helium balloon lungsi. You write me notes scribbled on sandpaperand 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 milkand watch them melt,smoking like dry ice,iii. You churn my childish heartin circles and in circlestill I slip into cardiac arrest,iv. I just remembered that time youwrapped your arms around me like vinesand held me until you couldn't,v. Oh what I'd give for a pair offortune cookie lungs,inhaling intuition,exhaling self-fulfilling prophecy,vi. I've been fishing for horoscopes,pasting them onto my bedroom wallsand on the backside of my skin,hoping that they tell me thattoday is the day you will be mine,vii. But your soul is made up of sinsand I do believe in forgiveness,but forgive me, for I cannot forget.
hey boy, I'm bleeding without youI guess you could say I've been infatuated with death,but I'm even more consumed by youin the deadliest way possible.
steamI'm sprouting crow feathers from my scapulaswhile the air is much too thick to swallow,my body melts into a pool of oil,poisoning already noxious waters,Then you find me in the ocean's centerand the water starts to boilas we become the equatorand lose ourselves under the sun.
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 thingbut 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.
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 rockand I'm breathing slow, soaking in the sky's sweat.ii. Perspiring and porous clouds melt over this broken landand 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.
sometimes i imagine i'm a bird and it's all okayI'm staring through the kitchen window,the moon looks like it might be a warm place to be,soft glow, pale light,sometimes I wonder if it would look better if you were standing next to me,no, I'm pretty sure it wouldn't,desperation doesn't make astronomy any prettier,and it certainly doesn't do my self worth any justice,but your eyes are like the milky way,they take me away,distant,but distant turns to empty and emotionless until the sun has gone and caved in on itself,it's golden hot beeswax melting in circles because star-hot sinking sand refuses to lets go,now it's all oh, I've got this scorched tongue that soaks up sunrises when you're not here,please forgive me for I can't control the fact that it's two minutes passed 1or the fact that you've already been taken by some girl with tattooed thighs,now I've got these backwards knees and disjointed thumbs,it's too bad what you've done to me,I mean the way your arms felt--stop,I do not need this,I am a tortured spider
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.
Tenderi ama taxidermy fawn,existing yet comatose,my soul flickers within a lantern,releasing a smoke with the scent ofpheromones and vanilla verbena, but your necromantic whisperslinger in my ears,so sweet and succulent as peaches,animalistic instinctsgive 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 spotscover your skinin patterns painted by the forest,then a low, throaty growlslips from your jaw,haunting me like a past mistake,but you are wild bambooand the sound of my heart beating,palpitating against soft winters,pulsing with the rhythm of summer,for some reason you suit mein all seasons,and like gravityyou hold medown,so no, i cannot escape you,for no one can bypassan autumnal equinoxor an eclipse of the sun,you only continue tokindle the flamesyou used my wooden ribs to makeand i truly lovethat searing sensation in my gut,
i am october's love letter to novemberhopeful,hopeless,so the same and stretched out like skin over bone,but different because one means everything andone 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 thoughtsbecause i want hair that's made up of bass clefs and double stops.i want the world to come crashing down at my feetso 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
either wayshe dances like a raindrop,collapses on the ground,and all of her bones shatter,made from thin, liquid glass,her voice ripples on the surfaceand it screamsthe soft syllables pirouetting on your eardrumsher fingertips tappingcan you hear them?they are cotton ballsbeing dropped on the asphaltcan you hear them?(it's the wind carrying her feet across the air)and she dances like a raindrop.you can catch herand she can shatter in your palms.
Disastrous intent .He's watching her hips sway to the rhythm of the war drums.Dis-dis-disaster, dis-dis-disaster is coming.And it's wearing silky panties that havedaddy issues written all over them.
SeducersWet they offer themselvesDelicate like a kiss kept in iceHunters with lust-filled veinsOn show pretending to be niceLooking for a prey to devourBut bitten they want to be tooI dream of them every hourAnd of them I'll fall prey tooThey tease me and playMy lust belongs now to themThey control my every wayMy passion tied to their chainsRed, glowing, invitingI want , I thirst, I desireDripping, juicy, seducingI die, I crave, I needSensually calling my nameWhispers subjugate my willBiting, tracing my flesh in painPowerless they make me feelI surrender and let myself goFor to those lips I can't say no.
cadavershe was born with arctic lipsand overcast skin.her hair fell like fresh snowand she was far too thin.her bones in locked closets,joints creaked and shriekedlike a rotten floorboardunder gossamer feet.
cobblestones.i pulled a napkin from the silver tin,wiped the table clear, drops of ketchup staining the center.i crushed the paper in my palm, felt the dampness reach the edges.hurt cloud, she said as i let it roll across the table..shooting baskets as the day ended,the ball went over the backboard, disappeared into the dark.she shrugged, then bent low, picked up pebbles.aimedand threw..your poor hands, she said. you have so many scars,and you're still so young. (she, younger than i, saying this)she touched one hand, then after a pause she took the otherwithout looking at me.some things take so much courage.we sat like that for a long time,perfectlystill..i passed two old women by the river.one stopped, pulled off her shoeand shook a pebble out.it dropped into the waterand she continued on,limping slightlyfrom the absence dented into her foot.the other had stopped a ways ahead.she waited and said, a pebble?the woman nodded. her whole lifehaving
MusingI'm too young to spend my liferunning from the thunder,staring at the kitchen walls wonderinghow life would be differentif they weren't the same color.
biopsyput me under, cover my face, stuff my lungs with your chemical lies.if they were to take me apart,slice open my chest,peel back the skin keeping me whole,they would find:a. one heart, slowly ticking.(they would not find anything,but they would have to say they did.after all, girls can't live without a heart.they forget that i'm not the first:a score of girls walking even thoughthey should have faded long ago.)b. each rib curved so perfectly,a shield around my lungs.(a cage, keeping my breath from burstingout of my skin. know that this is just me,held together by nature,unable to lose control of myself.)c. two sacs of cells, nestled beside each other.(no first-hand smoke here, no sir.only second-hand dust, onlythings i could not get rid of,only bits of places i've been,caught in my body.postcards of memories i can't see.)d. a skeleton, still and alive.(sleeping, with blood cells being producedin the hollows of my curves.the rattling of my bones cannot
how to pay the plumberthe sun is born of ink that leaks from dog-eared galaxiesand the night is made of copper eyes that pipe the constellationsbut we are too polite to stare.any hand that may brush my back must bleed the alphabetfrom wearied fingertips, and this is why:happiness is ice and crinkled bones all wrapped up warm in thechildless rings of saturnand your smiling face-of-a-cliff that scorches pretty spring skin dry.we will never say we will never love soi will die beside,you die below.
a drug or choosingYour oily prints upon my eyesBlessed art thouYou bleed through the cracks in my wallsEyes, pores in every centimeter of wallpaperWatching me sleep, watching my night-mareThe horse running from the fire-like riverPouring down the mountain to the plains belowEngulfing my atmosphere in golden red smokeI am not addicted
NeedA kiss-Soft, tenderUpon my breastFinding sensitivity with urgencyHands press into my hipsPassion flowing from eager fingertipsPressing strong into my willing fleshHe whispers hotly into flushed skinWords falling like a kiss upon my ear I want you I need you.
unzippedi.it was all skinned kneesand stop signs between us.we pushed too hardor not hard enough.ii.the last star i wished uponturned out to be a satellite,and the last time i kissed youreally wasn't the last time.the scent of romance- pine needlesand sawdust clung to my shoulderswhere your fingers left goose fleshwhen i least expected it.iii.i'd be tangled up in you and bed sheetsif i didn't know you better than that,[sweetheart,] you're thunderstorms onSaturday nights and "Why don't you stayfor awhile"'s and the infidelitiesthat line my cheeks.
After The WarAfter blood is spiltMay pretty flowers growin their memory.
ifif i could fall in love with you,i'd yank the blue sky from its perch and wrap it around yourshoulders like grandma's woollen blanket;i'd extract the spirit frombetween your toes and douse your eyes in it, so maybethen i'd understand what makes your thoughtsturn 'round;and i'd write the words ofa love-bitten victim on the insides of your wrists, just tomake sure i won't find scratches there in themorning.if i could fall in love with you,i'd glue your sentences on the walls, and tell everyonethe paint was peeling anyway; and i like falling asleepto the scent of your ink-spelt feelings;and i'd give away the coffee thatkeeps me upright every day, if only to rub the nightmaresfrom underneath your ragged fingernails;and maybe i'd evenname a skin-deep butterfly after you because my superstitious naturewould still my fingers; and you'd have claim of myscars.if i could fall in love with you,i would not speak your name anymore because it would tastetoo sweet &
purgeheaving up a universeis nothing on my stomach,yet my scared molested heartjumps out of the way.the purge, a dark scentunborn flowersweeping over the pointlessnessthe ache and sorrowthe filling and emptyingof a creature so profoundlyempty
Flock Echo PassionThe gentle tone of your fingersdefly handling my thoughts.You soften the regrets in my ribsweaken the bones with lovepressed into my shoes.You melt my marrow with murmurslazily spent in the morningsrested on the sighs of your breath.And youswallow my heartbeatsto keep them warmand in tune with yours.You unlock and rob my tongue of wordslike a piano with too many keysspilling its lullabies onto the floorsoftly turning the locks of my mindwith the music in youif I would only stop to listen.
ariseToday the raindrops taste spicy my, how I've missed them.I've a bad case of wanderlust And a silver sonnet skyfever,and I want to be spinning like a planet in orbit.The blue winterblush tiptoes onto my cheekbones and I realize: I'm ready.
Encroaching TerrorHuckle-hunting crack-backed worms'neath jeering, leering tangled forms.Branches breaking, bending, sendingshivers down my mangled spine.Fine, everything's just fine.Backward glancing, I see dancingshadows, shadows that aren't mine.Time, time ever racing, chasing,pacing, my footsteps ever hastening;tasting the seconds as they fade away.Decay comes quickly, sickly;stenches, wrenches my groaning gut.Moaning, roaming through the leaves,weaves the yearning, burning thing of night.Sight, I am robbed of sight.Blinding, something hidden binding,twining, snaking round my aching useless eyes.Sighs, the sighs of something very close;those whispered, blistered wrecks of breath.Death, the final fleck, silently shivers,my withered slivered, writhing neck.
The man died.........The man diedand i felt another cry,i saw his tears defying the strength in his eyes........there and then wisdom dawned upon mei felt its weight on my chestmy tongue heavier than evermy heart lighter in its sense......i saw the crying mani saw the dead manone a brother to the other
palpitationsMy veins,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.