.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 wakequiet andblindblindblind,the darknessglowingoutside andin(he said dead was the best way that thing could ever have been anyway)
.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)
.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)
.slicing openthe tips of my fingers,four in one strokethen the thumba little flesh hatfor the spirit in each(love is dead, lilith)
.the world's a stagebut he saysplease,don't make a scene(it's growing boring)
.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)
.tonightthe moon is rotting,my hands are not my ownmy blood is howling(treetops glow silver)
.watching the skychurn itself thickerand thickerthe birds tireand drown asit sets aroundthem(no fight, and no flight either)
.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?)
.there issomethingabouthow you can makeall the animalspart themselveswith one wave ofyourhand,make them opentheir throats andspeakand i think i willfind you sticking pinsthrough the webbingof a bat's wing,cross legged inthe garden withthe snake aroundmy neck,that's how i'd liketo go(the world will shift, a heart will break away from it's chest, tectonic)
.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)
.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 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
.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)
.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)
.something snappedlike boneand blood floweredon the carpet(i grabbed the hand of that man, and he knew)
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 .]
mellifluousMy veins arepumping honey,with sweet memoriesof youI touch my chestand feel the beating,sticky liquidseepingthrough.
Endorsed By The Surgeon General.She was like cigarettes.She took his breathaway,and filled his lungs with promisesthat evaporated likesmoke.
I can't write poetry for dead girls.there are toomany pills in thisworld and toomuch misery inthe human heartbut that didn't meanthat you could justup and leave whenwe both know itcould have gotten betterand i miss you likea wolf misses her packor a goddamn dragon missesher fire and i'm sorrythat i can't give youa bouquet of jasmines(they were yourfavorite, after all,because that wasthe only princesswith a pet tiger)because poppies aretoo cliche and i'msorry i wasn't therewhen all you neededwas a hug and for someoneto whisper "it's okay,you're perfect enoughfor me, don't listento that junkie bitchwho just happened togive birth to you" and didyou know that i'm still waitingfor a reply to that oneemail about the world'sbest puns because fuck,there's a stubborn partof me that still refuses tobelieve that you're gone.
It Comes With AgeYour bonesmight as wellbe of papier-mâché,at thetragic ratethey're decayingaw a y.
Trust MeI know, I knowHow bad things can get,When all you feel is regretAnd you just can’t forgetThe crack of your heart breaking.I know, I knowHow it feelsTo hold a blade to your skinAnd feel like just to breatheIs a painful sin.I know, I knowHow it feelsTo be so utterly aloneThat you talk to the voiceInside your headAnd winding up deadSeems like the only solution.I know, I knowHow it feelsTo believe that it won’tGet better,But guess what?It does.The darkness is temporaryAnd even though it’s scary,Don’t forget that it gets better.Even after the darkest nightThere will always be sunlight.There will always be peopleWho love you,Who want to help you;They are just waiting toBe let in.Try to smile every day –It might be a long way away,But one dayThat smile will be genuine.I promise.Life can be hard, I knowBut please don’t go,Because tomorrowThe world might showYou how beautiful it can be.
the proclaimers never sang about thisevery mile between usis a blow to my chest
.she saysdarling,you weren't madefor anything else(cutting this cord day by day)