SpaceMutie
American
Little bird, do you have a key / to unlock the lock inside of me? / Oh ink master, high above / can you write in me the sighs of love? / / Summertime sadness, with lips of gold / save me from growing old? / I ask these questions to the gods of night / Please, lords, save me from my frights! / / I cannot be saved, cannot be changed, / cannot be edited by hands of the unknown. / I take responsibility for my ingenuity, / I receive those powers on my own.
Swallow your 'good kid' medicine,
drink up the black sludge oozing off of a rusted spoon,
stride in straight rows from beginning to end,
never let your feet stray from trodden asphalt.
Scoop your brains out of your head,
accept that your empty skull rattles in a heavy breeze,
waltz around burning coals on ash heels,
laugh while smoke and flame licks soft skin.
Ahahahaha
hahaha
haha
ha...
Ha?
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 12:54 PM UTC
I've been a fool and I've been blind
never able to leave our past behind,
The wound drips, stains the cotton red
but I remember its beauty once, thread
and needles dancing a cold waltz.
River rocks grind to a halt, petals
bend on one knee to accept the nettles
like a hapless king. I remember, I refuse
to forget the bubbling spring of gentle abuse
where my heart gasped for air.
Our season of contentment has turned fallow,
our wounds bleed through a shadow
of a life we could have loved. Bury your
hands in the dusty soil, trace the gore
trembling down your sleepy hands.
Let's lay our demons to rest.
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 11:31 PM UTC
I guess you could call me a
smooth criminal, if your definition
consists of a slipshod ball of nerves
who just so happens to find nirvana
sliding their fingertips into your pocket.
I've not managed to steal a thing, and
y'know exactly how hard it is to pull off
the greatest heist when my knuckles shake
hard enough to throw California straight
into the ocean.
Shut up.
So what if your hand happens to be right
next to mine?! Don't mean a thing, of course not,
and stop makin' so many assumptions,
you're always puttin' words in my mouth,
'specially when I'm next to ya.
S'fine, I've already finished anyway! Objective
accomplished, reward obtained. Hope ya don't
mind that my hands are little sweaty...
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 12:17 AM UTC
Just you and me, babydoll
in the back of the death trap
in front of the passenger train
in-between your rock and my hard place.
Ribcage like the basement heater,
you're really just the worst side
of paradise, pressing your
unreliable heat on my chest.
Whiskey and wine, baby mine,
don't taste nearly so good as when
I can lick the drops off your chin,
fearing I've ruined your chances.
'Cause you touched me, y'know,
me, the heaviest hand to hold, the
most hopeless burden to carry, and
I've never made it any easier for you.
I ain't a poet, really, just a man who
forgets what he's gotta say. Maybe one
day, when we're old and bitter and eating
our dust, you'll read between the lines.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 10:21 PM UTC
Dull metal, no, dull senses
Feels like I'm dying, like I'm living
Blood, frothy,
Viscous, wanton, throbbing
Swells pale skin.
Closet, cramped, bare back
against a scratched wall
handle trembling,
teeth chatter like bird beaks
a mouth oozing with spit.
It won't come, I won't
let this foreplay cease
in a ****** Teasing, wandering
criss-crosses of wounds
legs spread in want of the blade.
Diediediediediediediediediedie-
I won't.
I can't.
The scars remain on me
and they rub against the scratch
of my shirt. Tomorrow, darling
they say to me, Always later,
Always tomorrow
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 2:09 AM UTC
The sunburnt skin aches the most in that first new night,
so, fear not, my love, the cleansing fire of the sun.
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
Lunar lovers, under covers,
dream of mice and men.
Solar brothers, burning others,
have yet to ever sin.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 2:59 AM UTC
If I could manage to swallow
that growing sense of dread between my
shivering, pale lips, then it would
be much easier to take the lead.
Would I be free of emotional instabilities
the moment my boxers slipped to the floor?
Is that how this works? Where do my hands
even go in the first place?
If I could make my eyes flicker closed
as you lean in to steal my breaths by
means of unwelcome inquiry, perhaps
my heart would cease lamenting.
I could probably say all I wanted in the matter
and plead my case, but when society's the prosecutor,
chances are my legs would be required to stay
open 24/7, like a convenience store.
I'm sorry. I can't fix this, it's not something to be
fixed. I've failed as a basic human and cannot function
without regrets and anger. Besides, there are nicer
sorts around. Find them instead.
Remove your hands from my chest, your mouth from
my mottled shoulder. This is a convenience store that
never opens.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
The morning skips over the night's heavy back
with a golden spring in its pattering steps.
Moon kisses Sun goodbye as he leaves for work.
The two celestial boys in the sky whisper in early dawn.
It's a bright day today, cloudless and buoyant like
honeydew blossoms in the scented wind. Today is
the Sun's domain, smiling down to press gentle hands
against warm skin.
He loves those days, just as he loves the delicate boy
lingering behind the wispy clouds of night. In passing,
he wishes for another chance to bump shoulders on
morning's scarlet horizons, two hands clasped in rosy-fingered dawn.
He wishes to keep it forever, to swallow the moonlight between
parted lips. Ah, that lunar boy.
Beautiful lunar boy.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 10:19 AM UTC
The thing that annoys me most about the scars on my wrist
are that people take it as a way to tell me what I am.
Emo, right? Daddy didn't like you? Maybe if you were cuter, someone would care. You should've finished the job.
I'm hurting, always, and, in nights so cold that my hands
shake under my blankets, I dream of a tomorrow
in which it was my neck hanging on the oak tree
outside that suburban neighborhood.
That's not for you to decide.
I'm sorry, but I don't think I gave you the right to tell me
who I am and who I'm not. No one determines who should
be dead or not, except for that person and fate. And until the
day my neck snaps, or my wrists bleed, or my eyes close...
I will not let a stranger determine my own life.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 10:43 PM UTC