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I dreamt of a flood and you were the waterLight bulb eyes,
burning through me like
crash into me
as I dream,
your ocean spits me out
through seaweed teeth,
and I love you,
but you blink light
and breathe water,
so not only am I blind,
I am drowning.
helium balloon lungsi. You write me notes scribbled on sandpaper
and I run them across my face,
scraping away layers of saccharine skin,
ii. Your eyes, made of cookie crumbs,
I'd like to dip them in milk
and watch them melt,
smoking like dry ice,
iii. You churn my childish heart
in circles and in circles
till I slip into cardiac arrest,
iv. I just remembered that time you
wrapped your arms around me like vines
and held me until you couldn't,
v. Oh what I'd give for a pair of
fortune cookie lungs,
exhaling self-fulfilling prophecy,
vi. I've been fishing for horoscopes,
pasting them onto my bedroom walls
and on the backside of my skin,
hoping that they tell me that
today is the day you will be mine,
vii. But your soul is made up of sins
and I do believe in forgiveness,
but forgive me, for I cannot forget.
blue born licorice whips,
weaving webs for blood spiders on my thighs,
thin cerulean shoelaces tying knots around my wrists,
hold fast, heartbeats pumping like gasoline,
I am living, but I am not alive.
i want you because i shouldn't want you at alli want you like i want succulent strawberries dripping over a white lacy dress,
i want you like i want complete silence on a sweltering august night,
i want you like it's dead rats melting over hot gutters and then it's your hot guts on my body.
i want you and your collarbones tied to my strings of saliva,
i want you smelling like you're some wild wolverine with incisors as sharp as rose petals,
i want you broken and bleeding just so i can nourish your wounds.
i want you dangerously close and always so,
i want you angry as you are passionate,
i want you in ways i don't even understand.
let your wildfire run freei. It's a warm kind of rain and a growling kind of thunder,
throaty and crackling booms,
I've dreamt of this place before,
there's this room made up of tall glass windows,
outside is a wrap around balcony made up of stone with high ledges,
small fir trees grow in between the crackled rock
and I'm breathing slow, soaking in the sky's sweat.
ii. Perspiring and porous clouds melt over this broken land
and I'm realizing this place lives only inside my soul when sleeping.
iii. It is a hazy painting running over the contours of my unconscious mind,
it is airbrushed afterthoughts swirling with watercolor wishes,
it is the place where my nightmares breed and my hopes climb trees,
it is the place where intuition ricochets off instinct,
it is the place that says burn the place down and let your wildfire run free.
you are my careful ghosti. The air is thick and I'm drinking you in like sunlight through a silver straw,
I'm feeling like my spine has come unzipped and my crayola red innards have become exposed to the cool air,
you're like the slivers in my fingers that I can't pull out,
maybe I should try scraping off layers of skin with tweezers,
goodbye dead cells, hello fresh meat,
damn, why are you so fresh as fuck.
ii. A whirlpool has developed beneath my chest so there goes my sense of sanity,
actually it's more like boiling water, bubbling, spewing out passed my eyes,
and all I've been asking for is for you to either take me or let me go,
let's be honest, I could try to say I am over this whole thing
but I'm not and I don't even want to be.
iii. So let's forget the world,
get lost in each others skin,
tracing ribs like jail bars,
running hands over heartbeats,
brushing lips with lonely aches.
a taxidermy fawn,
existing yet comatose,
my soul flickers within a lantern,
releasing a smoke with the scent of
pheromones and vanilla verbena,
but your necromantic whispers
linger in my ears,
so sweet and succulent as peaches,
give me breath,
filling my lungs upon a full moon,
oh i'd so like to take a bite of you,
you and your jungle bred lips,
tropical to taste,
organic to kiss,
jaguar, leopard spots
cover your skin
in patterns painted by the forest,
then a low, throaty growl
slips from your jaw,
haunting me like a past mistake,
but you are wild bamboo
and the sound of my heart beating,
palpitating against soft winters,
pulsing with the rhythm of summer,
for some reason you suit me
in all seasons,
and like gravity
you hold me
so no, i cannot escape you,
for no one can bypass
an autumnal equinox
or an eclipse of the sun,
you only continue to
kindle the flames
you used my wooden ribs to make
and i truly love
that searing sensation in my gut,
NocturnalWrapped up tight by my own wings,
I hang upside down
while the blood rushes to my head
inside my cobwebbed cocoon,
Ultraviolet rays flicker against my eyelids
in colors I have never seen,
yet maybe I have once before,
I saw them the first time your skin brushed mine,
a kaleidoscope of solar energy
making me blind enough to see the light,
Your voice now echoing in a frequency
only I can hear,
it ricochets through my thin bat bones,
lingering along my teeth
so I can taste the way you sound
along the backside of my cavity,
But now you've been bitten
because I have no control,
my incisors sinking in to your handsome heart
because you are ripened fruit
in the dead of Winter
and I am a parasite
in Summer's wake,
If only the day ever met the night
maybe we could meet again,
but for now this must be enough,
so I return to the shelter of my own wings
to protect myself from the sun
and your own astrological luminosity.
i am october's love letter to novemberhopeful,
so the same and stretched out like skin over bone,
but different because one means everything and
one takes everything away.
i am not used to this kind of way,
the way where scratches don't heal and bruises grow bigger.
i try to focus on the bass and let the music pulse through me,
allow it to remove the nerve endings to my thoughts
because i want hair that's made up of bass clefs and double stops.
i want the world to come crashing down at my feet
so the ocean fuses with the burning salmon sun-drops that are molding under the collapsing sky.
it will look like citrus fruit bleeding onto royal blue flowing skirts,
it will taste like a cold copper penny,
it will smell like ripe coconut milk braided with kerosene,
and it will feel like you've been bathing in hummingbird nectar that's been set on fire.
then again, how would i know what music tastes like,
it's not like you can lick vocal chords or bite into someone's vibrato,
everything fluctuates and now i don't even know
Ghost StoryWhat is this
on the next horizon
holding strong against the wind,
it is a figment,
it is an oil stain,
it is something
less than a blur
and more than a photograph.
SnowLet's lose our faces tonight
Chemical anxiety and paper highs
Thrown to the curb by something stronger, small and white
While stars burn out their insides; Prometheus in the sky.
I always thought you were a lie:
Stinking pop culture curling bright around my eye
But now I wonder if your treasure is something I could find
Leaping from the bass lines into my frenzied, eager mind.
Shake It OffSelective collective
- coagulating -
regret accumulating against you.
Re - living it was the easy part.
No way. There was no light.
the glow of a ghost.
- heart murmurs -
I paused to savor the expansion of blood in my arteries.
A declaration of demons
- monstrosity -
But honestly, I was just like them. I just wanted my pound of flesh.
frozen/headlightsI am nervous
impressed to the point of
perhaps I am playing the part of
a girlchild, reincarnated from something striped
hands-shaking, violin bones (high-
perhaps it is/has been/will be
is it cliché to make comparisons to
an envelope delivered with a
white settling of
your smile tangles with the
half-poetry you breathe out instinctively, sharp and
you are surprising like
frostbite. the soft teeth of morning
freeze; and I, dull, wordless,
naive and lightning-struck
I am nervous
upsmokewhen thinking of you
i like a smoke or six
drive a poisonstick
deep into my lungs
rot might reach my brain
erase our wheezing laughs
nights of nicotine haze
smog mixing with sweat
you're fumes of a cig
wispy, wonderful whirls
absorbed into corners
never to be seen again
smelling of burnt skin
i'm pulled from nostalgia
and light another match
InkShe looked around the box she was trapped in
As she took the knife and cut open her chest
All that was left of importance to her was her broken pen
Breathing in and out, slowly
Her box was filling with ink...
It was time
She jabbed the pen in her chest
Her wishes skimmed the last of her sanity
Trying to remember when the world was bright
Instead of covered with dark
Her blood turned black
Still obbsessing with her story book dreams
Of taking her pathetic thoughts of insanity
And making her pen drip poetry
So she grabbed her notebook
Her fake reality in stazas
As the snake slithered out of her chest
Her fingers shook as she used her own darkness
Her inky soul to write her last words
For the power of the pen
Poisoned her on the inside
Made her sanity spin out racing thoughts
And pooling ink in the hidden corners of her mind
Until her breaths slowly filled with ink
Turning the coners of her mouths up
As the ink rose in her box
For her eyes cried ink when the gash was made
short-term memory.and you'll never forget:
When you realized that everybody dies alone.
When you didn't take your eyeliner off one night, so in the morning
your eyes would look as hollow as you felt.
When you spent a year blacking out the sad endings in your books.
(When you wished that life could also work like that.)
When you learnt that "We need a break" means "I am going to break your heart."
When you fell in love with the stars, and the way he says "us."
When he told you, "More than just a long time."
The first time you hung up to the sound of your father laughing.
When you walked home from a party in January, and couldn't remember
if you were still breathing.
When you begged him to let you be sad, and he smiled and said, "No."
When you saw the irony of drawing trees on paper – and how alive you've felt
after being sure you were dead.
regardless of where and which roads (write)i. so today we get together
as per your request
today you (at last) confess to me
i watch you narrate
the e.e. cummings you've
kept chained in your rhythm,
in your beats and paces and all other nooks
and hidden places
i've secretly always known existed
i want you to start writing today
ii. you tell me you believe
in your ability
to write the words i always knew you whispered;
steaming at the hearts of other girls
turning them to froth
while i watch my own heart
shrivel like dregs
in the same cup of cappuccino
i've always been drinking off drought
iii. i am screaming even in my softest tissues
blaming my body for my hearts' issues
admit to me
(your best blue jeans and bravery set forth)
read me unspoken
find it futile to resist (dear me)
by grace you do and you do
admit to me
my meth, my myth
how (i never have the courage to say)
i am your greatest muse
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
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