People are utterly filthy.
Rags besmirched black and undertone red in blood, and ****
and tears, and thrown up alcohol bought cheaper than a
***** on Seventh.
Oh, tell me about it.
I saw a dead person once.
Grime under fingernails and teeth carved in gingivitis--
filth of a body really; but still I cry for this begotten soul
until my own hands grow
disheveled in the hue of
sobbing women.
Women are always sobbing.
My good friend with fishnet tights cries and
cries when the bottle breaks and
glass becomes embedded in those brown
fingertips of hers.
What is worse?
The stench of rotting flesh mixed with Persian White
dripping from a needle three years defective,
or the scent of sobbing women soaked
lily-livered in sweat.
With an honest tongue, politely I exclaim:
I’d rather sit with the flesh of the dead man whose filth is rotting
away with the mist of dawn,
then the crying pupils of thou who breathe in
white wind from the heavens
and exhale clouds coated thick
in a thousand vile songs.
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 3:18 PM UTC
My mother loves me like she loves the
rain when it pours and
pours and
pours.
Like
achy
joints that
curl ‘round their suppor-
-ting bones mercilessly.
And the pebble in her shoe
that makes blistering wounds;
She loves me like she loves my
Lack of Drive.
Determination
Determining how much the woman
loves me
is but a test untaken.
As without the rain
green drys black.
Plants
thirst.
Even if
she only shows
the smallest
Indication
Apr 10, 2019
Apr 10, 2019 at 12:22 PM UTC
When I press broken fingernails deep inside the
fleshy surface that is an anemic palm,
I am reminded-
I am real.
This is real.
Fourteen years old.
I remember the first time I got high
like it was yesterday,
but I can’t for the life of me
remember who am I.
Close-set eyes like brown almond paste-
(no my eyes are blue.)
Who.
This ****** body stripped of sin
only to mess it up again.
But I'm fine-
Everyone says so.
Fine like the wind in summer
blowing round and round cotton fairies.
And I press broken nails sharp like glass
into frail skin
if only to feel something.
But it never lasts long enough
to count.
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 12:16 PM UTC
Every time the sirens scream,
the blood in my hands grows colder the usual.
My chest aches in such a way I must hold myself
back from clutching it.
I breathe steadily- or as steadily as I can
as to not create a fit of panic.
But it’s terrifying.
One-two-three-
Send a prayer to anyone whose
willing to listen and it goes:
PleasenotnownottodayI’mnotreadydon’ttakethemnot-
Heavy brown eyes and a glinting smile saying hello
in a way that makes me want to cry tears of
Memories- innocent and pure with the wind in your hair.
And the siren continues to wail.
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 12:30 PM UTC
Tall ones are the best.
Don’t cry when they don’t
talk to you- don’t cry when they do.
Read 10 minutes ago
Pretend you're asleep.
I’m asleep I’m asleep I’m-
too tired to see you today, but soon.
Read 6 minutes ago
-I wouldn’t I swear I like you
a lot I would never even think to-
(Tell him- tell him I’m down.)
Seen 20 minutes ago
“Don’t drink the water after schools out;
it’ll make you live forever.”
You smile.
He smiles.
Love is like a dream
where everyone wakes up melancholy;
only lasting a small while.
I miss your face.
Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 11:37 AM UTC
I can’t feel my hands.
They're tingling and,
my feet are sinking
into the carpet.
Red and scratchy carpet that spins over
and over
and over.
But my heart is smiling.
So hard.
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 1:49 PM UTC
I used to have this dream about white umbrellas with red dots and red umbrellas with white dots, and there was a beach with nice sand-- the soft kind that doesn’t feel scratchy on bare thighs.
Maybe a blue woven blanket and a transit radio with rusted edges. But there were never any people.
Except for me.
I was there walking along the too soft sand- barefoot and jubilant.
The waves crashed horizontally- you could see them, but came quickly to the realization that you would never feel them- they only traveled left and right.
And the sun and clouds and very much blue sky would be extremely beautiful-- until a sort of smoke like thought would enter your head. The thought
none of this is real.
I used to have a lot of dreams. But now I’m not so sure when I dream- when exactly I stop dreaming.
It’s like someone pushed a pause button on my ability to sense reality as it is.
It’s a terrible tribulation to attempt to hold focus- my head is a daydream.
Like I'm living in an upside down daydream where nothing is real, yet my actions do in fact have consequences.
Like I am nothing more than a person made up by another mind sent to play poker on the 50" flat screen you just had to buy.
My head is attached to my body but my mind is not. And this body-- my body- is not actually so.
Every memory is disfigured and foggy and seems to make no real connection.
Who am I?
I don’t know and I don’t think I’ll ever know again.
It’s too complex a thought.
Am I saying I like something because I like it- do I truly enjoy it?
Or am I just saying so-
I mean, what do I really like?
Who is this person behind my eyes?
I’m not sure anymore.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC
Step One
Feel the bare mattress scratch against your thighs
and moan in self-pity ‘cause it hurts like a-
Rub broken knuckle stubs into your temples.
Stretch out one two three toes and pretend not to taste ashes on your tongue.
(Forget to brush the cancer out of your mouth again?)
Step Two
OPEN YOUR ******* EYES
Oh don't be so ******* self-righteous.
Use scarlet nails to probe Scarlett pupils,
wipe away the morning slime and marijuana high, because
quite frankly, no-one wants to see that.
Step Three
The carpet has another puke stain.
Lovely.
Step Four
Walk around Carpet’s new addition.
Choose to be Superman- leave lights off.
You're not Superman.
Bump in T.V. stand, dressing table, fan.
Jesus Kid. How many more bruises do you want to acquire?
‘Sal right though. They’ll fit in just fine.
Step Five
Bathroom.
Violet fluorescent bulb-ly lights that nobody likes.
Twitchtwitchtwitch.
Come on now- when’s the last time you’ve changed them?
Yellow **** not surprising.
Step Six
Wow. You have not gotten any better looking.
The poetically inclined ****** with knotty curls
and a brazen face your mother likes to call
Darling,
is staring from that cracked up mirror
into your pink, anemic eyes.
And man.
Even your ******* reflection wants to jump ship.
Step Seven
Where are your shoes?
Socks?
Step Eight
High school really is Hell, huh?
Keep your head up Kid; or down…
Last night’s hurrah is still evident
in those washed out, glazed eyes rolling
around in your head.
But don’t worry-
you’ve got a small token of the American Dream
in your back pocket!
You didn’t forget did you?!
Ah- Happy Birthday Kid;
enjoy your ******* oxy-
and try to stop shaking.
You look a mother ******* drug addict.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 8:29 PM UTC
I’m sorry.
Dreadfully so.
Your hearts a mess-
so skillfully trying
to weave its way
through mine.
But I’ve already began
cutting the ties.
I don’t want your love.
I won’t lie; not to you.
I’m sorry
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 1:32 PM UTC
She crawls around in white
satin shorts-
like a dream.
Fluent only In Miss-
-conception.
The eyes have made
an exception it seems
to see
her diminishing alongside
them; like the dreamscape
she is.
The only see the ecstasy-
lodged between her teeth.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC