.he told me prayersare uselessand if i really want hisforgiveness, i should get onmy knees and beg
.the sea spitsme back ontothe shore -the waves saythis is not theright tide, theright time
.the shadows bruise thesunlight while the moonweeps in the darkness
.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
.i wanted to bathein fire; for the amber tonguesto lick me clean, pure
.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
.dead flies scatterthe windowsill, theirbodies shrivelled anddried by the suni mourn the spider,hung with his own web
.does a weedever wonderwhy it isn'ta flowerdoes a treeever feel likeits roots areholding itdown
.i was born with thecord wrapped tightaround my neck; itwould seem fitting todie the same way
.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 dug up thepast again, thosememories viciousand snarlingi set them looseinside the houseand now we haveto leave
.she carries more mistakes thanthere are stars, behind hereyesa lifetime ofconstellations,a human supernova
.is it worse tohear a truth,or give oneto tell a lie,or live one
.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
.tiny heart drummingin your chest, i canhear youred gravy pumpingin your veins, i cansmell youyou are such a freshmeal, and i can almosttaste you
.when you claim your slotin the ground, it will claim yourbody in return
.you are a walkingcoffin; there are sentencesburied alive inside you, all thethings you could not sayand they will fester therelike maggots, eat you fromthe inside out
.a scalpel fromwrist to elbow-you will not beliving under myskin anymore
Cancer has a smell.Old classics,lilac air-fresheners,the half cup ofpeppermint ice creamthat’s beensitting in your freezerfor weeks, and cat litter.He won’t eat anymore,but there arepiles and pilesof dirty dishessitting in the sink.He’s slowlydisintegratingbefore your eyes.You can wrapyour whole selfaround his tiny bonesnow.You can hold himlike he used to hold youall those years ago.And you are angry.You try to findsomeone,or somethingto blame.You hate doctors,and you hateNovember now.November meansbirthdays, diagnoses,chemo treatments,and realization.You have to force yourselfto stop crying,every day.This is the one personwho’s always had faithin you.He’s read every poemand hoarded every awardyou ever won.You ignore statistics,because rosesthey alwayssmell nicer.
i gave up on trying to write about youthere are millions of poemsdetailing the beauty of another’s eyes,but your eyes, my love,put all their cherry-picked words to shame.ew, that verse is disgusting.way too sappy.I’m no good at love poems.okay, hold on, let mejust start over.you’re freaking excellentno.shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?thou art more lovely and more temperatewait.i can’t take credit for that.sonnets aren’t my style,and anyway,shakespeare beat me to the punchfour hundred some years ago.uh, i mean, you’re funnyand really cute, likei seriously love your eyesbecause there’s meaning in theresomewhere.and, and, you make me laugh.you’re so hilarious.and I have the drawing you gave metwo years ago, still hiddenfolded up in my notebook.plus, i mean, you’re everything to me.no big deal, right,considering the fact that we neverreally speak anymore.it’s cool.i’m fine.really.oh my god that doesn’teven
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
The Day The World Went AwayThe world went awaywild and untetheredfrom now-loose neurons -Oh how it flewfor that blind momentbefore the lacework brokeand flung serotoninagainst baroque wallpaper.
Keep your secrets, wolfgirl.I have been suffocatingon the stars of my pastlike horny gentlemendo with innocent lookingwolfgirls at 3am- their bitefearless as thieves.My lilac lungs are breathing indust and the tears of Saturn’snameless moons,while the rest of me -well, shes warm off wineand poems leftunfinished.
we're all drunk and always have beennoi haven't felt smaller than this beforeand it could bebecause i don't breathe poetry inand out -inand out,inand out -i write it under my eyebrowswith the precisionof a drunk snipertoasted into admissionwith irony s-st-tutter-eringdown his throat.you wouldn't take a damned bullet for me.beautiful is a word keptfor the riseand fallof her tidal chest,not my shallow breath,not my sunset, heartfelt,hollow silhouette.i would have disappearedbetween your accusing index andneglected thumb -rub me,rub me?rub herrub herdon't you feel calmer?noi haven't felt smaller than thisbefore.i haven't felt smaller than this beforeand it could bebecause you found a home betweenher stroking index andcomforting thumb -i haven't forgotten,no, i still remembernow twenty two penumbrae in the pastdidn't stop mefrom settlingin one of several crevassesat the bottom of your oceanic mind;you may have forgotten,and slept inon the details,but i haven't,not yet,not ye
Sundiveri.When I was six a phoenixtried to drown me.Underwater I grabbed for fire.Like Icarus, I was reachingtowards the sun.I hope he still hasbald spots. I hope he stillcradles searing scars.He was death,I was the bird.ii.My uncle knows plastic-wrapped soaps as wellas he knows fine wines.If he drinks enough,he thinks it’s love-carved names rubbingthe silver drain smooth. Diver: 28 dayssweating, ship black againstsea. Like it had been peeledfrom amber tongues.iii.On my fifteenth birthday, the boywith stars on his fists and Saturn’srings in his eyes told me I was pretty.It was the first timeanyone had said so. I learnedhow to hold my breath,how to apply foundation,how to crywithout bleeding tardown my cheeks,and how to wear my bonesquieter.iv.He says he does it for the money.He says you have to come up slowlyor else something inside of you will explode.I didn’t understand what he meantuntil I realized my throat was stillsomewhere in hi
How to love a poet: Expect them to be flawed, a field of wild flowered- imperfections, sticky metaphors & an inability to speak. Love them anyway. Know that when they look at you they are noticing the little things.
hyenas make the best lovers.i need to stop lookingfor death in every bodymy fingers touch.i have been force fedold lovers, & slicesof the moons lying dustfor years-i am messy poems;i am fractured confessions.i am laughter& teeth.my jaws achewith the taste ofwolves blood,& names.i am still hungry.give me your sugar;I will share my breath.remember,you are still made of starstuff,& i am no longer caged.
.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