.i wakequiet andblindblindblind,the darknessglowingoutside andin(he said dead was the best way that thing could ever have been anyway)
.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?)
.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)
.slicing openthe tips of my fingers,four in one strokethen the thumba little flesh hatfor the spirit in each(love is dead, lilith)
.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)
.i've been dreamingabout bones,ribs poking upthrough the ground,my cata white and fleshlessthing that rattlesin his sleep,haunches bare and cleanas a whisker,he wretches withthe face of a devil,he drops mea sack of lovein the morning,a stainon the carpetas well as the eye,am i showingenough backbone now?i painteda crescent moon onmy skull ofa hareso he can gazeat it even in death,i don't care muchfor the rites buthe looks goodon my bedside tablei close my eyesto those threeon my wall,i don't seei don't speaki don't hear(what is this, a fucking cathedral?)
.what ifi get rid of everything -one summer i founda dead stag beetlelaying on the pavement,brittle and crispdried out by the sun,he must have thoughtthat he'd died andgone to hellthe year i got hitin the templewith a hammer, hardbut not hard enough,funny what happenswhen you pull a voiceout of its chestjust because it looksdone, slick and silverand only a sliver meantwhat it said, i feeldeflated, i wishi'd have known thenthat in a coupleof years i'd have writtenyou offas a bad dream, writtenyou off in a poemor twowith the leaves and thetrees and the moonas a fat white opal, sunkeninto the wall that divides us,the border frommy land to yours,she is nothing butdecorative stoneto me -what if all the deadopened their mouthsand said everythingthey wished they had?(i saw the stars weeping when my nose bled)
.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)
.i unzippeda cloud and climbedinside itlike a sleeping bag,the silver liningon my skinfelt rough and itchy,i want to see youmake this one lookbetter,please sew me upinside and let me drainout when it rains,i will be birthedagain as waterfor the flowers and the soildown below -i think i lostmy train of thoughtwhen it smashed rightthrough my temple,i lay on the tracks and waitfor what i knowit brings to kill me, andi'd hate to bea cat and have to do iteight more timesto get some peace,i think i'd picka fight with ahungry fox,drop down from next doorsroof into thepond anddive,go sit in the road til shecalls me inat night, what a fucking bore,i'd like to know whather gutshave to say -and if i dont believein heavenhow can i be scaredof going to hell,i used to hope that timewould tellme but he won't,i know he's neverreally liked me allthat much anyway, alwaysended uptaking your side -and now i only sleep in thefetal positionon nights i wi
.the world's a stagebut he saysplease,don't make a scene(it's growing boring)
.wish i livedlike an animal,wish i cared aboutnothingbut fuckingand staying alive(wish this was a lie)
.he always wants the light onwhen he's sleeping, says he's scaredbut i can't see the point;i say not all monstersare trying to hurt you, at leastnot right awayand his bottom lip goesand he screams shut upbut i laugh and i tickle his ribsand then he laughs with meand he sayslove youand i say i love you toolittle man(i love you too)
.it's the graveyardshift tonight -the moon drapesher silver shroud aroundyour shoulders as you leave,she knows you're tiredof working it outhow the earth rotateslike a spinning topbetween his forefinger and thumb,the one you believe you'reall stuck under(bloody feet, got soles encrusted with rubies)
.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)
.you still gota heart that beats in halves?a mouth like a bear trap,don't kiss me -that anchor tattooon your foot, it still holding youdown to the earth?that skull on your chest,you still dead in there?i told you i wouldn'tdisappear again,but i kept my eyes fixedon the exit,and if i'm being honesti lied,i spoke in the tongue of my own,i was out of that door like a shotwhat a buzz -a hive full of angry words,queen of the nestfull of hate but the honey issweet when you smoke themall out of the way,get them drunk get themtalking andleaving my mouthin swarms(hope it stings)
.half my life sitsin this waiting room,dust on the spikeplant so thick that itfeels like grey velvet,i prod my fingersonto the sharp tips,as i sitwith a two week cleanjunkie who saysthis is terrible(i sign in, but i never sign out)
.i wantto know about god,which namehe would prefer to go byi want to knowabout the stairwayup to heaven,and why sliding downthe bannister into hellis much more fun(think i tried to climb a step that wasn't there, think i might have died more than once)
.she reckons sometimesi'm still nineteen,eat he says, more -i'm still sixteen,i fill the sink with hot,submerge my arms up tomy elbows to observe themchanging colour, turn -i'm stuck at five, i'm on thekitchen floor and burning,stuck at ten and running,with my feet all full of glass -i said they all have names, haveages, but were giftsfrom different fathers(the favourite lies between middle and ring)
just another adolescent love poemlet’s get this straight right now:there are people i can only talk toat four o’clock in the morning, whenthe line between decency and secrecybecomes just as blurred as the one betweennight and day.you’re not one of them.i’m not ashamed of you.or scared. and don’t try to tell me that’s nota miracle because i still check under the bedfor monsters and behind the shower curtainfor serial killers. i know it’s all in my headbut things like that make me terrified;i mean, i still hold my breath crossing by a cemeteryand someone else is always going to have to kill the spiders.i’m hoping that someone will be you.which i’m also hoping i’ll never accidentally tell youbecause it’s like i lose all cognitive reasoningaround you, even when we’re fighting.you split me down the middle, half of me wantingto tear out your femur and beat some sense into youand the other half wanting to give anything,even the foun
It's not hatred, it's incredulity.when i was ten years old myteacher asked the class,"if you were god, what wouldyou change?"and i rememberbiting my lip so hardthat it bled. carefully,i wrote abouthow i would teachkids from an early age on how tolove yourself and no oneelse and that there is no such thing asan almighty power that will pityyou and answer your desperate prayersat three a.m. because you're the only onewho has that kind of control.when i handed it in she just lookedat me like i was themonsters underher child's bed. the next day iwas sitting in her office wonderingwhy it was so wrong totalk about what's in your heart at a catholicschool when that's what the priest tellsyou to do at every sunday mass andthe teacher asked meanother question, "do youhate god?" and iwanted to scream "yes, yes!" becausehow can a god let the worldslip through their fingers like this one has?but instead i answered,"no. i just don't think there is one."and sat in the chair,staring at the cross on t
...and everytime i flipthroughthese empty pages,alli can seeare the blankstares glaringbackat me.[i have nothing to say .]
clipped wingsI wonder if gods fear dying.
Once Upon A TimeOnce upon a time there was a girlAnd she lived.
Endorsed By The Surgeon General.She was like cigarettes.She took his breathaway,and filled his lungs with promisesthat evaporated likesmoke.
the dead and the dyingthe funny thing abouthumans is thatwe think we areinvincible and immortalgods.no—we're allroadkill,living ina tainted worldwhere cars drivetoo damn fast.and me,well,i just try toget by withoutbeing hitmore than once.
Zero is not a size.Zero is not a size.Zero is a lack of size,a wafer-thin waistwhere your organsshould be.Zero should be the numberof girls that hatethe width of their hips.But I live in a worldwhere zero is a size,and nothing is valuedlessthan substance.
one.i wish you knew how muchof a killer you made me into -but you'll never know,- because you're already dead.
.she saysdarling,you weren't madefor anything else(cutting this cord day by day)