they smile at me with pity in their eyes,scribbling nonsense on those jaw-like clipboards.their crisp, stark white world still has faith in me,yet
If Winter Should Take YouThe heart of autumnpleads for one more leaf to fall.Before snow envelops it.
This Title Has Escaped The Box's Entrailsfreedom is purepossibility - a hallwaylined with doors
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.
nightmares and lavender owlsdear night-bonesdo not marinade in the melanchorand allow your feeble surfacesto become slippy andelusiveunder the fingertips of sanity -don't become a semblance,a representationof reality, just be.there's no need for lavenderto perfumiae the dusk gardenthat thoughtless flowerdoes not grow here.unobtrusiveafter the broken attempts -of cracked knucklesas they claw a representationof beauty, into soil.oh, to that intrical fluidsludging throughthinly veined cribbagesof capillary and thought,illusive,illusive thought -don't slumber to a stopand leave me destitute and dehydratedof truth, of life.dear sanity,do not betray mewith your sharp and unsoft pricksof the realityintrusiveinto my ribs--don't sharpen my sensesto the point of self harm by thought,of thought,oh bones and sanityand the screeching owlsthat herald in a death-silencethat coos the word;"reclusive"do not ask of me more than i can bare -don't, please, ask meto endure the blade-in-brain
The Heart of the SunWhen stars shatter and comets coursealongside an archipelago, amurmur may press cosmic pinsbeneath my bones. Novas negate,cause the cazimi to crack,I am not able to loose loveupon unraveled stellar streams.-----Youare agalactictide, brushing myplanets with cosmic dust in hopes I will choke.-----The universe iscollapsing inside of me,I feel much too small.
ResidueShe wilts in the wind,but laughter still sounds from aleftover shadow.
Marinating in the Pervading Loneliness2.37 am sounds likeclenching your jawuntil a crack shoots downinto the nerve endings.The crunch of bonesplitting and separatingand shearing painup into the naive skull,that hoped for something elseto penetrate the malaisecreated by fooling yourselfwith love, with money,with smilesand words.It sounds like biting your tongue -and that flab of meatchunking onto the carpetand violating your chinwith its copperstench syrup,that stains everybodythe same flavour of red -This is what 2.37 am tastes like.Like the only warmth is fromthat cyaniatic bouillabaissecreated by swallowing yourself:your blood, and teeth,and tears,and words.
the beauty's in the leavingRead aloud here.sweetheart, let's head out. let'sdrink up the desert asphalt and that last bottleof johnny walker blue--one last toast to the copper sunsets,to the good earth. a pair oftailgate stargazers, you and i:roaming curves across the glove compartment map, untilevery foldline is worn flannel-softand it'd rather stay openthan closed.let's forget route sixty-six. let's forget the numbersand pick up terra cotta dust--breathe in the mojave. let's pretendthat the world's already endedand it's just us.let's leave the door unlockedand gowest.
.the oaks crouch to greetme, i sit with the ferns andthe forest listens
welcome and fellow deviant Brownhaired maiden suggestedI check out your works.
would you mind if added you sometime ?