At 11 AM, I awoke and went to inform my mother that the day was timeless. I then sat amongst it and waited for the thing to recommence/

It didn't.

Later, I
found myself in aisle no. 5 (an obligation valued before the supposed ceasing of time), becoming - !desperado! in aisle no. 5, 5 for baking, because baking is community, comfort, a kiss on the forehead, a dream. Disgusted by the
lighting
of the place, I hurried with my business, out and past the parking lot people who appeared quite oblivious to this state of affairs. One glanced at me, but my aisle 5 eyes took care of the situation.

I woke up in the car, tried my hardest to ignore the fakeness of the dash clock, and pulled
out
into the road, leaving aisle 5 behind in some pop-up book land of apparent responsibility.

And cried, as it is oh so weary to crave death in a place so meant for life.
  
∞

Numbed spines, turn-table minds of froth and iron, we shook-
Holding the flashlight while he wrenched at engine and rubber in the rain. Ward of the physical touch. When it wasn't too wet, we'd paint the windshield to match infinity then get in and drive. Drive, just go! As we
Implode.

Or lie in feilds. How many they are, numerous as stars, grassbeds sprinkled with violets and clover. -So similar. So same. The roads (we'd race, tires screeching, screaming, outrunning, false) and clouds that look like bedroom windows.

Anything's better than home when you don't know you're sick.

Tiger, i
swim at night to keep my skins
Pale. And marinate moon-dipped tundras.
Splash, ripples as i spear tides with flesh and bone, collapse into waters taut as untested brides. 'Paradise,' I'm told, though my eyes reveal but shadows upon the shores. Not to be depressing.
Stay under with me a bit longer my love.

What.

He ate out my heart and threw it up.
Poison lungs, poison veins-
****.

Viscera numbed, spined eels wriggle,
I am ******.

****** as in : a shut-in, swain of Gehenna, rocked, rolled.
He needed more rope for his net and so cut out my tendons.

What skies to worship now? What skins?

Spring folds,
its deck shred
'cross poppy laden
fields.

Away with the heavy air and a bit lighter on the lungs!
          Color seeps
          from stone and skies
          part.

In evening-time, we walk past the old playgrounds, as always, while sleepy suns settle their eyes on lazy toes and swing-set reds.
~
Land that is known,
stay awhile.

flesh and b
                 o
                 n
                 e
flesh and b  l  o  o  d
                                          traps me
                                          |           |
                                          traps me

I made sure to /bruise/ your neck before you'd left me- your choker tattoo, compliments of cupid. I'd !******! and !!******!! and !!!******!!! but none of you had come out. I'd gnawed^.^. for your blood but my lips had burst and I'd been left with my own. With unflinching ease, you neatly grabbed me by the teeth and bent bone from gum.

Needless to say, no lesson was learned.

prairie girl, home for the summer
                    steals ceramic eyes to shade
         sunrises of gasoline kisses -
                    she lies underneath and counts
                             each, whilst marveling at snow-
                             globe winds and birds that can't
                             fly.

Steering wheels too. I grip and they slip. Zero-gravity throats and an acute awareness of how heavy limbs become when theyre unwanted. Flash past street signs ("Virginia", "Jefferson") and cars, those glistening hunks of destiny.

Dont criticize personalities, it kills.

Its all skylights from here.
(Eros collects any leftover heartbeats and I smile)

Holding the stars to his face, its nonsensical, this stash of inhabited husks and sienna skies ; we should quake with

anticipation. "Yes," we'll be grunged cigarettes, coaxed, a rained-out velvet, I'll smash bottles on traincars- like so - ($) - and he'll pick the scraps out of us with his teeth

And in the mirror is an older girl from yesterday, for it was then that I wrote every fantasy for which i've yearned upon a golden sheaf and I tied it to a kite, black and red and orange, and I watched it sail up and up and up and forever away from here, for what will dreaming do me except milky teardrops and sagging doorframes. I'd like to live a life in peace away from falsities, and it is for that reason which I cringe at the lies and shallow untruths which are spoken around my core, too close, I push away. If I could fly I would go to the seas with whitecaps of pearl and ruby fishes jumping across my lazy, sundried belly, impregnated with ideals, puffy with a folly that gives the only true happiness. But if is but a word and I am but a girl and maybe with my grandmothers looking down upon me I will be that emerald eyed fox running for the moon.

Under a younger sun
                                perhaps
                     ­                         You
might have saved my life.

                       xox
                       grim reaper

Falling asleep to love songs i'll never hear
Knowing that I'm dependent on the one thing that I fear.
I wrote my skin a letter today
'I love you,' It said, 'but never again play.'
Looking outside at the bloodred moon
Wishing somehow for a deeper cocoon.
Feel the lines underlying my eyes
Each one fought a tear for a man in disguise.
Fingers made of ashes, heart made of lead
Can't seem to repay in gold, the one that for me bled.
Patterns prevail, vibrants on which to set my mind
But not even the pen, to me will be kind.
Gather up your children for I come around at dusk
May try to steal a precious gem to fill this empty husk.
Bed of fresh snow, sheet of ancient lanterns
Lying in numbness, whilst thought of being woman, turns.

Sometimes I feel Beautiful.
incense drips from the cold tile
Exotic even,
never worth the pain bestowed
but priceless still.

'Kilt.'
'She's kilt for sure,' as the sparrows look down at us,
Bluegills pecking away toes, memories.

sometimes the
stars seem to clink
like glass and then fall
out of place and drop and drop
until maybe I guess they land in some
farmers field in Armenia or Laos and then
perhaps a young boy will go out to play and find
a feat that will take away his boyish charm
but oh those boyish fantasies will
soar

The devil has been in my bed-
Shouts with loud eyes, cures sickness with teeth that keep growing,
Licks my neck.
*
I have been away from home for too long, I
dream of rivers, of fathers with soft voices, of magic,
Where skyline and city puddle together with twinkling light,

where no one's afraid of the dark.

Forget me.
I can only bring you down.
Forget me, and you will soar on
To light and liberty bound.
Forget me.
And your dreams will come true
Because the only thing I ever did
Was to make them impossible for you.
Forget me.
I rock at your wake
The love we shared is buried past
This smile for you I fake.
Forget me.
As you look into her eyes
Forget me, and she'll be the one
Your ransom from the skies.
Forget me.
As the ache of those days fades
As you share her kiss
I stare at my reflection in so many blades.
Forget me.
And all that could make you blue
But one promise I'll keep
That I'll never forget you.

look at me with
       unseeing eyes, fevered cheeks,
so I reach
down into my throat and pull out my stomach.
Here. Here! Touch! Taste!
This is me! Thus I am!

I clench it in my fists. I squeeze, nails subducting into pinkish jellies.
I lunge wildly for their mouths, I smear.
~Alas, they also lack tongues.

I prefer that the adrenaline race alongside my bones rather than swim at an unpretentious gait and
I know it's short-lived but ,oh god, I love the feeling of no-tomorrows.

I've decided  to
swallow you w
h ole. That way
, I'll get the full
flavor without
having you lin
ger about amo
ng my  t e e th.

See,  I  haven 't
the palate for y
our earthy afte
r t   a s    t  e   s.

Tosses me with black eyes~ He,
flipping us onto our necks, whistles.

Devil, devil, look me in the face and LIE.
>.<>.<>.<>.<>.<>.<>.<>.<>.

Me again, (it's real, it's real) i can't help but tear out the zippers of my clothes for you, crunch on muscles, oil my teeth.

And the sun kisses the sky goodnight :my dear: with its evanescent arms trailing out over the waters, tickling the fish i'd bet. But,

Marbles. They're obsidian carved, best of the best. He puts them where his eyes were when we met and thinks i can't tell the difference. Well i know. Oh boy sure i do, do i know, do i.

Ran, i
{ r { a } n }
with my heart beating, beating, beating I
Think.
and in my running , a thought   !~<    Ripped    >~!   into my chest as I threw myself                                                           ­                                                                 ­                                                      Forwards:
t­hat I would perpetually toss myself out
                                                             ­        w i n d o W s
for Him.
the whole of my insignificant existence.

i am:
fall off the bone, tenderized,
dry. Caked mud falling from the mass.
God forsake me. The way in which a love clouds my nostrils and my mind will mesh shut at each new instance of the molecules O and H forming the stuff of my body, makes me faint.
I am now. Heartbeats tick unwillingly. I am yes.
Kiss me and I'm yours, I'm -fall into his arms, princess, you who have the world at your beck and call- , casual, I am innoculation.

And if it's propriety keeping me from gobbling
                                                        ­              up your suns and
                                                             ­                        moons
*******, fool i am, yes. But,
then again,
                                            id be but a shadow
                                            across your horizon,
nightmare from which you'll never wake,
                                                           ­      witch.
And, i say again, my love,
I never wished this upon you.

i used to want to be the hero

now I just wish to be saved

from myself, like some helpless

princess in a tower

i blame You for this
t r a s h e d feeling in my
heart,
oh sWeET
song of mine.

You painted me pink and gold, wrapped around me ribbons of it to become my skin, my hair, ribbon. Would let the loose ends fly, too. For windy days, i was a private ballet, swirls and leaps with me, standing there, watching you, enjoy.

She is looking out the window

again. Wishing for there to be

no window. That she could feel the

tumbles of pittering rain droplets as they

run with the wind. On her face. She

thinks on how her autumn-harvest

hair would plaster against her pinked-out

cheeks and jaw and lips. She

watches, seemingly unable to forget her

evening plans. It's down to her mother's

black silk or the leopard-skin

gloves, but both are ripped and she

doesn't know how to sew. She

isn't tired. She's exhilarated. Ready to

feel the rain and wind and trees sail

across her face and down her neck. She

sits and watches through glass panes as skies

whip clouds like batter.

And they say it should be unconditional
and it is, dear
but I'd never let you hear that from any lips of mine

Watch me diss a p
pe a  r     s
     o eas
y

li ke  s
     tr a nger
         sto a   ju ng
                             le

I want to go back to my roots,
to playgrounds and sunsets, soft grasses.
To silky skin, where winds blew
pink and unfamiliar. To before.

One day, I woke to find you lodged in my chest.
You had peeled back the skin in surgical fashion, then driven in
like a stake, flush with the sternum.
What am I to do with a man between my lungs?

I clean the wound as best I can and wait for your next move.

So I try and paint you. Because I was driving home last night and then, all of a sudden, someone turned the street signs turned into your smiles and the traffic lights into your eyes. Upon sketching out your jaw, the arc of your cheek, the nose line you so despised, I grow weary and elect to go with a sunset instead. Having limited canvas, I carefully rip your face in two, detaching the teeth from the smiling eyes, the upper from the lower. The symbolism disappears and what once resided on the backing of my scenery shot becomes a lone mouth: a strangers mouth. I erase it because it's none of my business.

The doctor’s screen flashes with
boxes, bells, ribbons
all so enchanting, shimmering, shining;
She’s been forgiven;
God says ‘yes,
you are,’ and she claps ‘please, please,’
her lungs now underseas, with blue ***** and
barricudas in search of new colonies.