.and god-i saw the moonleaking into the sea,a great big silvery slickon the wavesand as i held my hands upto the hole in her side,she smiled and soakedinto me(gentle, gentle, she doesn't have long)
.there is a bodybloodless and pale,with dirty handstrying to wash it alloff, because if shecannot see it there'sa chance it won'texistso she buriedthe blood in themud with her babyteeth, asked theriver to take itaway, felt her bonesheave a sigh as shelay them all downon the banklet itallslip away(and no doubt he will say she was crazy, this bitch, with her tongue and her teeth and her mind)
.my bedroomsuffocates me,so sometimes i climbout the window andcurl up on theroofinstead,there used to be a treedown the side that kept hisarms open for mebut he said i don't thinkyou're ever gonna knowhow it feels to bemidasor medusa,you know you'vealready got a heartof gold and eyesof stonei said nowyoudon't getto touch me(i can drop down into the alley from here, or sit with the cat like a gargoyle)
.in a poemeverything comesto life, so i writeabout you, i writeabout you, and iam still keepingus alive(light the path then, lantern eyes, if you know the fucking way out of here)
.if thesewalls couldtalkthen i'm surethey'd bescreamingget out,burn usdown,we can'tbearto hold youanylonger(been too busy dreaming to get any sleep)
.i rememberedthe conversation with the anesthetist,he said place your thumbs over your eyesand press gently, and i replied isn't thatlizards?and no i can't feel my hands but i'mnot really bothered, i will sleepsleep and sleep, i won't need them,and please keep an eye on the sea til iwake, it might pack up its fish andgo travelling, it might leak throughthe holes in the earth like a sieve,all the shipwrecks and sharks willbe homeless(i don't believe in anything, and that makes me a liar because i believe in that)
.mother i'msorryand brotheri worry aboutyouhe's deadbut still livinginside me iknew thisfresh startwould havethe samerottenending(gonna build you up nice and bitter)
.lies can slipthrough your teethwith ease,the truthgets caught inyour throat(i wish it was a lie, that i'm your flesh and blood and i wish it was the truth, that i hadn't been drinking)
.i can almost hearthe soundof everything -foxesweepingon the bodiesof rabbits, idid not meanto, i did notmean -howling andhowling,the deer inthe headlights sayingi told you so(and do you hear that? that's the sound of it all caving in)
.i will marry the moonand adopt a son, teachhim not to play with thehearts of stars(but he will)i will bring home a man,give him hope, hear himoutand then coughup his gutson the floor(i will end up there anyway, might as well say a prayer whilst i'm down there)
.unbutton my skinand let me fall out;(a mass of red and blue strings to wind round your fingers)
.and goddess,this isn't something i cansweat or starve out of me,i'll have to write and it willbe madness,see i've often thought aboutplacing my head in the pestleand mortar, i wonder if i couldgrind out the hell inside, becomea red pulp on the worktop, andeven the oven keeps tutting at me,it's so easy, just open the doorstick your hand in, feel his forkedtongue on your palm,orange lover, youknow you'rea cowardfor thisand it's truethat the dead are never reallysilent, they grunt and they groanin their damp soil sheets,toss and turn overagain(fill the bath with water, and just drop me in it)
.there are some things i've seen and heard that reallyget to me sometimes, like those birds and mice with teeth markson their little red raw thighs,rotting flowers, i recall he said this is a waste of timeand you're a waste of space, it's just impossible to holda conversation with you these days,let it go, just fucking drop it,keep your mouth shut unless i sayi think i froze to death last night, my fingertips turned blue,i heard a cloud say fuck you boy, did i come all this way for youto say that i look like a rabbit,better places i could bei've seen my shadow put two fingers to her headand pull the trigger, heard my echo laughabout it with the walls, and every timei hold a match i hear itwhispering to me,if you don't want me to burn you,then you're gonna have to blow meouti heard that you can't tame a lion just by pullingat his mane, i heard that blood feels goodon porcelain and not just i
.i neverlearned thelanguageof flowers,never knewwhy thenettlespat itswords at mewith venom,why thosegreenforkedtonguesleft asting(i bet the sheep don't lose a wink over the starving wolves, either)
.he said there are a lot of things in lifethat don't make sense,i said i know,like that time i laughed so hard at the wakei had to stay out in the garden making small talk with the smokersfor the rest of it,like the time i shut myself in the garage and went to sleepin the backseat of your car,and how i'm not at all religious but i sat in church that day withmy hands clasped andi prayed,how i kept the windows shut that sunday so what i prayed forcouldn't get in,like the time i watched her throw your stuff out on the driveway,and when she managed to smash those plates even withher broken wrist, how most hearts start to sink when tempers rise,and the time i wanted to cradle that dead pigeon i saw at thetrain station, and you told me to answer the phone and i wouldn'tbecause i knew it was you,and when the night comes calling i always let him in,i'm never quite sure who he is, but he sayshe's paid for it so now i better fuckingdrink it,he says haven't you learnt by now
.i don't believethat if you can dream ityou can do it,cos i once dreamt thati killed atlas,i tore him limb from limb and theni stabbed the globe he held,watched itdeflate,and sometimes i get sadabout the children in the worldwho will choke on all the wordsthat they'll never learn to speak,and there's a baby somewhere garglingthe meaning of his life,and he's a little bit upset that youkeep wiping itaway(i have no words for you)
.not nowi am too afraidof dreaming,if i do -the tidewill recoil atmy touchand then say, come,come sleep under me,look,the sky is throwingdown its nighttime sheets, let's gograb that loosegold thread and pull,let's watchthe stars unravel -i might have kissedthose feetof freyas soft and gentle,but you know if you waderight in i'mrough and heartless,the planets willalign, and then,three ghosts, one of themmy father, and there ain'tnothing holy'bout him,a starving dogwill run - there willbe red on white and i willlaugh, and i will standat the topof writers blockand i willthrow myself off(sleep please take me back i'm sorry about before)
.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
Bad HabitI think I was your drink of fine wine,only used when needed from time to timeI'd get you tipsy, as stars collideYour drunk, slurred wordsblending in with mine(I couldn't even comprehendwhen you said it wouldn't happen again)I think I was your cigarette breakwhen anxiety filled,from me, you'd takeOne puff here, and one puff there(I could barely hearwhen you said, "I'm sorry, dear")I think I was your line of cocaine,thinking I'd be there to ease your painI'd bring you higher,head suspended in clouds(So I knew it was fake,when you said, "It was my mistake")I think I was your bad habit,and ignorantly, you were mineYou continue to relapse, my dearBut rest assured:I won't this time.
disorder"mirror, mirror, on the wallwho's the fairest of them all?"i whispered to my doleful reflection,but this was no fairy tale:this was a small town on a cold, foggy night.my skeleton was so beautifuli wanted to showcase it,give onlookers a glimpse of my impendingdeath through my very flesh.i could picture myself, edges carved awaylike a cored apple.i just wanted to feel real.everyone around me chewed and swallowed so easilybut i just gnawed on my lip until itasted blood, and leta piece of myself die.the flavor made my mouth wateras my stomach ground out hoarserequests for expansion, for meaning.i held nothing within but pathetic yearning,hollow with self-hatred.i could only feel affection with pain.perfection became my obsession,consuming me alive the way i would haveloved to consume anything at all.some part of me believe i could be a super model,and living my life on ambition and emptinesswas the way to do it.every day i watched the little numberson t
.Every night I praythe miles of nervesbeneath my skinwill melt away, sothe lash of yourtongue canno longer sting.
Event: HorizonNo friend of stars, Isaturnine, mercurialwill bow under the weightof myheavy eyesdragged under riptides in gravity,storms of fate lashed to the brinkof tomorrow.And what a day these asinine hoursdo make; these nightmare gatherersand foolish wayfarers. Foil to blankverse, slave to open windowsand latent noise, I-grey of heart-can no longer rest in this bed;exist in knowledge.Some foundation shook, tectonicwhen the grave of dreams was gnawedto pulp by shifting molars. Now,in the silhouetted mouth of her (earth-like,lovely) I am no more than nutrients-digestible proteins, suitable to fuelthe next endeavor.And She is black, wholeimpossible to seeuntil light caves in on itself.
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.
Re-thinking art. Your help will be appreciatedHey friends so I haven't made a journal in awhile... and I've been thinking about a lot of stuff...So I guess i'll just jump into whats eating me.My art for the past year or so has been bothering me, I'm posting stuff that i'm not really proud of and there are always this I notice that kill me about my art style. Because my life has been busy, stressful and kinda shity lately I haven't really had time for art (or at least art I enjoy)<-- and by that I mean that because i'm so stressed and busy when i finally get to draw that I just draw what I'm comfortable with because i'm not enjoying what i'm doing enough to push myself anymore))) One of my best friends was saying that he thinks I should start posting stuff that is outside of my comfort zone and exercise my talent more. So bam. I'm gonna.As an artist I feel like I'm getting more and more stuck with what I'm doing, My friends are all improving around me (which is awesome and I love seeing you guys impro
( 4/05/2014 )poets got it hardwhen the museonly falls in lovewith words.i hate her,you know-that rat girlwho thinks she’scelestial orgod sent heroor some shit.so constrictedin her ownproblemsto think aboutyoutoobusy buyingthe stars& giving themnames,butall they do isscream.i guessliving out of my suitcasewasn’t such a bad idea-i’ll be running awayany day now,anyway.
.What do you want to be when you grow up?They ask it like a dare.As if letting your unlikely dreamsslip from the safety of your mindcould bring their owna little closer to reality.
Sweet CornHe shuckedher cleanto the spine.Broke off the gold untilnothingbut the stalk remained;bareand broken open.The ribcage spilledher secretsand gushed her painupon the sheets.She lay in the bloodand wept, for the lieshe had lost.
.confess;let thosesquirmingthingsinside youhatchand falloff thetongue(i'd rather walk myself home, bare feet cold on pavement)