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shooshu Jan 2016
“skinned alive
by the blade
of language;
freed from
the prison of
an inkless
past.”
|| shoo.shu ||
shooshu Jan 2016
"**** valley hero
of barbaric bled
innocence; a
collection tray
of lake
sang bleu,
out of place"
shooshu Jan 2016
'HELL CANNOT LIE'
kneel before yourself;
the gain of
synthetic purge.
wake the **** up,
ad nauseam.
shooshu Jan 2016
"clawed
reflections
of a cutthroat
jazzy love,
pungent in
santa sangre
post-mortem."
|| shoo.shu ||
Santa Sangre is french for "holy blood" or "blood of a Saint
shooshu Dec 2015
"A prisoner
of acrobatics.
A cosmic
seed of
bloomed vanity;
a gentle sin.
An indulgence of
glim & glam,
unable to
cut the rope."
|| shoo.shu ||
shooshu Dec 2015
"That's one
trip to
the moon.
A giant detour
to da'kine."
|| shoo.shu ||
shooshu Nov 2015
'It goes on'
wrote Frost...
to understand
suffering soberly.
To breathe beauty
in an abhorrance
of decay.
To sigh bliss  
on realities
own terms.
This is to know.
--shoo.shu
Rachel Barnett May 2015
everything i feel is a Molotov cocktail
then, here, and now
and i don't love him,
but his tongue is full of violets and he says he could blow my mind when we're on a different frequency than this
and i carve his spine into a crescent moon and etch my initials under his tongue
does it make a difference?
a belly full of flowers, missing love.
go back to your first love, tell her you never want to leave her, rid her of the longings that brought her to her knees; was i that to you?
and i don't love him, but he's here and you're not
i have turned him from a prayer into prey, a box of cypresses split in two
but does it make a difference to you?
i'm only a few hundred miles away, sticking my fingers in electrical outlets to remind me of what your lips felt like on my hands.
i don't love him, but he's dark energy, a mindfuck.
i don't love him but i bet if i turned off all the lights in the room he'd glow in the absence of it; and i'm trying not to think.
they say vampires can't see themselves in mirrors- is this what i've done?
the monsters slide back beneath my bed, and even though they stay quiet when we touch, it still hurts me too much.

— The End —