i keep my soul hidden now beneath scattered tattered notebook paper pieces in outdated shoe boxes & deep between the covers of books, crisply underlined & strong- strong there, only there, with those words. most days i wake praying for rain; that tender soft world which it provides me with, drowns out the ever constant hum of traffic, arguing, the war on television, the growing sigh of humanity.

here i am.

I’m driving down some typical road all the roads look exactly the same here the streetlights passing by one by one by one. counting patterns in the road & I’m watching the swarm of black birds hanging over the highway; they’re swimming in their own way; kissing the sky & diving back down. that comfortable feeling of breaking skin
my blood may be the most priceless thing i own & maybe it’s for that reason i want to ruin it.

The idea is that my life is beginning to feel like one big joke & i’m god’s punchline.

my stomach churns. i can’t eat. Nothing equals out. The stupid world keeps turning & i’m not going anywhere but down. it hurts– nothing specific. it’s all lies on top of lies on top of half-truths on top of lies. Unraveling. Detachment. i can’t go anywhere or do anything. Everyone is out to get me. My existence is nonexistent. i’m stuck in a really horrible drawn out chess game & i’m always the losing piece. i’m selfish. you are like a weapon & an addiction all in one.
By YOU i mean EVERYTHING. whatever you want to call it, it’s all the same end result.
odd-man out, downfall.

i’m hurting all the ******* time & it makes no sense.

the clouds just hung there like traitors. No movement. The numbers won’t add up. We’re divided. No release. Lights ricochet against the water like wounds. Cut my heart out & paste it to the cardboard cutout i’ve been reduced to. No movement. Decorate it with glitter- the expensive kind like you like. i have no eyes. The clouds just hang there but still they seem to manage change. Am i just the same? is that a question or a creative form of denial? Can you deal with this?
Plot your next move. You are the chess player & i’m the queen.
But you’ll never really get me.

There is no real ending. Time has lost her breath. Maybe i don’t know me. Running in place but i’m on empty. No rules to our love. No designated direction. No reasons. i’m the champion of failure, pushing my own face down in the mud. I’m the maker of destruction enjoying every last bit. Wishing lives came equipped with erasers. Happy being sad. (i will not call you. i will not give in.) Wishing on half-broken street lamps. i always knew you could never mend a broken heart so why do i keep trying. That’s not a question. it’s emptiness, everything.

i am my own prisoner. i know i know IKNOW.

*Taken from "I Killed Alice in Wonderland" by Brixton Bell. © All Rights Reserved.

you no longer plead for me to call,
it's an order because you know
i'll obey. you pull me by the metal
lead, wrap a medal leash around
my neck, weighed down with the gold

of your lip print against
the dangling token, sometimes when
you sleep you push my name
into the blue clouds with a whisper
and i always come back down.

The back of the fire truck says "call to report arsonists."
The 800 number is at the tips of my fingers.
     But how can I report hands that sent flames licking up my thighs, kisses that left my lips scorched, smiles that ignited a roar deep in my stomach.
     How can I report you for setting my world ablaze, my heart on fire...
                                 And then leaving.