I love the control
of painting my forearm
with swollen ribbons
imprinted on skin.
They tingle when hidden
begging to be exposed to sparkles
of a sun.
Like the little creature living inside
my heart.
A nightingale
with daggers for wings
slicing into my liver
singing her song
which goes “the end –
the end is coming,
– the end –
the end is near.”
And I’ll hold her close at dawn
singing our song;
just two kindred spirits
waiting to die alone.
Mar 10, 2021
Mar 10, 2021 at 12:15 AM UTC
It gets easier every day
to drag the stainless steel
across my forearm.
And I get closer every day
to slicing it across my veins
and paddle in puddles of putrid red;
but I'm not supposed to feel what I feel
at every pretty pink sunrise
and freckled night skies.
I trudge through days
wishing for night to come
only to wake up to another one;
a million more nights
of having dreams of a world beyond
this fuckery.
Mar 10, 2021
Mar 10, 2021 at 12:01 AM UTC
I'm eating a burnt omelette
with sides so hard I'd spit them out
and I wonder if I can spit my heart out
maybe then I'd stop feeling
all my feelings
and things wouldn't be so hard
and I wouldn't think
"am I going to snap?"
and then snap
and then pretend like nothing
happened at all.
Feb 12, 2021
Feb 12, 2021 at 12:47 PM UTC
One day, my head will hang loose.
in a shredded, old noose. The apartment will be empty;
sick whimpers in the cold.
A chair sits – with a sagging face,
waiting to be toppled from
under me.
Right time – right motivation –
right moment.
My skin will be hot, and my veins will be blue;
I’ll close moist eyes, lips thin, hoping for painless death
to come true.
I think, I’ll feel renewed.
Only to find my legs kicking
from under me – like I’m drowning in an ocean
of unoxygenated ecstasy.
Laughing at the pathetic attempts of my body fighting pure
misery.
“Not strong enough,” they’d whisper; I’ll prove them wrong
and grab peace by the neck
like the noose
did to me.
She’ll come home at 10 to find the lights on;
hit the door and scream of forgotten vengeance
only to find a nobody had died
and cry and cry and cry
till her eyes are dry.
Jan 6, 2021
Jan 6, 2021 at 9:28 AM UTC
Bubbles popped atop
a ****** tongue;
Digging into my lungs
like sour milk.
Nails of whiskey scents
grappled at a hickey-d neck,
pulling harder at swollen pipes.
With every swig
she laughed,
I cried.
So long I existed
there wasn't much difference
between death, and life.
Jan 2, 2021
Jan 2, 2021 at 2:31 PM UTC
It’s 1987.
She’s smiling at the waves cascading,
looking at a world
that didn’t exist.
In the emollient, rosemary morn’s glow
pregnant with prickly pear scents,
a cherry-pickled dress crashed into the foam
and up bobbed a nest of blonde.
Kissed by the wind, and nourished by the sea,
I watched my sweetheart flee.
Jan 2, 2021
Jan 2, 2021 at 2:02 PM UTC
you needed me, and I was there
cause a friend cannot help but only care.
now I shiver, and shake, and cut
cause the daymares are multiplying –
but I can’t type a sentence anymore,
at least not to you.
I’m too afraid of what you’ll say
or think or judge
but anyway,
it’s not worth the hassle – me.
live your life, let me be.
Jan 2, 2021
Jan 2, 2021 at 1:45 PM UTC
It happens in flashes,
like the hot pangs of sweat
when I wake up in my bed
doused in buckets of ice.
Like when the air hits your face
riding the highway.
My breath is lost in heaves,
I can't think - I can't think -
of anything except the littlest
and the morning cold
inching up the gaps of her pajamas.
Until the memory of his eyes assaulting
the places I'd not have them
stare at
claws at me.
I can't take it anymore.
Dec 20, 2020
Dec 20, 2020 at 10:43 AM UTC
I'm sitting at the bottom of the pool.
The chlorine stings;
the mesh of blue tastes like skin.
Like the privates of some bodies
daring to seep into the flakes.
It's so peaceful here.
The allegro of my heart- thump. thump. thump.
(thump-thump-thump-thump)
blocks out the voices
rippling above.
Children cackling,
a mother moaning,
a lifeguard crying.
I open my mouth
to let the roofied indigo flush my body
like codeine on my droughted tongue,
so we have no secrets.
So I am not the only one to see the ugly.
Water slides off my ******* thighs,
and all the parts of me the mirror doesn't see,
until everything around me is water
taking away the hotness from my cheeks;
I almost travel time -
palming my wrinkled fingers and toes -
which crumble like chrysanthemums.
The view wavers
and I quint to the dissociating shiny, yellow arms,
giggling when they tickle my voided pits.
I feel like sleeping,
but I think I need a breath?
A little sputter - a small gasp.
Better come up before I drown.
Dec 19, 2020
Dec 19, 2020 at 11:18 AM UTC