My brainwaves have been blocked
By self made walls of calloused membrane.
Familiar.
The sound is familiar.
It's acidic in it's memory.
It sits.
Slowly eating away.
Fresh waves flood through,
Connecting brain thoughts
With heartbeats.
The acid stings.
Burns.
A fine frenzy. Candles. Cotton sheets.
The acid eats away.
Allowing the flood.
But it offers relief,
Soon eating up the flood
That was ****** to begin with.
It's all connected.

That place.
With it's red vains of life
And breath, laced with sage and dill.
First comes the sage
Then comes the dill.
Juniper trees surround our tiny bodies.
Innocent eyes gaze at rapid wings,
Soft flesh, and seeds burst.
Sweet dew envelops the taste buds.
I skim my feet on blood red carpet,
The lines perfectly aligned.
Hopscotch through.
Never want to disrupt the perfection.
Time is still,
It dosen't have relevance here.
I prefer it that way.
TTFN.

He looks at me with half searching eyes.
A swift nod of the head.
Quick.
Too quick.
But a hug.
Too long.
Lacking in it's effort.
Meaningless to me.
Means everything to him.
I straighten my shirt.
He has never realized what he did wrong.
Does not want to.
I don't want to.
This is strange.
We are strange.
Too close,
But equally as distant.
I prefer the distance.
That is the truth.
I can never feel his truth.
It does not radiate.
                       Looks again.
Always
    With half searching eyes.

It's early,
But not too early.
It's grey and calm and it's what I know to be the best.
Birds, so many birds for October.
Their nonchalance is refreshing.
Just easy and calm in the not too earliness of it all.
I think they like it too, the grey.
The grey is what I remember the most out of scattered,
Tattered memories.
And breathing.

She looks at me with what I think is love,
All I know of love;
I tug at my hair nervously,
She watches my hands with discontent,
I love her hands.
Me, biting my cuticles,
I think she may *****.
Few words come out of her mouth,
All carefully calculated
Like an incision on the first layer of skin,
Quick, clean, sterile.
Next comes the smile.
Wait.
Re-do smile, 1,2,3,4,5,6,
No, 7 times.
The smile doesn't reach her eyes.
I frown.
She looks away.
"I like your outfit."
Through smiling pressed teeth

And that is all.
She looks at me with what I think
Is love.

Such a pretty page.











Full of such secret rage.

He didn’t give her time


Just ripped the petals

with not even enough thought to ask


She loves me, she loves me not.

She loves me


She loves me not


He just stained them pretty blue

Like the blue that attracts birds to the sky

He didn’t even explain how gravity worked.


Children need that

translucent seashell

sitting in the big blue blue

Moon mother watching
Paled, for the proud sought Sun

best when her craters are blue

Grocery sack full of orange soda

And Hot Cheetos.

It’s the only thing that brings some excitement in those bobble eyes. 

Eyes like the moon.

Mom says.

When my body was miniature, she pressed thumb and forefinger on oak shaped cats tounge.
Grandpa beckoned me to the next limb.
"When you can see their eyes, you know they're ready."

Your ice storm continues

Only
pausing to smell the frost bitten roses

Of your own creation

On your own time
Wrapping your young in fridged walls that resemble egg shells 


Call that spring

Call it summer


It’s
 always the same

And now, the youngest

She’s taking it to heart


It’s
 coming out in deep breathes

Of toxic air
She's named them, Tina
She wants to set flame to it all
I think I’ll let her
I

Think
I think
I’ll save her
And then watch it burn

In the night
When our shadows barely touch
anymore

I'm found running towards the moon
Anything that bares strange light

Pulling odd darkness from the tips of my toes

Your heart is as opacus
And as full of serects
as the grey matter that makes up my mind

We saw Godzilla today

I ate too much candy

I gave my doppelgänger a ride home

A home that has never been mine
It’s never really been hers either 

She was so ******* excited to ride in my car 
It made my stomach hurt
So excited to listen to my playlist

It made me want to jump out of the car
With her on my back
A left turn into suburbia would have led me to my “childhood” home
I wanted to weep with the willow they tore down in that park
Instead I took a right onto dodge
And threw up

I pressed my body hard against the tree, trying to suffocate it's sadness. Memories, the past, future all came rushing out of the **** on its trunk. I'd picked the scab too much. I was holding an infant, brown curls and a matching cut on the top of his forearm. I was holding my father.

Hearing your name is 
like hearing an infant say 
dada! for the first time
Phonetically I know it’s easier
The babe will never have daddy issues at the rate she’s going
But I’ve got mama issues
Alwayswantingtobeeverythinglikeher
Alwayswantingtobeeveryt­hinglikeher
Alwayswantingtobenothinglikeher
To you
I must be

Everything
like her

That biology project you do in 7th grade where you put a kernel of corn inside of a wet paper towel, and a week later it sprouts cute little green roots

When Jacob told me I had gunk in my ear, but didn’t know what it was, and that it was disgusting

middle school
Quick moments of total awe and mortification

I think I’m allergic to this face cream I’m using 

EVERYTHING IS SO ITCHY

My hell is someone telling me how to do something, without me even asking

I’m cutting these green beans and barely missing my fingers,
I can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not

They (the green beans) smell like a 6th grade field trip,
where we went to that lake and scraped pond ****, and then looked at its inhabitants’ tiny glass bodies, writher around on top of that hot ***, glass microscope slide. Burning in the focused light. Poor bbs

This wasn't meant for you.
Leave my house.
The man didn't close the gate.
He just entered and didn't want to leave.
It was a wrong connection.
I didn't want you. And now everyone is here like they can be.
You're still here like you can be.
Frantically preserving what's mine.
You dissolve into a shadowy nothing. And you're gone. But I'm already upset.
And now grandma is telling me it's gunna cost me 1 million to fix my front deck. I tell her I think it's fine the way it is, she visibly, passively, dissagrees.

I was 23 the last time I cut into milky white flesh
Just below the pelvic bone
Hushed screams under shallow curtains of air and water
Deliver me
I'm awake
So awake
Coercing the wind to carry me
Forcing lucid dreams
Slowly choking up flem
In awe of flesh like textures that touch the mouth
Lips teeth tongue

Why do we carry these things within  us
We'll be better tomorrow
I swear

I’d rather feel the pavement 

I’d rather skin my knees

I’d rather feel the warm rust
underneath this
gross flesh

I’d rather tounge my own
wounds
My own
forgiveness would feel better

It's intimidating, being in a room where everyone has the same hands.

I feel like it should have been more obvious to me, but either way, I woke up how I was intended to.
There is no escaping this weight
Everything seemed to be existing in shades of blue and green, with edges of pink sickness.
I watched her try to be happy
In turn, that wound me up like some demented jack in a box
I sipped soup out of a bowl with soaking shirts in it
Admired the new growth on my plant, picking off the dead things.
My dads belly and words were so full, I could smell the sickly sweet promises that came dripping out of his mouth.
His mouth was moving so fast, so wide, and so open; full of nice teeth.
It made me want to die
Really though, it made me want to fade away
Softly though
Into the grains of the hardwood floor

I love hearing my mom talk about the first time I watched Madam Butterfly.
I was 5 years old and it was the primordial moment of complicated emotion for me.

Do you know what I dream about?
Pine trees with long blue flowers,
heads like trumpets

My whole family massacred in a house with good lighting
During a game of hide and seek

And everything is so green
And beautiful

I can
Never stop
Thinking about
When you were gone
She left your
Old used towel
Slumped on the floor
Right where you
Left it.

Today I am an oil painting
Slick and wet, a fever dream
I am your "angel" in the outfield
Screaming
And you want me
to comb your every hair?
Lap up every shorn tendril?
With pride
We keep petting ourselves
Asking who bakes for the baker

Kirsten blew his head off,
in front of me.
and all I could see was blood on the wall
and a feeling of happiness
A feeling of
pure
Happiness
It was sun kissed,
hazy and warm

****** suicides Kirsten blew your head off
In the bathroom
With a shotgun.

Why did I wake up?