.sooner or laterwe'll fall throughthe trapdoor of death
.you break freefrom the grip ofthe oceanjust to die inthe arms of the shorefrom exhaustion
.i feel in a languagei don't understand,and the wings of the bird in my kitchen, theywon't get to feel the sky anymore -and sometimes doesn't it feel good?to put two fingers round the neckof a flower andsnap,hear the petals scream fortheir withering limbs,then start choking(instinct)
.love like thunder;make yourself known
.in the bodyof a dead womani am aliveand kicking
.i hearthe sun hisswhen it catchessight of the moon,i see you too, so pleasedo not come any closer -i crack wordswide open to see justwhat they're reallymade of, and i longto do the sameto you, i thinka crowbar is the only thingthat would give youa more open mind, iswing then prise -you laughand saya moth in searchof the lightis boundto get burned(what are you in for?)
.i remember the springwhen you did not growand our arms unfurledfor no one
.i said death,death is a closet;let's all just hangourselves up and keepthe place tidy -
.the rabbits twitchin their sleep;they dreamof red bitten neckswet with spit,the birds dream of their eggscrackedand runny -the mice dream of hearingthat tabby cat screamas the teeth of life ripitwide open
.she saysexplain these thingsto me -i say the silence sort of ticks - my sadnesshas a face, think blue, think black and grey, think sanguinered, the end of may, he had a pulse too strongfor me to take,i killed it, stripped it bare, i carried it rightto it's grave - i say andmy lungs, they feel like frost, they're filled with silverlight and sharpness, rattling pips, a scream - i stayedinside my bed for weeks, i didn't eat, i didn'tdream - i think in fire, flame, volcano,resurrect you, keep your nameinside me like a splinterturning green(i could not bring myself to say yes, but i think you know that)
.my grandfather died last nightand i sat on the roof for three hoursand i feltand i feltand i wroteand i wroteand theni bit the nightand the night, it bit me backand i criedand todayi am still feelingand todayi am still writingand nowi have madea decision;i am lettingmy mindoff it's leash(i'm going to let my mind chew right through me)
.there are snakesthat hangin coils from mevivid redand green, their mouthslike tinydark fanged cavernsblack eyes glitteringthey see -they smellthat mother tonguethat they knowi cannot speak(if you can touch it, you can kill it, you can dream)
.there's no pointin leaving the chrysalisif you've gotno desire to fly
.september -i've been underthe illusion it'sa sundayfor four days,i sit on your kneeat the kitchen table,roll one of thebullets under my fingercold gold andand smooth,do you know whatthat is? -yeahbut i don't thinkyou do - he saysyou're fuckin weird,you know that? fuckincold, maybe i'll juststart calling youwinter -and he doesnovember -they grace me withthree days, and i cannotconvince youto come with medecember -the only time i like youis when you're asleep,i gnaw one leg out ofa trapjust to crawl my wayinto another(it takes everything i have not to smash my bottle over your head)
.i have lovedunafraid;i have dancedto the music of torturei can forget the rest
.we are allstrayssearching forhomes ineach other
.night stalksthrough the streetsand tonighthe is collecting -i lay my boneson the pavementevenly spaced, buti know that he won'treally like this,my spine whispers,i think you needto stand up for yourself -you bottomless pitof despairyou're hellyou're smallyou're small smallsmallenough to pushinto that lake -i am,i wonder how muchrain i could fit in my mouthbefore it's consideredhalf full, andhow many branches of the familyi could fellbefore it's consideredall dead,and the blackit starts in the top lefthand corner, i see it when i layon my bed,it splits itself fourthe first to my eyes,my mouth, my handsthen my headinsideon the metal, i layin the bathi breathe out and i feelmyself sink(they aren't quite clean enough)
.she saysdarling,you weren't madefor anything else(cutting this cord day by day)
It Comes With AgeYour bonesmight as wellbe of papier-mâché,at thetragic ratethey're decayingaw a y.
-she knew he was a grave, but she buried herself in him anyway.
radiantI am shaking ligaments, tender machinations, unrealistic ideologies of anarbitrary cynicist. [gaps between human sympathyare toxic; breathingis a chore. there is a careful warmth in the combined effort of necessity's unwanted side effects.]we are the forgotten.we are the tangled limbsand childhood stories fora more sensitive future; weare the longing, we arethe limitless. we are measured in the people we touch;and I will love you in the UV light of hide and seek paranoia. I love you in the red shimmer of harbored dreams, I love youin the industrial gl
Behind the WordsWe spill our pain across the pages.But we must smile when it is read.For we cannot show our true emotions.Not of suffering, anxiety, or dread.For we are the bringers of dreams to the world.Our words are tales of healing light.So hide your tears behind a mask,And save them for a quiet night.
.quietly, i was kissedin a house ofcandles. they burned out;i began to fall in lovewith all thewax stuck to myskin.
beauty is a state of mindforgiveness is thescent the violet leaveson the foot that stomped it;I am beautiful in remembrance:I am beautiful in a body two sizes too large, in eyes dilated with questions (eyesyou cannot name; gray like the ocean, blue like the heart, green like the fever dream I cannot wake from) I am the hair of a lion, a wild thing, ignition upon tempted glance. I am the skinyou cannot name, always fleeting; the chameleon you always see but never truly take in. and I know a boy carved of ivory silence, &
This is loveIn this empty roomWe stand togetherIn silenceIn the darknessOur shattered heartsBleeding together as oneWhile the blood runsThrough our cold skinThis is what love is likeTwo broken peopleSharing their painMerging their empty soulsWe forget about the worldBecause we live in a world of our ownUnited as oneIn an illusion of happiness
( 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.
IntrovertEveryone's tryingto get out ofthe shadowof their parents-I'm here tryingto get out ofthe shadowof myself.
.i keep wearingmy skinlike an old wornjacket and jeans,stitchedover andover again