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Dec 2022 · 91
Blonde Blacklight
RMatheson Dec 2022
A halo
of blonde blacklight
Skin, stretching
A canvas
The shadows
are wet
Nov 2022 · 91
A Glass Plane
RMatheson Nov 2022
Beads of water
cling to the glass edge
I glide along.
Nov 2021 · 278
Lucid Sky
RMatheson Nov 2021
I've been unaware
holding this head under water
driven in by tiny bones
ossuary of the lines on your

He's been stirring
water pours off as he rises
attracted by brittle bones
sarcophagi of dreams
Dec 2020 · 128
RMatheson Dec 2020
There is no greater clarity,
No greater freedom,
than a pistol barrel
in your mouth.
Dec 2020 · 135
RMatheson Dec 2020
I purge sans binge
I ***** scars onto everyone around me.
My guilt: a summation.
Now, if I could only figure out why
I keep sticking fingers down my throat.
RMatheson Dec 2020
Oh amber, foam-ed memories,
cast about my brain.
The evening tide pulls me away,
sooner than later, I'm afraid.
Oct 2020 · 84
Swollen Cells
RMatheson Oct 2020
These cells are full
the point of splitting,
the membranes taut
rigid with

Touch me,
ever so gently.

I'll come apart,
a fine mist.
Oct 2020 · 81
Blood Moon
RMatheson Oct 2020
I don't know
if the blankets are enough
spindled about my head as they do,
suffocating the desire right,
out the skylight
and into the blood
that sleeps above me.
RMatheson Oct 2020
Wrinkle pastel ribbons
into your mouth
right down your throat
into the pink folds of flesh,
down deep.

How can we philosophize,
when we are no better?
RMatheson Oct 2020
Coming down the carpet
between Iowa, drawing toes.
You still feel it...
the taste of chlorine (I think so)
5 AM,
              6 AM,


She has descended
her wings bursting forth
like molten metal.

I can't.

I tell her,
"This is the end
of everything,
and if I enter,
I will not survive."
Oct 2020 · 56
Mourning Birds
RMatheson Oct 2020
Do mother birds mourn
when baby birds leave the nest?
Well I'll bet the pain of two at once
is something difficult to express.
Oct 2020 · 56
Watch It
RMatheson Oct 2020
I could watch it
I could see
If that could ever
be enough for me.
Sep 2020 · 53
Limbic Askew
RMatheson Sep 2020
Do you ever get so low that so low becomes slow?
And I never dramatically quoted "that I was on a sinking
or that this heart is relinquished to obscure riddles
cement limbs
everything pale yellow-hued
cracking knuckles
limbic askew
RMatheson Sep 2020
Oh to hang (calm down)
from the neck (i said relax)
of you (see?)
but not like a necklace (how cliche')
but an albatross (as i do).
Sep 2020 · 63
RMatheson Sep 2020
There's a Greyhound destination
stolen from the eerie
little pieces of falsetto voice carrying me
through the end of times like
Revelation could make you wet,
I'll make you ***,
split between what should be
what was done.
Jul 2020 · 63
RMatheson Jul 2020
Because everyday I fall
a little bit
Jun 2020 · 133
Andy's Dad
RMatheson Jun 2020
The first time I ever heard the term
I was seventeen.

I walked into Andy's house,
to see the oil of his father
splayed across the couch,
in a still pool of ink.

"That's my dad. He's
and just gets like that sometimes."

I painted that memory into the fire of my brain,
carrying with me the fever dreaming,
the terror,
the praying to never be
like Andy's dad.
Jun 2020 · 105
RMatheson Jun 2020
did you ever fall
into the deep end?
he looked as though to fall
but in the end, he dove.
RMatheson May 2020
I've collected Fathers like trading cards.
My first is the very common, "Abandonment Dad."
I've also got the "Distant Stranger and Sometimes Estranged Dad."
Then, I've got doubles of "Dead Dad."
If you have the rare "Decent Dad,"
I'd gladly trade a double.
Nov 2019 · 138
Coal Into Diamond
RMatheson Nov 2019
Weight presses
concludes everything,
decides what is nothing,
whips an errand boy to its whim.

at the promise
of jewels.
Nov 2019 · 173
A Petal's Worth
RMatheson Nov 2019
Wrapped like candy in your skull
the skin crawling off the bone,  
exposing your white lie life.

"You'll end up the same as him, you know."

His cigarette burnt the faded complications of my life.

"Yeah. I know."
Aug 2019 · 120
Pity, the boy
RMatheson Aug 2019
He was so far down, looking up the light was nothing.

"How dramatic of me," he thought "they can't wait, can they?"

Maybe if he just broke the rules a bit farther he could be
jonesing for that hit of pure white
Beachy Head again,
and everything would be gone.

The lumination was just that: fake.
He was just that: break.

"The only way out, is through," said Frost.
"If you're going through Hell, keep going, " said Winston.

"Well I'm not in Hell, Winston, and I can't move through it, Robert."

And so he scraped the ***** root-veined wall with his cheek,
rolled eyeballs down,
and started moving his toes into the earth below.
RMatheson Jul 2019
Chew my scabs,
peel them back
(my paper mache skin).

Let the oil
of my life
flow free,
drink me up.
Jul 2019 · 132
Eyeshadow Feathers
RMatheson Jul 2019
So long ago, useless digging down.
Will I find you here?
How much more could there be?
Here, I have to pull myself apart:
the only way I can come together.
Feb 2019 · 164
Hum Electric
RMatheson Feb 2019
The edges were brittle,
the chip's corners itched
down like a metal prong into a filling,

It squealed binary hemorrhages,
subtle as a battle axe,
my pleasure,
put it past me,
in the present
where I can now hum
Feb 2019 · 193
Cold Dream
RMatheson Feb 2019
It was a blurred mirror
on that Sunday morning,
the wall, black
stretching above there is nothing
but shattering little words
that fell
into his sleep.
RMatheson Feb 2019
I'm leaping in waves,
rolling like dice.
Give me the victory,
she reads just a slice.
Feb 2019 · 196
I'm Swallowing Your Hair
RMatheson Feb 2019
She only has so much weakness to bleed,
so much effort to save,
so much anxiety to drain.

I've painted enough words.
You get the point,
but there is less a period.

I've often wondered if, why, when, and how much
it weighs.

It weighs exactly as much as the leaves
you wear upon your hair.
Feb 2019 · 109
RMatheson Feb 2019
You're bubbling up, aren't you?
Like the flesh,
I am scattering you to the wind.
Feb 2019 · 104
The Fur
RMatheson Feb 2019
   .. .
      . . .
         . . . there are feathers here.

The blue you use to wear me clean,
knows nothing of the day-stains
I wear.

They do not care.

I am purified by your blue,
deep, a shade beyond the glow of nostalgia.

Come to me again, in this copper fever dream,
rest your temple before me,
that I may make an offering unto you,
oh Queen.

I could only count so high.
That was my regret.
It's a secret I'll always tell.
So accept me, my sweet meats and myrhh,
toma mis lágrimas, y arreglame.
RMatheson Feb 2019
And baby,
you are my perfect world.
Feb 2019 · 175
RMatheson Feb 2019
But how far have we come?
The miles we've traversed are benevolent ice:
we fly,
into each other.

Love destroys.
That is only to say,
"Love makes room."
Feb 2019 · 90
RMatheson Feb 2019
He was cursing again.
The brittle drops of saline etched
their ways down his face,
carving evaporation trails.

He just couldn't fight
the feeling
like that stupid ******* song.

Lashing out, he destroyed it all.

Smiling, he died.
Nov 2018 · 533
In the Black
RMatheson Nov 2018
Like the cracks
between the sea.
Jan 2018 · 444
Losing Leaves to Winter
RMatheson Jan 2018
the trunk, withered
the leaves, fallen
the Winter, dark

And as I sat there, in the midday
That tree like family skeletal
My hope was present
My hope was bright
My hope was you.
Jul 2017 · 339
Do you know?
RMatheson Jul 2017
Do you know
that you are a light in my world,
that you are the smartest girl in the world,
that you are the sweetest person in the world?
Do you know
that you are the most beautiful person in the world,
that you keep me together,
that without you I'd be completely lost?
Do you know
that I'm not going anywhere,
that I'm all-in,
that I will fight for you,
for us?
Do you know?
Do you now?
Apr 2017 · 668
Event Horizons
RMatheson Apr 2017
Mija, if I could
I would reverse physics
eliminate the gravity wells that pull
you down.
That leave you starving weeping bleeding
crushing you within themselves,
beyond the event horizons
the tragedies in your life have left.

But I am not that strong.
I cannot alter basic
of reality.

I cannot save you from the monsters in your head.

I cannot guarantee that you will always be safe.

I cannot say I will always understand.

But I am strong enough
to hold on to you,
beyond the event horizons,
until my fingers
are stretched by warped Time,
and I no longer exist.

But I will fight the monsters in your head,
until I no longer breathe.

But I can guarantee you will always feel safe.

But I can say that I will always listen, and try to understand the

Because, Mija, I know
that there exists light
beyond the dark break
of your event horizons.
Dec 2016 · 1.3k
Death, Throat, Cum
RMatheson Dec 2016
And I remember fantasizing about your
My hands wringing out your delicate
My weeping member pumping you full of
Jul 2016 · 493
My Flower Blooms for You
RMatheson Jul 2016
When you wake,
the clouds of your foggy head shall part.

My semblance of what I could be,
my treasure of all,
the ghost in my shell.

In comfort,
feathers drop like dew to your skin,
mocha, gold, soft and hairless.

My flower blooms for you,
in this bed of weeds.

When my inspiration is gone,
there is still always you.
Apr 2016 · 528
Telephone Poles
RMatheson Apr 2016
I'm speeding down the road
looking at my phone
and the only thing
that's catching my eyes
are the telephone poles
waiting to kiss
my face.
Feb 2016 · 437
Dead Words
RMatheson Feb 2016
This is dedicated
to the dead words
Dec 2015 · 488
Lushest of Lusts
RMatheson Dec 2015
When your blonde hair turns black, through the lenses of dark ink
I cannot wash away,
I breathe your name, in syllables,
wrought like the iron fence
you built to keep me behind:


It's of no use.

You bore my ******* name,
and I cannot ******* bear it.

I choke you down, into my sleep,
down to your knees,
and I consume you,
a foaming ****** from the *****-
hole of my conscience.
Nov 2015 · 447
RMatheson Nov 2015
I feel like you are the only real thing I've had.
I feel you in my heart.
I think about your taste, your scent.
I think about you.

I think of you as a child to me.
I think about you all the time.
I think about my seed pumping into you, your *** up, my feet planted forward
(you know the position)
I think about you.

I think about your smile.
I think about that giggle.
I think about your eyes rolling back as you ***.
I think about you.
I think about you.
I think about you.
Oct 2015 · 638
I Carve You Like Marble
RMatheson Oct 2015
I carve you like marble
grind and push my chisel over every inch of your body
feather your skin with a brush
buff you with my rag
rub my polish into you until you glisten
push you down the elevator shaft
touch myself as you fall
come as you explode.
Oct 2015 · 334
Free Me, Star
RMatheson Oct 2015
I'll wear it like a broken record,
your weight, an open wound,

How quickly the everything you were,
your void, a dripping faucet,

You swallowed my love in your throat,
your gut, a churning pit,

What's left of my ability to feel,
your numbing, a left hook,

So please, free me, Star,
from the gravity of your being,
as it has left me crushed
like damp, wrinkled pages
of a book you no longer care to open
Oct 2015 · 401
The Fountain
RMatheson Oct 2015
Wake up, heart.
Gently rise, open those eyes and look
at what you could have.

**** the sadness from your bones,
lick the moist marrow clean.
Explode like dust from the Sun,
rain down into my cavernous chest,
spread life back like the flowers that bloom.

Let me die at your feet,
born again into something luminous.
Sep 2015 · 304
RMatheson Sep 2015
******* out,
through the back of my skull.
Let the soul fly free,
into your nothingness.
Sep 2015 · 409
If There's a Lesson
RMatheson Sep 2015
I'm sorry
I can't field the answers to questions
I won't relapse into.

My heart is hurting,
and I can't stop it.
I want to feel again, so badly,
but it's dead.

The muscle is not alive.

Just like my writing,
this boy isn't real.
RMatheson Sep 2015
He stares at the wall like certainty,
placebos poisoning his ability to feel.
The little special places where she once crawled,
now burn marks of self harm.
His nails won't dig in far enough.
His life won't end quickly enough,
and so he sets his ritual, his belief,
his yearning for illumination onto the prayers he sends to her,
his goddess,
RMatheson Sep 2015
All my apologies, worthless.
All my ego, a *****.

I spend the days peddling my wares through binary,
relapsing into the folded paper daisy chains of atom bombs.

My stomach is a pit of ice;
it winds its way into growth, cold fungus,
clutches my chest like a mastectomy of tar.

I've only had zero peace.

The birds I watch, the scars they show,
leave me stumbling over their hollow little bones,
like the words I try to say to you.
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