Mother,
why are your eyes red?
This morning you were happy,
everything will be fine, you said.
Now you said it's crappy.
Where were you today?
You've been gone an awful lot,
you look sad in every way.
Your beautiful smile has started to rot.
Mother,
Must you sleep again?
I seen my brother crying,
he said it's not the same as then.
He said they shouldn't bother trying.
What happened to your golden mane?
I seen a trail to the bin,
I thought I'd gone insane,
Until I see what was beautiful of you doesn't remain.
Mother,
Why won't your eyes open?
Daddy says your a princess sleeping.
George says I should stop hopin'.
That's when Daddy started weeping.
Father,
Why can't I remember her?
Only in my dreams at night,
that's when everything is clear and bare,
that's when everything is finally right.
Why do I remember Starburst and Sleeping Beauty?
and not her magnificent face.
Isn't it my duty,
to remember every last trace?
What has been gone,
I have not found.
And wont until,
I hit the ground.
- Grumble
Of pugs. Or old men. Correlates to the grouping
of wrinkles: smile lines (down) whiskers (up). Synonymous to a gaggle of geese. Or women.
A grumbleman steps on the Pug's tail
and a passing girl hears
a crack, yelp, fuck. She turns to help
but the grumbleman is gone and the pug
with him. She wonders why her neighbor's car
is still at her Mom's house? Why her Mom
wants to be called Veronica not Mary. One night she dreamed Veronica dancing on their roof
in the rain holding tight to an old red picture whispering to a woman on the lawn dancing
dry in white. She tried to call out to Veronica
she saw her slipping, but when she touched her lips
She felt them sewn shut with coarse, wet thread. Veronica turned and flew to her, to the window, grabbing her hands forcing fingers to feel
the brail graven into her Mother's giggling teeth that read, Don't look, your father will be bleeding soon. She awoke and her window was bound
in greased black leather. The floor ashen. Her lips still sewn
shut.
Anne stood,
picked out her fathers bones
Veronica had sewn into her
pillowcase
and
she
danced.
I wish for a fair trade
Given to us by birth
An exchange of one for another
To give and get equal worth.
Perhaps this is greedy
Perhaps this is wrong.
But if a choice could be given
I'd be where I belong.
See, I don't belong here
Stuck with drama and thought.
I wish I could be different
But humanity's what I caught.
But if I could make a trade.
For something who's worth is the same,
I'd chose the wings, the flight.
Than to be stuck here; earthbound and tame.
To lift off into the beauty of birds
To give my humanity instead.
No pain, no worries, no cares
Anxiety gone, with dread.
Yet fair this would be,
For I'd lose as well.
I'd lose all the good things,
Memories, family, love's spell.
So maybe it's a fair trade that I seek
To escape from Gravity's grasp.
But still, here I am, and forever I'll wish
For that fair trade that'll come at long last
i've always been a fan of clichés in movies
because it gives me hope
that yeah,
someday
i might end up
okay
and
right now
the breathing's too hard
but most of all
the walking view
is so twirly swirly
hands grasping
feet turning
like a one person waltz
in the best ballroom
but hey,
i say
fuck it who cares
the alcohol's too far
mentally and metaphorically
[drink to that]
but i grab for the bottle anyways
and tip back a little
how it burns and cools
how it sears
how it kills
but i still won't know how it feels
baby, i'm empty and i'm cold
(maybe a sweater will fix that)
but i don't care
in fact, it's pretty nice
to know that something urges you
to go and lie down
curl up
punch a pillow
something that tells you
"why not
just go
kill yourself"
i guess this ballroom dance
just never ends
what a shame
because i really wanted to get home tonight
oh, this isn't a pretty cliché
more like a twisted fairy tale
darling,
won't you take my hand
and come home with me
because i could really use some company
and i might just die
if you don't
i might find you again
because then maybe
i can be
okay
but baby,
i'm long
gone
twice over
[and they all lived happily ever after]
Her eyes seem sad.
She looks dead.
I wonder what she feels.
With what problems she deals.
She always wears long sleeves.
We all know she'll be gone by christmas eve.
She doesn't want to survive.
No intentions at all in staying alive.
Oh, darling, look at you.
Laughing with your friend.
You have such a lovely face.
It's a shame, really.
Bang.
A bullet through your head.
I smile.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
One for your friend and two more for you.
I hear running behind me.
Someone screams.
I laugh,
And a dozen more bullets pierce through your skull.
You lie lifeless and frozen,
Fifteen bloody holes in your precious face.
I continue to laugh,
As I feel hands wrap around me.
My weapon falls to the floor,
And they drag me away.
There is shouting but I do not hear it.
A wild grin spreads across my face.
You can no longer hurt me.
You can no longer hurt anyone.
You are gone,
Rid from this beautiful world.
I do not mind the consequences I am soon to face,
Because you are finally
Gone.
The word itself makes me sick.
I eat,
and I eat,
and I eat.
I eat until it hurts,
until I can not move,
until I stop thinking,
feeling.
I lay on the floor,
Miserable.
Focused on nothing but the
Sharp pain in my gut.
And then it is gone.
The pain and torment,
Once emotional,
Then physical,
Now gone.
It sits in the toilet bowl in front of me,
And I cry and look down at it.
I am weak.
I am disgusting.
I am a slave to food.
I stare out my window
Into the night,
And my vision is filled
With the empty street.
The black pavement,
Alone and dead,
Stares back at me
And waits for my stories.
There is always something happening
In that empty street.
Always something to watch,
To make me smile through the tears.
Parades,
Stampedes,
A boy with a radio,
Two ghostly lovers reuniting after death.
But then I blink.
And it is all gone.
And I am left alone,
Again,
Silently weeping.
With each mistaken love song I wrote,
I was aching for a snap,
craving for a broken string,
pushing and pushing for a
quick
sharp
ending.
It seemed a lot deceivable than waiting
for the evitable to happen.
Because you were gone,
like the sweet echoes of my chords.
You had dissolved into the score
of another piece.
You were no longer the lyrics
on the tip of my pencil.
You were merely the tears
that stained
these ruined sheets.
fuck like just hate life times coffee regret time better somebody drugs world heart thing fucking need know home little hitler type gone break trying gave morning way shit chasing birth mean war laugh make look beer problems untitled scream different hiding stay putting burnt number sea looking waves good pain cunts dew man town passion demise johnson girls lotion emotion head perfect bullshit bed far interested spirit pure anchor potion words hope boat missing streets phlebus train free red inside things wake lungs holy colors insert away set aren't poem soul poets self god diatribes nights politics forests demands
