I threw you into the ocean
Watched you flounder
Screaming—
Small and silly.
The ring was barely
Too big
For my little finger
(Probably fit just right on your ****
I threw it too—
A stony life preserver
For the small-dicked
And emotionally stunted.
I hope you hate yourself,
Darling.
I hope your time below the surface
Is all
Baking soda and sardines.
You ******* sadboy
You bigot in sheep’s clothing
You needy, whiny little
Thing.
The ocean was the best
Thing
That could have
Happened to you
Remember that
Thing
When you
Drown.
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 11:05 PM UTC
I don’t know why
You pretended
To love me
Or how you faked
The whispered sighs and
Shattered hourglasses
Or where I’ll go
Now that home
Isn’t you anymore.
I don’t know why
You pretended
To love me
When it’s easier
To use a brick
To soften me
Or to slice my
Pretty thighs—
(Would I drain the way you like?)
I don’t know why
You pretended
To love me-
Other boys would burn me
Hit me
(Run me over with a tractor?)
You were never
A stickler for
Legality-
What’s the
*******
Problem
Then?
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
You promised
Never
To hurt me
But
I knew
You would
Grind me up
Take me—
A chewable
Antidepressant
There for
Your joy
(God willing).
You said you
Never
Wanted
To love me
It was just
A Thing
That happened—
I was just
A Thing
That happened
(To you).
I
Always
Wanted
To love you
I worked
I cried
I made waves
Happen
I thought
It would be
Cruel
If they didn’t
(Work now).
I
Never
Loved you
But couldn’t
Let you
Know—
You didn’t
Deserve
The pain
(You caused).
You were
The one
In love
But still
The one
Who threw me
Away—
The most
Gorgeous
Thing
(In the Recycling bin).
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 2:14 PM UTC
I don't care what you think; I have this Xanax.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 1:10 AM UTC
I tried to write a poem
to get the feelings out.
They said poetry
Went with angst
Almost as well as
Sylvia Plath
and-
Repetition.
But I wrote a poem
And another
And another
And another.
And they felt wrong
And got shorter and shorter
And less and less creative
And didn’t look much like art
Painting is art
Sculpture is art
Music is art.
Whining isn’t.
That’s the thing
With poetry;
It’s art
Or it’s nothing
And I seemed like a nothing
And I must have felt nothing
Because nothing was on the page
And I had nothing left to add
Because “Why do good people die?”
Is trite
And “Is war such a good idea?”
Has been done
by the Beatles.
“I can’t stop crying”
Mostly rings true for babies
And they rarely
If ever
Read poems.
So I had only one word
That could sum up the tight
and the hurt
and the lost
And a word’s not a poem
At all-
is it?
I wish I were eloquent
I wish it were pretty
I wish my hands
could heal you
And my voice
could soothe you
And my laugh
infect you
And my heart
reach you
My words
touch you
My arms
hold you
and
fix
you
but
all
I
have
is
“you."
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 12:56 AM UTC
I thought you were dead
or close to it.
And I cried for days
Did you hear?
I tried to be silent for you.
Be strong for you.
Have healing hands for you.
You tried to be strong, too.
You tried to smile
And laugh
And cuddle
Like an old basset.
Your eyes gave you
Away.
They still do sometimes
Fill with flecks of crystal
And become the ocean.
A warm ocean
that basks in the heat
but knows it’s
a warning
Of what’s to come
And feels guilty for knowing the sun.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
My eyes were fire
and they hurt
But you were awfully chilly.
If you just got a little closer, maybe-
You told me I was beautiful
And I knew it was a lie
But it meant I was worth
Lying to, didn’t it?-
You said you’d fight till the end
I pretended to believe you
Pretended so hard
I scalded my insides
I said I was a bad dream
An echo of the girl you wanted
You chuckled and said you knew
But you couldn’t, could you-
You wanted an angel
I gave you a harlot
A Lohan Mary Magdalene
Wrapped in a mask of candlelight.
I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dear.
I wish that wasn’t a lie
I wish you were a fairytale
And that I were not an
Arsonist.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
Break it
it’s what’s wrong
break it.
Do it.
Waiting?
Do it.
Do it till it can’t
be done anymore
Break it apart
till it bleeds.
Beaten
Bulldozed
Battered
Burned
Busted
Bruised
******
Broken
Beautiful.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
PRD: What did you think of the dinner?
PREY: I really don’t know how to answer that
PRD: Did you get new glasses?
PREY: I keep having this dream where I go to touch you and your whole body falls apart right in front of me. I'm screaming and screaming but then you somehow turn into a lake. I swim in it for ages and I wake up crying because even though it was a dream there is no way to make the feeling un-real
shuffling is heard. A drawer opens and closes
PREY: What are you going to do with that?
PRD: I’m going to shut you up
PREY: please please do
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC