My sweet, sweet girl.
Coraline.
Your hair is like the sun.
Shimmering all day long.
It glows each time you look at it.
Coraline.

My sweet, sweet girl.
Coraline.
Your eyes are the ocean.
They sparkle in the sun.
Dark and rich with blue.
Coraline.

My sweet, sweet girl.
Coraline.
You're like a flower beginning to blossom.
An almost ripe red rose.
And you will get to be one.
Someday.

Coraline.

Once upon a time,
There was a blue haired girl named Coraline

She moved to her new home,
that was totally made of wood and stone

Her parents were very busy with there works
They gave her no attention and were playing real jerks

On a random day, she finds a hidden door, very small
But with big disappointment it ended up on a brick wall

When she got woken up by a shadow in the late night- darkness
She followed its movement, totally harmless

The shadow leaded her to the little door
So, she maded herself really small, with her knees on the floor

But when she opend the door, it wasn't what she first saw
Behind the little door, there was now a little hall

On the other side of the hall, there was another small door
She wanted to go out there, but she wasn't so sure

Finally she decided to take the risk
So she crawled thru the hall, very whisk

She suddenly ends up in a special place, where it all looked the same.
She would soon found out, it all was not a game

Everybody had buttons instead of eyes
and lots of things were happening as a surprise

There also were 3 kids without a heart and soul
Although she liked it there she wanted to leave that black hole

But for that she had to pay a price
Her real parents had gone missing and to find them, she had to think twice

Her other mother locked them up behind a mirror.
Coraline didn't know what to do, so she asked her to make everything clearer.

The three soulless kids were also locked up
They never had gotten the chance to grow - up.

So she made a deal with her other mother
If she could find the 3 souls of the kids, she could leave with the others

During her quest she met a speaking cat.
But still, she wanted to leave that place really bad.

With a lot of difficulties
She had find the odd species.

But Coraline knew the mother wouldn't play fair
So she threw the speaking cat in the air.

the cat scratched the face off the other mother
She was screaming but Coraline didn't bother.

True the passage she arrived,
in her real house in the middle of the night
She closed the door and made now sure she locked  it very tight

A long time ago
In a land far away
There was a young girl
Whose life changed one day
For once upon a time
in the little house where she once lived
an evil came upon them
one that couldn't be forgived
through a little door
lied a happiness that couldn't be compared
but was it true?
or where her senses impaired?
a better home and nicer parents
would you sew buttons to your eyes?
stay with this new family?
even if all they say are lies?

please! please! please give me something!
please give me something worth staring at!
i don't want to see this mush, this watermelon pulp
of a smoothie! i don't want to see it! give me something
i can cry over, like the mechanical lullaby from
the soundtrack of Coraline...
give me something worth
lamenting; it's not really poetry
if you're stuck in a rut and
suddenly gesture poetically
like it matters, what are the matters
elsewhere, what is really elsewhere
other than from being stuck in a rut in
a hole, where is the light at the end
of the tunnel? please don't become the tunnel,
let me see the light at the end of it -
i'm sick of peering into tunnels!
but you know what globalisation did,
i can write such ******* on the index
of pixels and feel all the more un-inhibitory;
i can listen to the Coraline soundtrack,
and watch my cat sleep,
and feel no guilt... because the world is
so large, and i rebelled against
globalisation by making it so so small,
it's so small you're not really allowed entry;
if you gained entry you'd feel castrated
or impotent;
like i said to her in her dipping of emotions
slicing her forearm open:
terror is worse than ******
(you can even hear them now, giggling while
being sterilised without an enforcement
to stop using both the contraceptive pill of
varied adverse effects and the anaesthetic
of pleasure that rubber ******* jacket)...
it's spontaneous, there's no apparent
symbolic build-up...
you can hardly expect the Autobahn system
with terrorism...
it just isn't there...
and while she sliced her hand en route the veins
i put the bread in the fridge
because it would provide a longer far away
expiry date...
and wrote that message on the kitchen tablet
in permanent ink...
i only went to a ******* because i was
rejected so many times, if felt natural
that such a profession should exist;
well d'uh, i'm all into speaking till dawn,
but sometimes a little bit of sensuality does miracles!
well, let's say it feels more than wiping your *** clean
after giving birth to a ****...
so there she was with her arm slashed,
and i encircled her wrist with my thumb and pinky
telling her: it's better that you didn't
chop your hand off.
and wearing sunglasses in the night
i learned the bonsai felines don't sleep as much
as you think, the ears are a give-away,
that sonar of theirs always keen to capture sounds,
they just keep their eyes closed,
it's not that they're sleeping,
these doctors of what is the vacuum and the existence
of anti-matter are awake
and try to hallucinate rather than dream,
hence they try hallucinating with their
eyes closed - until the real potent
hallucinations enter their minds while asleep;
dreams, dreams, dreams!
no, she can't be jealous of prostitutes!
she can't be, i paid for the ****** intimacy to feel
irresponsible and impersonal,
she didn't just do the dumbest thing imaginable
and become a pole dancer... no, she couldn't have!
what am i to do now? i've heard that jealousy exist
when you get really personal with a lover
who has a kinder profession than pure ****** exploitation;
but she did say she was abducted for ransom,
and if this isn't a lie, she did the most unselfish act
imaginable to un-servitude herself in a public exhibition
of exploitation... it wasn't a labyrinth any more,
nothing personal... while i got stuck
with music box ceramics of ballerinas twirling to a haunting;
she bought me like a kilogram of peaches
at the marketplace in the afterlife.

I
Go on, high ship, since now, upon the shore,
The snake has left its skin upon the floor.
Key West sank downward under massive clouds
And silvers and greens spread over the sea. The moon
Is at the mast-head and the past is dead.
Her mind will never speak to me again.
I am free. High above the mast the moon
Rides clear of her mind and the waves make a refrain
Of this: that the snake has shed its skin upon
The floor. Go on through the darkness. The waves. fly back

II
Her mind had bound me round. The palms were hot
As if I lived in ashen ground, as if
The leaves in which the wind kept up its sound
From my North of cold whistled in a sepulchral South,
Her South of pine and coral and coraline sea,
Her home, not mine, in the ever-freshened Keys,
Her days, her oceanic nights, calling
For music, for whisperings from the reefs.
How content I shall be in the North to which I sail
And to feel sure and to forget the bleaching sand ...

III
I hated the weathery yawl from which the pools
Disclosed the sea floor and the wilderness
Of waving weeds. I hated the vivid blooms
Curled over the shadowless hut, the rust and bones,
The trees likes bones and the leaves half sand, half sun.
To stand here on the deck in the dark and say
Farewell and to know that that land is forever gone
And that she will not follow in any word
Or look, nor ever again in thought, except
That I loved her once ... Farewell. Go on, high ship.

IV
My North is leafless and lies in a wintry slime
Both of men and clouds, a slime of men in crowds.
The men are moving as the water moves,
This darkened water cloven by sullen swells
Against your sides, then shoving and slithering,
The darkness shattered, turbulent with foam.
To be free again, to return to the violent mind
That is their mind, these men, and that will bind
Me round, carry me, misty deck, carry me
To the cold, go on, high ship, go on, plunge on.

Night patterns shine on her reflection,
Tonight she is all alone.
The water deforms her face,
She killed the girl she use to be.
She stares in the ribbon of water,
The forest growing deathly still,
That type of haunted, ghostly forest,
That leaves you with a chill.
She can't seem to find my way back to Texas,
She wish somebody would point her to Tennessee.
But first, before she meets the one who is hers,
She must be able to meet herself.
She looks at this girl, yet she doesn't see me,
Her beauty shields who she inside.
She is so insecure and has to hide.
Yet she does not want to commit suicide.
Instead, she wants to live all alone.
In a dark, sick world.
The ones like in Coraline,
Or the night before Christmas,
Just a haunted, wicked world.
The one she loves is just so perfect,
She loves him more than anything.
She wants him to know it will be okay.
Her light comes from the ones she shines on his day.
She is just scared, not of him or if he'll love her,
For that is clear to see.
She's just scared of herself.
She murdered the girl she use to be.
The clouded night grows calmer still,
Demons rising with a deadly trill,
Angry eyes, all despise,
The question remains.
The terrifying question makes her heart this world,
This world of growing hate.
It is a simple question that has sent chains on her arms,
Bound her to her hell.
And she can't escape, there is no hope for her,
As he is not there to hold her hand.
Chase the demons away,
Or kiss her tonight.
She just wants to know one thing,
One thing that will set her free.
They, come, they take Rosie away,
She screams into the black night,
Kicking her legs against the other girl,
"Andy!" She calls out, but he is not there.
Her heart breaks, but this person is too strong,
Her heart grows cold as they take her away.
Rosie goes limp, dropping her letter,
Her love note to Andy.
It falls onto the muck on the ground,
The breeze lifts her hair.
The siren is heard from the land,
Dear Rosie is almost dead.
Her eyes turn wide and black,
Dark tears streaming from her once beautiful face.
Darkness, Evil and Terror fill
Her soul.
She is more scared than you could ever imagine.
She opens her eyes for the very last time,
Before she sees her love meet her eyes.
He smiles his famous lop-sided smile,
And takes a good look at her.
Because he's always, always, been there for her,
This story is that of a happy ending.
He chases her demons away by a simple wink,
She didn't have to go to Tennessee.
Because she remembers he is with her always,
A smile stretches on her face,
And immediately she hugs him,
Hoping the kiss she will give him is enough to repay him,
For all that he's done, all that he is,
She loves the Andy she knows.
She wouldn't change him for anything.
Andy, you have always been there for me,
I am so proud of you.
I hope my love can chase your demons away,
I love you.
Love, Rosie.

snuggling on the couch, watching coraline

your **** shoved in my face
ready to blow
forced in my mouth
almost chalky dry

holding my hand in the store
hugging me tight because mom has a new boyfriend

pushing me against the sink
thrusting in

crying on the couch
you smother me
till i smile

first night i met you
hands down my pants
you asked me to get on top
i said no
it happened
anyway

helping me work my way to college
moving for me
buying me
so many
many
things*

hard **** against my thigh
rubbing
forceful hand against me
too hard
frightened

hugs
kisses
he takes care of me
cries when he tells me how much he loves me
tells me how i saved him
from depression,
suicide
anger

if only to tell you the depression you brought me
like one of the many presents
wrapped tightly
i swallowed
let it spread to my lungs
now i only breathe pain
i did not dissipate the bad parts of you
i consumed them
and now they are mine
to bear

"What happened to the girl I used to know?"

She's still here. She will always be here. I still love pickles more than eating a regular meal. I still love watching Coraline even though I've seen it 67 times and I still cry when she finds the 3 lost children soul. I still draw like I'm in grade 5. I still read Doctor Suess books for inspiration because he was a genius, yeah I said it. But people have to grow up, things become hard and complicated. One day you're going to a sleepover then waking up to a call that your dad had a heart attack and has died. Then you blink and you're starting at him while he's laying there in a coffin while your mom has buried her head into his chest crying and crying Because she has to lose the love of her life today. While your grandmother is rubbing her back because she has to say goodbye to her son today. Do not ask me "what happened to me" I am only 16 and I have to worry about my mom not falling apart and I have to teach my brothers things 16 years shouldn't have to teach younger children. You do not get the right to ask me anything because I am trying my best and I am sorry I haven't been able to feed your ego lately.

.well... a horror movie soundtrack is just a choice... there's always a loop of the song dreaming, from the coraline soundtrack; i'm such a sentimental schmuck.

fasting all day,
blood sugar levels low in
the later afternoon...
filling up on an English
breakfast leftovers past
midnight...

it's raining... and there's
still more than 3/4 of
a whiskey bottle left...
but it's raining...
and...
   i suppose i should wish
to write something...
but then... then again...

with the bedroom window
ajar...
putting on some horror movie
soundtrack...
and subsequently listening
to the rain...

do i really need another "poem"?
another, rather *******
statement concerning
flashing numbers...
in red, rather than emerging
words from a blank space?

no... not really...
there's just something about
a recalibrate of the body
after a day of fasting...
it's like ******* Ramadan
with me, almost all year round...

i guess with the whole globalist
affair... i sleep-stalking
my time in these hours...
at twenty minutes past 1am
most people are asleep...
while i'm...

   just shy of pouring myself
another drink,
and contemplating falling asleep
mingling a horror movie
soundtrack and the falling rain;

rhapsody of the most gentle
scuttling, tapping...
i call it...
    the aqua-aranea effect...
water-spider effect...
       ghostly piano of the night...
weaving a lullaby like
no other lullaby could ever
be sung;

like the hallow call of the impeding
inevitability of death -
and: that rare grace:
of primordial yet at the same time:
eternal sleep.