you should be home by nowlast tuesday the house took my hand & said,it's more of a hurricane than a firesince he broke in & burnedmy curtainsmy floorsmy bridgesmy selfbut sometimes I see her with a lighter& she finishes what he didn't do(I think she's afraidof settling in,being quiet)but last tuesday I realized that she kept the lights onto frighten away the bridges & the peopleso no one will come inside& smash the teacups, steal the pipesbecause since he burnt her beds outno one lives there anymore
i and youwho is it thatyou dream of?is it mewith the knife in your back;do you see methe woman witha wolf jawcut slack in a growl?do i pounce you?do you defeat mewith the knifei gave you?and i wonder the soundof me when you finally put your demonto rest--she is a venus(her body cut fromthe ivory tusk with hips like that of a valley, breasts shaped astwo moons caught inher breath)and i am the trapshe slips into.i cut her headinto a loop land wear her round my necklike lace.
.they say that you are thework of the devil; you'll haveblack orbs for eyes and a tongueas sharp as your fathersand i hope you will not feel a thingwhen they pull back your blanketsand carry you out, when they leaveme with nothing but creases
the suicidal king of heartsthe truth is i haven’t gone to churchin years and the town i was born in is onehalf train tracks, one half hotels and one halffast food restaurants.i guess i was always going to be good at running away.it’s in my blood.i’m getting too old to still want to turninto a mermaid on my sixteenth birthdayso i do not have to worry about taxesand income and the difference between molsand moles and the difference betweenwearing your heart on your sleeveand giving it to someone you trust.it would be nice to not have to worry.but if this poem is about honesty,i have to tell you i still dream about thatsometimes.the thing i’ve noticed about growing up,is that you’ll think you’re old and you’ll think you’re oldbut you’re never really grown up untilyou walk past dandelions without picking themor step on one two three cracks in the sidewalk,without remembering there is something you should beregretting.some days, i’ll
now.i was the the girl stuckbetween the pages of booksi'd never read and half in love with peoplei'd never met. and you were the boywho asked me if i liked the sun--nervous, palms tingling, i almost told you that i adored it.
6:39 pmi'm finding it harder andharderto eat. maybe i'm fed upwith winter,and the snow is clogging myarteries as i try toswallow. for me, substance as becomenauseating and sends me plummeting into a holeof desperation. i am clawing at my skin and punching my thighs, becausei read somewhere that human contact makes ushungry. i think what they really meant is thatwe need the touchof another,or else we willstarve. (baby, i'm alreadyhalf way there- hands offthe merchandise.)maybe i'm guilty.i read a lot about nutrition, and hownobody ever does it right,and how kids are starvingwhile others areobese, and maybe thatscares me. my dad tells me thati look sick,but i never tell himthat all i do is sleep and it's been dayssince i've had a decent meal. instead i'm inhalingsmoke andstars, and i've realizedthat i can usually eatwhen i'm higher than the moon.i think that i'm brea ki n&
here is my heart, and here is my home.i am done writing aboutblood. you can find mein the "new beginnings" isle, splashed with scar tissue and pale skin--i amwhole. dear child, open youreyes: there are stars, a galaxy, andthere is breath in your lungs. the past is neverforgotten, but you have lived through it,swam through it andmaybe died a little through it, but youcame out on top. when this winter ends, itwill end harshly;but spring comes every year,and i hope that youremember that;i hope you open your eyesto rain and i hopethat you fall in love with it, and i hopethat you let life movelike i had to.
i imagine she would taste like misery and spring.nothing makes me heavier than the thought ofher, and nothing makes mehigher, either. they say thatto love is to fly,but i think thatit's more like dro wni ng. your lungs collapse--salt cascades down your cheeks andall you can dois realize thatyour best is not enoughfor them. i know how hard it isto love someonewho's broken. i know this becausei had to learnto love myself,and i am a fucking mess. but time heals all wounds--and all i wantis a few secondswith her;i will wrap the monthsaround her scarsthe same wayi know she would do forme. and when we areboth okay, almost, maybe, i thinkthat i would kiss her.
we're alone.i want to drive pulsesinto your fractured ribcage,make my words resonatein your hollow vessels;heavy enough to sink eventhe sturdiest of ships.(and we both know you can't float.)but inject me into yourchoking streams, and i'll gladly showyou the meaning of 'alone'.
how to healthey say honeyto soften the wound, but i let the woolwet with ethanolgnawuntil i amweeping,again, and again,and again
on being savedi am sorry youhave never known salvationfrom another's touch
every night my hair is falling outI have heard that in 7 yearsevery cell in your bodyis new& isn't it beautiful that it will bea body you have never touchedbut I know that when your brain cellsdiefall like ashes through your skullthey stay dead& I can never scrap the memories out of their corpses
maria:she is splayedbeneath the moon, a[star]fish out ofwater; dry-eyed &melancholy, sheswallows the sounds ofsummer, devours clumsilykeyed piano concertos& suddenly, sherealizes - this is how it must feel tobe [at peacewith] death.
these patched lungs want release.you've been smoking likethe world was gonna end -- (and maybe, it already has. we could've plunged to hell and wouldn't have noticed.)but now, your lungs igniteinstead of the cigarette.
june fifteenthtoday issunburned shouldersand your fingers between mine,warm and damp in the heat.my legs stick toplastic lawn chairs,my body sticks to yourslike bubblegum-fresh paste,melting into youand liking what it becomes.black asphalt boy,you are sizzling leatherand suffocating airin an overheated car.we walk across the shoreand the soles of my feetyearn for the cool damp sandstruggling for breathbetween the waves."I don't want toforget this," I say,and you smile andclose your eyeslike the sun setting,slowly, streaking downthe sky of your face.the sun is so far butyou're right hereand I think I mightbe in love with you.I'll move on to autumnbut you'll still bein summer, forever,living and livinguntil the day you die.
if being afraid is a crime, we hang side by sidethe future terrifies me,so i'll continue todrag my evisceratedcorpse under yourdecaying ballroom.don't you worry, there'salways more room inthis neverending jail.
.misery lovescompany aslong as it'son his termsand i've abetter chanceof winningif i just playby the rules
i haven't forgottentell me, boywho is your god.do not say itis the limbsthat spread youbetween knowingand comfort;do not tell me it ishands wrapping a headboard, nor a mouthtugging your namefor salvation.i want to know who it isthat makes you lucent,bent beneath the dark,weeping,because there is no divinitylike the one that makesyou bleed
.i.the high is at itsbest when i can't remember why i hated myself.ii.death is a nightmare only when i realize youare not in the dream.