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03 November 2010 @ 04:07 pm
nails gone back too far
threatening to split and draw blood,

the blood is pulsing quickly
and a girl cannot draw breath

it's shallow, so shallow and timid
as the clock strikes the current hour.

not everyone sleeps; peace is not
contagious, sadly, sadly. it's fickle and lazy

and we're fickle and lazy and tied
in knots, cumbersome, taller than mountains,

all the trees are gone, only caves underground
waiting with open mouths, they cannot speak,

dare not break lest the world divides in two;
we will never add up to two, just one. one.
 
 
28 October 2010 @ 09:43 am
something in the blood broke, extended like an ill-timed miscarriage,
the grotesque angle of the heart saddening to the eye.
ragged was the breath that came now, like pins-and-needles after too
long sitting in the same spot. the room was colder than cold, the nose
was dripping from the crying and shaking and praying,
no prayers can escape this room
for it is numbered and ordered and everyone has to wait their turn.
there are wails that go on for days, tortured, taxed and terrible,
and the rice paper skin buffets the storm, how long this will last
is anyone's guess. don't put your hope in guessing games,
this is where a wish comes to die alone. lonely is drowning
in a mouthful of blood sprouting from the lungs. the gurgle and
oxygen bubble is the fight but which side will win is a matter of
chance; there is no choice in this room. forgiveness is for the
martyr with a thousand wishes and hopes. we haven't been forgiven
by the one that counts and their identity is buried, obscured and
branded like a cow. the wind is whipping all in pleasure and
the wooden fence is threatening to desert the brave who
stand rooted and rotting. the eyes vacant except for the
funnel of pain which pulls inward, ever inward. the howl is
monstrous and magnificent and monumental--
this is the dying day--celebrate the minute victory before it
too collapses into the abyss. burial is a top layer of soil and
a capricious wind carried away; no one recollects the good times,
the sweet memories made and worshiped like a god. in this room
is only the void which exists when a name disappears from the
present books. icy fingers clutch at the pages and tear, the tearing
sound louder than God. the bubble pops and the implosion completes
and the room is empty of one soul.
 
 
23 May 2010 @ 11:40 pm
Oh, the elasticity of birth.
Where we can pull on
the slack of the cord
and snap.
Finally, pull back from
Mother, leaving a scar
on our middle.

Oh, but some end up
with it tied tight around
our necks.
Mothers
end up with scars
in middle places,
and so then we
end up with lines
on our faces.
Lasting ones,
traced into adulthood.

And then more scars,
will come.
whether we are,
accident prone,
or left on our own.
To our own devices.
 
 
23 May 2010 @ 11:37 pm
I feel as if
I was only given one choice.
I could be exactly like him,
as genetics dictated
or just like her
a person I absolutely hated.
Well now as life is so cruel
the tables have turned around
I am like her more than ever
and despise him more, I've found
 
 
23 May 2010 @ 11:33 pm
Once again I have written something I
feel everyone can see through
like a blackened marker to the
table bleeding through
is it a mistake to tell the truth,
and feel what you do?
I have never been a saint,
but, should I go back to that
life of doing everything
soberly and with restraint?
I feel like my heart is opened wide
Letting fall out everything inside
and yet no one has yet told me
this is wrong, or am I really
not listening and just blasting
my own song?
 
 
 
21 May 2010 @ 02:15 am
 
lungs filled with stone of memories from the past
moments that wont last, the walking dead from fingertip blasts

i just shattered the glass

vodka and sin
such beautiful things

dribbling dribbles from the chin - out with the old


in with the in

Read Text is in all ways the best
so forget 'bout the eternal Rest
Language is all just a Relative test

is it a sin, or just a sucidal dance to kill a mocking bird?
either/or, i once intended to learn
and it is for this infatuation that i now burn

but make no mistake, the goat walking backwards refusing to look
over his shoulder at whats ahead of him

is fully aware of the power of the halo's rim

as he carefully places each hooved foot in burning embers.
 
 
18 May 2010 @ 12:51 am
Pop  
There is something spooky about me.
I am certain of it.
Or else why does the thought of you
dying for me,
somehow slightly perk me up.
Better yet,
I'll admit I can not sleep soundly
next to a steady rock
while my thoughts try to dog-paddle
away from this
tugging undertow.
It was at first just tickling my toes
but now it is
Lashing my bare skin
with it's seaweed colored
tongue of deceit and saying
"I would die for you,
I would die for you,
I've never forgotten you."
Ok, I'll finally admit it,
I'm a little bored with
cutting off the crusts
and filling a wine glass
full of milk.
I want the steady rock
to lie on top me and
crush my ribcage,
over and over.
And instead I give
in to sinking my
eager fingers and
neglected teeth
into the hairy peach
slowly sipping out
all of the hidden parts of me
until they go straight to my head.
And it swells like an over ripened
balloon.

POP

Give me the sound,
Pull me under
Drag me down
I want to remember
what it is to drown.
 
 
25 April 2010 @ 12:12 pm
hunchbacked,
the shame is great,
a millstone of tremendous power
anchoring human to ground,
back-bending, mind-bending,
heart-breaking.
she is monster
and no amount of reflection
shall convince her
of divinity and
redemption, mythical
as unconditional love.
claws where once there were
soft hands to learn
the lay of the land.
no land left, just a
wilderness and an unforgiving
sea, carrying away, away
everything that would break the
spell and bring monsters back
from the brink of their
decisions. no one shall
love you, the wind
speaks, the wind chants.
you will sink and never stop,
for the price of this immersion
is eternal penance,
carrying down, down,
a heart bartered and
deserted.
Tags:
 
 
13 April 2010 @ 12:34 am
It feels like the beginning,
but it's after the end.
And the last thing
that gave me this rush,
was the smell
of death. This isn't the end
of love, you see.
This isn't the end.
It feels like the beginning
but it's after the end.
 
 
12 April 2010 @ 11:44 am
how does one utter
chaos in the right tone,
or frame of mind?
juxtaposed, perhaps
it can be willed to fall
into place, into rhyme
with the wet earth breathing
and a human mind screaming
in its sleep.
how careful to burn the candle
just so, so there
aren't wax puddles
to leave burned dreams
blistering on skin. (yet, it does.)
nerve-endings are bleating
like sheep getting their brains
smashed in. the gore
is repulsive against the green
of the grass and the blue of
the sky. (however) it is camouflaged
in the night with no stars. the
sound of death fills the nostrils
and tickles our gag reflex and we
bend over and take it like a (hu)man.
where is chaos now in this series of
constructed pathways and outcomes.
too sensible, not enough
revisitation and maniacal
subservience. we need to fall
through wormholes with no ends for
chaos to smile and congratulate itself
for the lark!
the dark is toothless,
but unseen clouds
like miserable waifs
clutch and grab with razor hands,
their featherdown beauty nothing
but an empty gasoline tank.
nothing to feed a struck match.
ears are lumbered with lead,
debris of letters that once formed words
now floating upside down,
waiting to be flushed down
the toilet.
what can be said in this moment
that has not be said before?
silence does not know
itself, either. the water
rushes and drags violently,
its programmed temper a pitiful
construct and temporary.
chaos comes abruptly, a washer-cycle
on fast for a minute, two,
then stilling to
a clean toilet bowl.
but the smell,
the smell is not as sweet.
Tags: