unconsciousmy sheets would not fit on my bed.in my sleep, you rest your headon my shoulderand it's comfortably awkward, realistic in just the way boxesaren't squares,but rectangular prisms.i dream of spiders crawling on mysheets and pulling out your eyes.i have fifty headaches today,fifty raps on my softened skull.i am a tiger,striped and stripped and filled to the lipswith jealous bile or blood.the rain sounds like thunder,the thunder, an earthquake.i swear i love like head trauma-crowbar to the cranium,blow to the brain,and i just can't imagineyou wanting to hold me.
Tell MeThe passion in her voicereminds me of you,the lyrics seep into my skinand I miss you.Dulcet notes of regret and longingfill my veinsand I wish I could see you.Winter turns to spring,flowers blossom but I can't enjoy their beautybecause the only beauty I needis fifty miles from my bed,sleeping soundly in hisas I rock back and fourthgoing through the motionsof missing him.[going through withdrawalfor his kiss]If this is the way things have to beI don't know how I'm going to continue smilingevery day;hope and wishing only goes so far.How can you sit there andtell me I don't need youwhen you're the very air I breathe and theblood pumping my heart?[I love you so much, I've allowed myself to becomea walking cliché]
L'heure VerteToday I danced with theGreen Fairy, And laughed as sugar tumbled from a brilliant mind to immerse itself in the drowsiness of genius.She sang me into understanding,Each drop of water Welling over into a clarity that makes All things lucid, and natural, All things, right.And each smothered touchof cloudy liquorish Brazened itself in simple clarity Across my tongue, pressing Me towards an even sharper end.If only every hour wasLheure verte
The Night Fireflies AlignedI was waiting for the night when the fireflies would all align and shine through the sparkles in our eyes. There are galaxies intertwined in our fingers and wings sprouting from our backs. I don't think my heart is going to hold in all the light. It's bursting at the seams and shooting rainbow colored laughter into the skies every morning. There are songs whispering inside my ears that make melodies with my lips against yours and your satin touch over my skin. Play your palms under the ribs holding me together, I trust you.I am beautiful because your eyes painted a woman over the little girl mannequin I carried around inside me. Your love turned the ugly duckling into a swan. You've taken my hands and danced with me into the darkest part of the night, unafraid, protecting me from the shadows in my heart. Black and blue faded away from the innocent eyes of my spirit, battered and bruised from a world unkind to a child's hope. There was a time when my eyes bled tears and my lips quivere
people talk so loudit's not one of those songsi can listen to on a rooftop while i watchfor the sun to breathe its last.or i can read poems aboutpost-orgasm boys written by girlswho hardly know what that means.or sleep without pillowsin an unfamiliar country,in an unfamiliar city,in an unfamiliar neighbourhood,in an unfamiliar house,in an unfamiliar bed,in unfamiliar arms.or write letters to people i knowwill never receive them becausei will never put them in envelopesor pin them beneath postage stamps.it stops me in my tracks.suddenly, i'm not moving anymore.i'm not thinking,i'm not breathing.i'm a deer in the headlightsbut the headlights aren't on,a spider sliding along thewindow under thewatchful eyes of a cat-i'm frozen.sometimes, i'm crying.or smiling.or shaking.i feel what it's like tobe a song.
road rash and autopsyi'm not a strong person.i am scared.i am scared all the time.i am so scared, sometimes i can't stop breathing,or can't start,and i am so unclear as to which it is,but i just know i can't.i am going to open the car dooras my father's foot tilts back the acceleratorto add a little more pollution to theatmosphere as we're going sixty.seventy, if i am lucky.i'll remember pulling up the child lock,hearing it click and i realise i'm nota child anymore. my heart willwheeze at its realisation of maturity.i will open it, and the wind willjerk it open so violently that i will cry.there is too much violence and themetal and its shrapnel remind meof death and some people are just toobeautiful to think about death, andsomehow, my thoughts will always fallback to you at this time.the door will be torn from itshinges, and i will cry because i feelthe same.i am so scared that i will unbuckle my seatbeltto follow the door that scrapes along theasphault. i am so scared that
Between dreamsI'm listening to ice melt. It's funny sometimes, the things you notice when you're alone. The things you hear in the silence. The things we see in the dark. So I listen to the sound of the ice. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. Cracking, dripping, wasting away. Am I fighting my sanity? Am a living in a dream? Nothing seems real anymore. In this silence. The ice is still ice but I don't feel like myself. I'm flying maybe, maybe hovering. I see myself in the puddle below. Soft touched and looking back at myself. A looking glass of water. Am I Alice? I run my fingers over the puddle and suddenly I'm a Picasso, a masterpiece. A work of art only to be seen in the dark. I am giving way like the hardened water. Drops of me gone, a little more every day. Drink of me what you will and in the Winter I will be myself again. Sane and wide awake.
blue beneath thin skinI am having dreams of spitting on strangers;buying groceries while a young man wearinga suede jacket is buying a dozen oranges. I quietlylick his coat and choose the greenest bananas. I, with corn husk hair, am Aphrodite, swallowing you in your sleep, devouring you in your dreams.I am often licking the tips of syringes, slappingmy forearm with a grace unlike a tree frog, tyinga rubber band around my bicep to keep from bitingmy lips. I am buying time with the gods, these aremy stomping grounds. These veins were made forthe ache of heroine. The blue beneath thin skin.
turn your back to the skyhello,i cannot talk to you about birthdays,but i have thought of it and ido not think i can listen to yourheartbeat because i cannotrest my heavy head toyour chest.i am so sorry i make you cry.it does not matter if it is not becauseyou are sad, or if you feel you couldjust look down and say,here is my heart in my hands-i cannot stop feeling as though i'veruined you, you beautiful soul.but love,for you, i would make it rainuntil the daisies were undulatingin a thick green ocean.please-tell me to stop rummaging throughscraps of paper and the layers ofskin from the back of my hand;you are of-the-moment and a heartbeatpressed to my ear. you do not deserve me,you say. and i know all-too-well that youare right, because you deserve much more.