1990 -    
I think I made you up inside my head.

-Silvia Plath
I think I made you up inside my head.

-Silvia Plath
M Annalise
Sep 12, 2010

I will not raise my head today
For I must keep my eyes fixated upon
The tiny shadow in the crease of my own arm

If I blink, it shall swallow me whole

And send this body through a gauntlet
Of heaving breaths
Heaving breaths
And the blood in my skin shall course through my veins
So bitter and foreign,
Carrying lightning bolts of pain
Cold, but burning tremors of pain...

Healthy blood should not behave this way
I'd swear this was something injected...
But my bruiseless arms say there is no way

This is my body
I am this body
I am this waif, this witch, this wraith,
Drifting through these streets of nowhere
Moving left and right,
Left and right
Hither and thither...
With the breeze of the evil man's breath
And all I can hear are my toes on the pavement
Reminding me that
I am completely alone

A preliminary draft
M Annalise
Aug 22, 2010

With both of your hands
And all your weight against the bathroom sink,
You somehow manage to meet the gaze
                Of your own reflection
                Drenched in yellow luminescence.
And as I lay with bloody knuckles
in a crumpled heap of intoxication,
Your eyes shift to me
Though you avert them when you see
That mine are still open.
Open, and glazed, but just clear enough to see you
See me for a precious moment
Before you take her hand,
Step into your bedroom,
And close the door

                               On all we should have done
                               And all that could have been

M Annalise
Aug 22, 2010

Places like this
Inevitably remind me of you
Where the world is coated in a green
So dewy that I can almost taste it,
And feel it in the palm of my hand.
This place is lovely,
But the water rushes over the jagged rocks
With startling urgency
As it coarsely laments the knowledge that only they,
And you, and I have:

I fucking threw away my soul in a creek just like this.

M Annalise
Aug 22, 2010

Press your finger tips against mine
(You see in ways I cannot fathom)
Though they will never be close enough
To truly touch,

For between the fibers of your skin and mine
Grows a thickening membrane
Of impenetrable strength and power
Of keeping your world just so slightly different
From mine,

            so I can weep in waves of rapture
And yet you feel none of it.

The worlds we separately inhabit
(So linear, but unable to intersect)
Are near enough to interact
And allow our eyes to covet
That which we cannot reach or understand.

(But what are you, if not my reflection?)

If only I could breech this disconnect,
I would pull you in, and edify your soul
With the way in which my eyes do see thee,
And the way that I do love thee.
And perhaps
                  you would love me too.

Mais non, c’est impossible.

M Annalise
Aug 22, 2010

I need a function
To be the stem of “functional”
To be the stem of me
So that I may be functional

I need a mother
To love me the way she did
Before the cord was cut
--the root linking her to me
So that I may be a daughter

I need a lover
To keep life burning through me
Be my photosynthesis
So that I may breathe

I need a friend
To pull me from the ground
From beneath the poplar tree
For I was too ripe
For this rope to hold me
And I am too strange
For this ground to love me

M Annalise
Aug 22, 2010

There are one-hundred-and-seven-point-eight pounds of what I’m pretty sure could destroy you, if it really wanted to (and It does.  It does).  Because I know you don’t remember the magic like I do, of when my neck first stretched itself so that I could reach those newly-licked lips beneath the cataclysmic explosions in the sky above our heads – and it was we who were those fissions and fusions erupting in the night.  Eruptions so cacophonic to me and yet to everyone else they were so silent… unnoticed.  Perhaps they were to you as well, for you seem to have forgotten.  And now I do damn thee – your amnesiatic self and she – to take this cross from off my spine and find a hillside on which to burn (and do not doubt that the flaming match will be flung from my very own fingers).  And may your skin seethe in the hell you tossed me into with your lies and fickle promises and your strange interpretation of what love may be (is this what your sweet mother taught you?).  You were right when you said that love was in the fire shooting through the sky that night, and yet the only remainders are the fallen cinders resting in my hair today.  So here and now, my love, I grant you the distance that you so desperately needed to give reason to your pitiful excuse to break my heart.  For you I will build a boat out of fallen trees, and it will take me so far away (if only in my brain).  And I will sail away as you turn to ashen residue, and smile, for the sky will be marked by a peculiar clarity.

prose poem.
M Annalise
Aug 22, 2010

If I was a fool,
I would believe that I was born to
Pull you from this cement cage
That encases you into perpetual stillness:
Static and untouched and yet so electric
That it pulls me to you with lightning-struck eyes,
As if it were fate,
(or destiny),
Or any of those other words that fools love to say

But who am I to decide if I am a fool
Or not?
It is a fool who presumes his own intelligence
And a fool who calls himself a fool

And it is true:
I would be a fool to love you
And yet I dig my nails into the concrete nonetheless
Clawing, pulling you out of this wall that stretches
East and west.

You fall onto me
In a cloud of grey dust, and your arms pull me up
And yet I’m not sure you’re real,
For shards of your wall-house linger on your skin,
Covering your face and hiding you from me

And still you touch and pull at me,
As if you were trying to pull me from a wall of my own.
Darling, with your concrete eyes,
How could the rest of your body be so alive?

Alive enough to run from me
After you were through with me
And you ran,
And you ran,
And I was a fool.

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