perhaps skin, also, yawns to horizon,
delicate like surface tension,
fetal like parenthesis.
the moonrise is woven from short-staple cotton
and thus yellows, accordingly.

enclosed: the face of disappointment is actually a series of small balloon explosions;
girl heart, eight inches wide,
lighter than atomic hydrogen.

“his eye was like a bloody opal
and his lips tasted like black suns, citrus…”

human absurdity comes in nitrogen and phosphorous:
a dog, a horse, a rat.

the sheets were coarse and she woke with a rash.

Fuck these nights.
Fuck them.
Fuck these feelings of anger, abandonment, fear, and jealousy--
but mostly anger.
Fuck the way I know I'm not going to like what I find
but keep looking anyway.
Fuck these memories that follow me around to this day
and keep finding ways to reinvent themselves.
Fuck the way I torture myself like this
over and over again.
Fuck that fluttering in my heart that could be mistaken for love
if I weren't so sure it's hatred.
Fuck you for making me so fucking weak
by giving me the world and then taking it away, little by little.
Fuck you for making me so fucking dependent
that I can't even go to sleep without a perfect goodnight.
Yeah, fuck you.

As long as there are teenagers extant,
Anomie and alienation of an unripened generation
Shall spill upon this site in cliched cries,
Dabbling with threats of pills and lies,
The endless pain felt gives one fright.
To this old soul who wonders silently,
Will these thousands of pained children
Make it through to their next incarnation

So much angst, so much anger,
I wonder if God created poetry
To salve their wounds.
Their unknown futures loom,
But all I read is  hurt and doom.
You shall survive, children.
Awful poetry, some good, you will write.
But write and write till your heart be calmed,
For even ancient kings felt the anguish  of the soul,
And we profit even today by King David's psalms.

This wizened fool has his hands full,
Mouths to feed, bread to earn and bake,
As midnight is almost nigh,
He rests prone and adds a verse to an old poem
Long ago scribbled down,  he grimace-smiles,
Realizing there is little difference tween him and the
Sad Eyed Teenagers of the Lowland.

I am independent and sentient
and patience has never been my virtue
expectations only lead me to hurt you
because with a broken heart
my hairs raise
my eyes ablaze
and my edges sharp
so as you attempt
to clean up your mess
you cut your
pretty face
on the jagged shape
of my  e m p t i n e s s

I chase the sun set
and race the moon rise.
I battle with my mind
and I argue with my heart.
I love from my soul
and distinguish from my eyes.
I have a brain that will not listen
and I have a body that doesn't function.
I smile at the stars
and laugh at the clouds.
I search for a purpose
and I can stop right now.

g.k

my anxiety’s been getting worse lately
making me dread sad people and being called baby
But hey, when you're lonely you’ll take what you get
And worrying about holding hands isn't much of a threat
of course, you get worried going a different way to school
like every little thing you do must follow certain rules
When you need to talk to strangers your pulse speeds
And bussing down to movies makes you weak in the knees

You can't let people know and you can't let it show
You need to ask for the check even though
your
heart
rate
Speeds up, your muscles contract
And you find it hard to breathe and the waitress passes by
And you try to get her attention but she's obviously busy with other customers
Your friends are looking at you weird but you smile
Awkwardly wave your hands until she notices and you're beet red in the face
You laugh it off and pay your bill and get the fuck out of there
And nobody asks why you're so flustered but
you can feel their gazes in the flush on the back of your neck
And you feel it the rest of the way home

I don't know what I would do without caution, or
looking both ways when crossing an empty street, or
Checking my phone every five minutes to see if they're getting home alright
Because it's the only way I know how to care