i.
one perfect summer day,
you met a girl who took your breath away.
one perfect summer day,
i met a knife who could take my life away.

ii.
this is why i can never love you completely.

iii.
you sunk into me like i was the deepest thing
you could bury yourself in while i
let my shallowness consume you.

iv.
i am not the one that you want.

v.
i deserve to grow old without you.
you need every poem to be written about you.
i burnt the carnage of my heart years ago
your words are what will take me apart.

vi.
i gave you what little was left of me
and in return you gave me your lies.
we all have our delusions, my dear,
and you are mine, i fear.

When I was five, and you were eight
You took my hand and said, "come with me"
Over the stile and on the floor, lay a pile of slate
Forgotten.

Together we built a little slate village
For non-existent people to do non-existent things
And within that architecture of simple stone,
We built our sibling dreams

Everyone thinks I'm doing better
I have them all fooled
I even tricked myself for a little while
But you can only push away feelings for so long
And then the darkness resumes it creeps up on you
Slowly at first, then all at once
It overwhelms you and strips you of your smile
You feel naked, vulnerable
No confidence
No happiness
No pride
You can hide but you can't run
From the unbearable loneliness
The unnerving anxiety
And unending dissapointments
And you add another tick to the list
Of times that you've been let down
Another scar on your side
You've made so many marks
That you can no longer keep track
Of just how many times life has screwed you over

The girl that deserves everything she deprives herself of
Limiting herself to those that don't love
Her back is what's stabbed momentarily.
And she realizes loving a few is better
than pretending with many.
A few feet short of destiny.
But her past is changing this course,
taking her to places she's been before.
She's hurting, and she wants out!
Tear-stained dreams, broken wrist watch, and a mind full of memories.
Is that all that this life holds for her?
Disappointments and lurking shadows with secrets about her.
Life is no more, as she writes this
all responsibility is shrugged off.
How does she feel now?
Empty.
With little to give and never having received anything.
That girl is me.

i.
if god cries two tears every time someone dies,
then god has flooded the world this day.

ii.
screeching of the rails. the sparks fly as the train grinds to a
halt, like the clacking and clicking of our weary limbs.
snow, white as the soul of the rose who lies crushed
under the boot of a man in black.

iii.
except in this world, the man in black brings death
to a trembling little rose that breathes and bleeds.

iv.
barbed wire squeezes our hearts until they ache.
our fate is decided by the tightly lipped, tightly believed
tiny man and
the crosshairs of a nation.

v.
this is no life. only a death.
we have become the animals they told us we were.
this is just a glamourised homicide,
wrapped up in the p's and q's of the insecurity
of one wind-up dictator who thought
that he should rule the world.

As he crafts his world he stops
To add just a few drops
Of color to his otherwise gray
And desolate landscape. A ray
Of sunshine here, a dash
Of forest that seems to crash
Into the dark hues of the sky.
He adds stars that twinkle in his eye
And places the moon in the center
Of the night. Then the crickets enter
The peaceful scene, softly humming a tune
Creating harmony with the moon.
The bright reds, greens, yellows, and blues
Are colored in, which is what truly glues
His masterpiece together, but it
Isn’t complete without a little bit
Of chaos that comes from people.

i.
midnight sweeps across the room, dancing to a tune
that nobody shall ever hear. the ballroom is empty.
the world is a ghost and all that remains is for
darkness to pick up that glass slipper and run.

ii.
the shard of mirror in my eyes is what broke my heart.

iii.
absinthe kisses. i am stunningly drunk and this sky
is mine. the bed is an island in the ocean of
our love. i want to sink like a stone and you
can be the ropes that tie me down.

iv.
(a gilded silver cage. muffled moans in the night.)
fractured sunlight illuminates my naieve body.
a splatter of white dreams and black deeds.
in that second, i forgot who i was
and the little girl i am.

v.
last night you stitched up the last part of me
and sewed back in all my stuffing.
there is a twisting in my hollow womb,
and i let myself fall into sleep.

old makeup spilled on my floor
dirty clothes strewn on my floor

You can hardly see the carpet for all the clothes carelessly being trodden on.

Blue holiday lights are strung around the mirror.

I am watching Andy Warhol eating a hamburger
I am watching Andy Warhol eating a hamburger
on a new, thousand dollar laptop, slick-as-a-whistle, paid with a magnetic swipe.

For the past six months,
I have had less than four hundred $
combined in checking and savings,
and that number dwindles by the day.

I have no groceries,
but I've got fistfuls of orange prescription bottles,
and I was handing pills out like treats and candy.

(but they are needed, much and every day)

Where did all these bills come from?
Money is paper, but it means things.
Suddenly, it costs money to breathe.

Eating? Oh pshaw, that costs money, time, and the store's six blocks away.
We can subside on government cheese, beans, and the fiery licks of whiskey.

I pout on my throne of dirty cotton, thinking
"I get what I ask for, when I ask, and it always comes--at a price!" I sigh.

It's always over a hundred dollars more than I could spare
and brings bad luck, moreso than a couple broken mirrors would,
smashed over a the front of your mother's blackest cat.

"Quick! Let's do designer drugs with the paltry change given by our parents, given as allowance!
I wouldn't feel like I wasn't nothing, nothing at all," I say, batting my eyelashes, "Wouldn't they feel proud of our feelings of entitlement to the greater things in life and consciously responsible adult-like decisions?"

I crack open my father's checking account with that swipe of a magnetic strip,
it makes me seem responsible when he sees I just use it for pills and foodstuff.

(I prove I love him, and he loves me in this way)

Now, together, we will buy strawberries with his money, until our lips are pink.
They must be four dollars, at the very least, then we eat like the bourgeoisie (!)

I kiss the cheeks of my reflection in the bathroom
"Como ca va, darling? Comme si comme sa. . ."
I lick my lips, put on red lipstick and then blot,
tousling my hair, tipsy, as I touch up my face by
licking the tips of eyeliner up like a cat's little tail,
the ends of eyes, coated with eyeliner as black as
my tightest velvet pants and dark, dark heart.

We go together. You and me.

Lying on the floor, holding hands, in vinyl bliss
listening to the crooning of sweet Francoise Hardy,
and the addictions of the near-dead soul of Lou Reed

You should move to a big city
and I'll come call, prepaid, with
a voice that is thick and ripped,
from expensive French cigarettes
chattering of sugar-white beaches
as I cross the seas all on a plane,
burning money all along the way
all the while drunk on red wine,
twirling my fingers around, with
bags under eyes, a little anemic

(I think it adds to the glamour)

We will go out to a dimly lit place
We will go out dancing then after

I will put on dab perfume under my ears and on my wrists,
I will wear black tights for pants, but first, do a little cocaine
and you will fasten the clasp on my silver necklace tonight,
while I smoke, before helping me put on my favorite fur

And we will go see Andy, at the factory
I hear he's doing something
with that Basquiat fellow (!)

I will go follow false luxuries, come with me.
I will gamble with you in Monte Carlo or Las Vegas,

just as long as you pay my rent at $695 per month,
until I die, or overdose.