It was one of those
deeply introspective moments
in which I thought to myself
"You are
one f---ed up individual. "
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
Sterile white cast a sharp sillhouette
Againt burgundy--
That swam with shadowy velvet
And creamy blurs of silk
Each so like a soft brush stroke
Save for that sterile white
In its clean geometry;
And the carpet installed short and durable
By hopeful design it would last
Through years of dance-worthy occasions
Ballroom turf bled into my hiding place
Stippling my palms pink
As my weight shifted
And I leaned into the wafting scents
Of ladies' perfumes and catered delicacies
Every time the table cloth rippled
Out of fear or respect from passerby
Even shimmied with the clinking of glasses
Above the dull congratulatory murmur of guests
Later they would all be drunk
And murmur would turn to ruckus
But then, only indistinguishable voices
Too they were far away, drifting almost
Enough
I imagined nothing but that white
Sterile still, pure
And matrimonially sweet
The tiny bride and groom testifying from atop
But a plan was already in motion
To hide and wait;
The waiting was done
So young, as I was
Finding nothing so sacred I couldn't soil it
Found the oppurtunity to touch my tongue to it
That white, I wouldn't say sterile
But oh so sweet.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
I get weak
From lack of sleep
Or desire to eat
Or this keep
On holding on
Mentality of mine
Washed in brine
I'd just as soon
Drown than tell you
You're the moon
But who am I?
Insignificant
To you
In your eyes
To judge you
And your cold
Sadistic logic
Cut me off
Walk away
Leave me be
Leave my brain.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
Dip me in vinegar, see if I solidify
Show me something sinister, maybe I'll be liquefied
Then you can take your acid bath
In me, the soluble sociopath
And once you're rid of the imperfection called skin
You'll be your own flawlessly fleshless twin!
When, not if, your comrades are departed, broken, spent
You'll find blame in the beauty that is
Your lack of integument;
I know life lent's lonely, led by the epidermal amputee
But I can guarantee, if you'd clean your drain
You'd still find remnants of me!
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
Stale air
like desert air,
but cool as skin;
desert air gets used though,
you breathed it.
No, this was dead air,
it opened and closed your lungs,
coming and going as it pleased
like an indecisive possession.
Maybe that's what it was.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 12:02 PM UTC