Morning TeaShe told him once; the evening sky left her in euphoria. The following morning, he wore all black and put stardust in her tea.
Deaf MuseI spill my soul, disguisedas words, into your palms, whichI suppose I mistook for open.Only you throwthem away. I reel,when you say;“Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”
ReincarnateI imagine that I’ll come backas a librarian, a man and somewherein Borneo or Edinburgh,trying to make senseof the things I left behind,and maybewe’ll find each other, again -they say souls travelin the same circles, and we’ll rememberover words, poetryand the music you made;the keys to Freon playing behind us.I suppose,it may be a poignant reunionof once weary souls,filtering through the universetime and time again.I’ll tell you we were lovers in a past lifeand you’ll roll your eyesas you did once before –a firm scientist and open cynic.I’ll shrug, as always,and show you how we unravelled ourselvesonce before.
LadyI am a desert lily, dead before I openwhen the sandstorm blows my petals away.
todaytime takes away all the pleasuresof the day; the drumof falling rain waningto a muted beat, and we watchas the world glows,from the jaded sun. todaythe universe is ours stars an exhibition as wesoar, me and you; birdswithout wings.
KaliThe three crows cawedwith ruffled feathersand bodies decayed - black hearts beatingbeneath a cage of bones.In a world of men and monstersI was lost looking for you;a forgotten bride in virginal blackcaught between amnesia and love.Wildflowers grew in the ashes of your absence.I store myself beneath its roots -dark, motionlessand ready for you to remember me again.
Oaki knew a girl once,with an oak heart and guarded hands(gloved from touch)but sheuncrossed her ankles,let naked fingertipstouch well-read lips, andher heart kind of turnedinto ash.i miss that girl,with the oak heart -she was tougher.
SandcastlesOn the beach alone,brown-eyed, petite, kneeling in the sandshe spent an hour of her lifebuilding somethingthat'd be washed away by sea.
Persephoneeven milk and honeytastes like ashes in my mouth.pomegranate seeds clinklike pebbles.i am the wife of melancholi.
The Giantsthe earth is our ship, and we turn throughoceans of timeon the mad waves of adark cosmic deep, lost in a vast seabillions of points of light our guidesthe ghosts of stars lightyears away that have already diedand been reborn,swallowed into blackholesthey vanishlike the skeletal masts of wrecksand lighthouses torn asunder.in gravitational tides we are pulledand seafarers draw strange patterns in the sky -so that we might cut the universe to sizeto stop our minds from drowning.we forget to look with fear and awe andwonderwe whisper (why)s -at a world we cannot touch beyond the hull.they are reborn again.with minds awake we voyage, dreaming softlyof gods and reincarnations lost in delusions of afterlifes andimmortality.And beyond us in our black oceanthe stars are rebornthe light of millions of ghosts touches usthrough eonsand fills our sky with sights that rob usof words.all energy survives and recycles intoendlessness.we are immortal ghost-watchers
slippers your ghost eats peanut butter out of the jar. an atomic grease fire tongues our oven like an aneurysm. if only we walked on clouds if only we lived in the belly of the ocean
to Nat, my own catcher in the ryeon the day you were buriedit was warm and sunny outand little children played all day-how ironic.it’s also ironic how they handedout flowers to your bonesbeneath dirtwhen they couldn’t do itwith your bonesintact with pumping bloodand warm skinthe cycle of life turning to deathis being thrown at your face,petals counting offthe days you wasted drunkwith regret wishingyou kissed heror how you should neverhave gave away yourself so easilyso fastor how you were neversuppose to diealonewith your hearttiring itself out fromgiving you all the timeyou will never get backthe stem benttoward youlike a big i told you sowith it’s empty headand shriveled bodyflowers.why flowers?could’ve been that bottle full ofpaper stars you made whenyou were sevenor that Little Shirley Beansrecord you smashedthe first morning you hada hangover-some souvenir to turninto your own personallandmarkother than your coffinbecause flowers area grave fo
.i need to turn up the music to drown out thesound of my own voice breaking;my lungs are collapsing - i can't breathe:i am choking on all of the things i've hidden.the mirror betrays me to my hands:i want to ruin my skin, leave itbruised and pocked and scarred untilthe flesh reflects the madness within.
what I forgot to sayto the girl who lives like a hurricane:don’t expect to tell me aboutyour addiction to self-harm andNyquil and have me smile;although, as I shiver from lakewaterand things less tangible, I seem toacquire a talent for glossing over the listof things I need to tell you--your boyfriendis an asshole. California does notbegin and end in a tiny town wherepeople operate like clockwork aroundthe same happy working song. I am nota fountain of wisdom, and, to be honest,I can barely understand you over thethunderstorms in my own brain.you are beautiful and you arewrong..to the girl I left back in time:purpose is not a given. I amthe same teenage angst who usedto wear too much eyeliner andcomplain about my futureas I’d foretold it-- loveless and whiny,like me. I am her plus a few moreself destructions and minusa lot more days to continue strivingalongside you for simple goals andsimple friends and simple memoriesI won’t remember..to the girl who see
wallflower clippingsthere's scar tissue in her throat,swollen around the words she never said;dark rings around her eyeslike planets unremembered, anda staleness to her touch,the crystalline Dead Sea.she's living like a storythat's already been told"if no one loved youwould you mean anything at all?"in that moment,we forget to exist.
summergirlNow read aloud over here. Do give it a listen, won't you? i. summergirl,you are crowthroated and tumblingthrough the aspen grovehair on fire with sunrise, lungsfull of sky.eyelashes like wildflowersand every morning bringsa new spray of frecklesand a sharper curve to your collarbones.the cornfields hold no shadowsfor your lighthouse eyesand there are no endings in thatsurefooted smile. ii. you have grownso fast.autumn finds you with broken anklesleaning on an oak branchand watching the skies.crow to sparrow--you are quiet.summergirl, there is peace in silence,perched treetop,fallen antlers in your hands.you will come to mourn your deer.keep them close. iii. by winter you have paled,and like the streams your eyes have frosted over.you feel the chill--there is no need for sight.summergirl, th
please, eathoney, please understand,i do not love holding you up like a sinking ship--your hipbones are jutting above seas of skin again, icebergs tearing both you and me aparthave you drank water today?because i worrythere is no fluidity in the way you move anymoreyou are all angles, angelyour body creaks and moans like an old, worn out machineand i don't have your schematics i know you've taken a tape measureof every inch of yourself but i cannot measure your mind to figure out how to fix youeven though your spine has more ridges than the rocky mountains,you know you cannot move themyou cannot pick up textbooksyour stockpot full of wateryourselfplease, don't forget how to smile againi remember all those years ago when you lost so much of yourself that even though i could help you up stairwells and wait for you on the bus every morning those beautiful twenty six muscles
jointedi remember days of holding your hands and swearing they felt so heavy, the synovial fluid that welled up around your joints was liquid leadfor years i wished to give youone thousand of my white blood cellsfor each day i had to leave you stranded on the kitchen floorand when i finally learned the wordsi wanted to tell you: the doctors never made you strongerwith any injection or titanium bonesbut you did yourselfevery morning you stood and opened your eyesbecause today, a woman asked me if i would like to take home flowers for youand i wanted to ask if in the coolers she had enough yellow rosesto fill the spaces between your kneecaps and every joint that ever achedso maybe you would come back aliveif i could promisepain wouldn't greet you
pedicellariaeI am not astreet urchinI am a seaurchinspikes and venom andbristlingwith mysterybut everyone seemsto call meby the wrong name
on forgetting how to live in peaceful timesand i tried for a very long time to make music but i couldn't. i wasn't built for it. neither were you. we walk the sidelines and haunt the sidestreets and hum the smallsongs. we are vicious lovers. this is why we did not last. because we know about loneliness and we got over trying to drown ourselves in crowds too quickly. because we suffocated instead. because we said fuck this, and wanted. because we drank whisky straight and coughed the burn down our throats until it hit our chests and stuck and stayed there until it grew into a fire and we vomited flames. because we talked too much and did not know about volume or damage control.or maybe that was just me.and i tried for a very long time to learn how to leave people but i couldn't. i tried to learn distrust but i couldn't. i tried to learn oblivion and all i have to show for it is memories of hospitals and hand sanitiser. you were even more prone to self-destruction than me. at least on the outside. oh look it's back to you
when i dance, it isthe only timethat all parts of meare no longer lyingaround in placesthat i long agoleft behindand the piecescome back intoan order that althoughcracked and gluedare usefulenough to use again
MalaiseYou were painfullike dry-swallowing pills on an empty stomachlike blasting music loudly enough to forget my nameand I was young, and I believed youwhen you said that beauty was pain.
Lonely Gods"I wish my body to be a staircaseto heaven." She said, "A conduitof lonely Gods."Swayingpendulum hips, she, shewas made of stardust.- Scars sleepingabove a city of sweet bones, stirringlike sun-stricken scorpions duringhollow painkiller nights,mistaking her redred burnsfor Apollos kisses."Sadly, this body has whispered awaythe last of my secrets."
Stirring Arsenic into a Milky WayI'm a slave to the spirits,Withering in the weary windThat winds 3,000 miles toRest at the molten seaSlash a scar in my star,ash-stained creamdousing the fire,you an icy hiss to the flames:memories in ashes.Crosshatch my flamesinto chambers of passionedheat. I stirred galaxiesof twilight into the apex of winter'sboiling point.Set to coolon the window sillstaring into the solitude.You are the drizzle thatslaps the glass with echoing words.I'm a selenium lord whoreflects upon values strongerthan a two-sided mirror.You collapsed upon yourself brighterthan a supernova of northern lights.Bring me into your singularity,Cygnus, and don't let go.If we are to become the debris of lightthen why not go intored shift?
broken hearti.my heart is just paper for muscle and ink for blood, but i like to think that if i tore out a few pages and bound them in leather, it might just mean something.ii. and i tell you, i want to tell you, no, i am not more than that. i am not human, made up of muscle and bones that break, but words. i am books and flowers and the coffee i had this morning because, no --i cannot be me. i cannot be this.iii.i don't want to be here, scared these little sinews are snapping like dental floss between my hungry teeth.i've smeared my make up over your neck and collarbones, wrinkled your shirt with my paint-chipped nails, and somewhere between the first pain and hiccup of a sob, i've forgotten how to speak. you hold me tighter each time it steals my breath and listen to make sure i remember how to after it passes, say my name softly to remind me to stay with you. and you've pressed your hand over my chest, as if keeping it there will hold the weathered organ together.
6/10i wake up torain- and for just a moment, i hold my breath. my lungsache. i want themto, and so i don'texhale. i justlisten, and it feelsgood. when i do letgo, i'm lightheaded andthe rain is coming downharder. i think i should move toSeattle.
Automatonone day i asked him to rewire me and he didand there was a key that opened up my ribcage like some safelike it’s worth protecting what’s in thereand he cut open nerve centers and peered inside with his microscope eyes andhe fixed me, replaced lines of nerve cells with copper wiring and didn’t realize nerves are made in the synapses, in the spaces between the cellshe rewired me and left no spaces in my head andi didn’t feel real anymore
InfiniteIt was denial,like lovers in a motel roomsearching for something beautiful.She had tattooed the universeon her back - pretended she was infinite,but in fact was trappedunder the weight of the world.