.i wanted to bathein fire; for the amber tonguesto lick me clean, pure
.he told me prayersare uselessand if i really want hisforgiveness, i should get onmy knees and beg
.i dug up thepast again, thosememories viciousand snarlingi set them looseinside the houseand now we haveto leave
.you brokea heart,convincedthat there wassomething goodinside
.my head isthe apple and youare the worm;watch mesquirm
.you were a passingstorm, a tornado scribblingyour name in the sand
.the sea spitsme back ontothe shore -the waves saythis is not theright tide, theright time
.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
.pour love allover, then strikea match;the fire willburn itself out,but the ruinswill smoulder
.winter gavebirth to a baby,cold and still
.the breathin my lungs -you tookeverything
.is it worse tohear a truth,or give oneto tell a lie,or live one
.i shudderwhen you speak;your words arecold when theytouch me
.the shadows bruise thesunlight while the moonweeps in the darkness
.i was born with thecord wrapped tightaround my neck; itwould seem fitting todie the same way
.little robin, wingsoutstretched in the dirt, a smearof red on your breast
.the sun did notkiss my skinyesterday, he sleptlateshowed hisface around noonand then went backto bed; theearth exhaled
.some thoughts get so loud thatyou cry out for them to leave;they scatter like birds startledout of their trees, before landingagain where they wereand after a while,you just have tolet them sing
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.
( 4/04/2014 )Everything here is so fuckingloud and this dragon eyed girldoesn’t feel like filteringanymore.She doesn’t want to answerthe phone today, either, so-she stuffs her ears withsilence, andher mouth with newnamesas she kissesswollen knees.She’s ponderingsocks now toowiththeir mixed &matched indecency.Real ladies wouldn’tdare step outsidewearing one pink& one green sock,only,but she’s no lady.-A red lipped hermitholding a knife to herown throat, screaming-writewritewritewriteidareyou!maybe,who embracesthe sun andthe rain on her facefor the first timein weeks.Oh poets with yourpretty words andold souls,this is what truewriters blocklooks like.
Could I Send You The StarsCan I send you the stars?A million twinkling letttersWaiting above your head each night to be readIn gentle melody like midnight lullabiesFor the girl I dearly wish could hear them.Can I borrow your moon?I know without it your nights may feel emptyBut I envy its lovely radiance shiningUpon those two eyesI wish I could see wish I could gaze intoSo instead could I borrow your Moon?And gaze into it hoping I'll find the lovelinessOf your eyes there instead.Could I steal your Sun?And pocket it's millionsAnd millions of memoriesOf lightly caressing you with its raysKnowing the feel of every beautifully delicatePart of you for every day of every year..Could I lease your dreams?And reside there with youUnderneath our stars' gentle lullabiesAnd beneath the Moon's loving gazeAway from the Sun's prying raysWith you...Since you're all I really need.So could I send you the starsAnd hope they'll send my love too?
.she never carried enough oilto keep her own life burning
Endorsed By The Surgeon General.She was like cigarettes.She took his breathaway,and filled his lungs with promisesthat evaporated likesmoke.
the drifter i.i tried to tell you that Marley was a ghost,but you wanted to walk with wingsacross gleaming midnight. How marvelous, this stone stands sturdy and musty; this glorious church holding up a ticking sun that slowly cracks the trippy stained glass.you drilled way below the church stone, and found dried palm leaves and old jointslike clues to the map of an exceptional life. I love this torrential literature, I love a racing heart. ii.i cannot sleep, i keep dreaming, ezekiel's visions leave me breathless. Take it up with the Big Man. Surely the cannabis creator must exude a presence that lingers on synapses.iii.i've lost my ability to fly.a tender sky with reddening clouds, the sights of death give birth to no life. Well, I'm l
( 4/01/2014 )I’ve been toldladies are supposed tocover themselvesin flowers, fine wines,or men.Fuck poetry,ladies don’t havetime.But lately,Bukowski sitsupon a barstoolin my headlaughing.He’s telling meto fuck her, poetically,emotionally, physically-figuratively speaking.I can’t decide which“her”he is referring to,( the new or the old )when jealousyon both endshas meby thethroat.Why do I attractbroken girlslike abandonedpuzzle pieces?Why do my wordsnot sit rightin my mouthwhen I can’teven stand upand speakfor myself?I don’t deserveto be apoet.
Sad poems need pretty titles.April was lungs weak of blue, andscalpels held in heartless,uncaring hands.You told me you were no cowardthat the seas and the oceanswhispered in your ears and told youonly the bravest of mendeserve to kiss their beds.May passed too quickly.No time for mourningwhen I gained ten poundsof pure muscleholding up your stars.People asked too many questions.People told me I was strong.One day in Juneyou woke up to a skeletal framethat wasn’t yours and the biggest,strongest ribcage I’d ever seen.I had cornfields in my eyes;You misplaced your anchorand your mind.
For ScienceBrought toaster to bathtub.Shocking results.
.i scrub loveoff your knuckles