i’ve memorized the record grooves that impart your voice,
your lungs,
your soul
to me.
a quiet tune of drunkenness and anarchy
that ends with a kiss.
it’s true, i desire you greatly.
i need to feel your aching spine and whiskey lips,
and even though it’s all a fantasy,
i’m in chains again.
for the fourth or the fortieth time, i can’t remember, only that a token of kindness can send me into swirling spider webs and i think you’re the best - above all the rest - like i always do, each paper doll comes down the path and i claim him, i love him, and i see him everywhere, but when the buckles are latched and i throw the key at him,
he doesn’t notice, and fades away.
maybe you’re better, but you’re certainly like all the rest and this charade will play on and on.
and i shall crumble, become the dust and dirt underfoot.
and you’ll ascend, not knowing i exist.

if all things must pass, then why doesn’t your ghost abandon me too?
like a nebula blossoming out to the cosmos, i poured my soul to the milky way and heart to a made up destination, where, if i dare love something i am assured of its inevitable departure. in my hands, the heart feels like a loaded gun, ready to shoot new thorns in my sides.
who cuts deeper, the needle or the thread?
which do you feel more, the needle or its smooth and silky venom?
what burns deeper, the longing for you on humid, sticky nights or the cool emptiness on your side of the bed?

if all things must pass, then why won’t your ghost…pity me and vanish in the white hair of smoke, curling round the windowpane, it hung itself on the fog. i could go on about how vile you were, but its a list that has no end and have already fire to on the effigy of you in my mind, atop that pedestal. but so surely you would fall, one thing leads to another and i need the plates to stop flying and crash, breaking on the floor, and the television to stop playing static. it’s no use to cry over cracked china or black and white distortions if your cheeks are never dry.

liberate yourself, ascend to heaven.
deliver me, let me sink with my demons.

the light looked like flowers that bloom only at night, the shifty ones, that ebb and flow with the alcohol resting on your breath.
you're so tough to get to, you know that? one million effigies burnt,
your name,
my blood,
entwined,
and set aflame.

like a warm day in the middle of winter,
you don’t belong,
and remind us of better things.

i don’t like remembering last autumn.
2. i don’t like remembering last spring.
3. "i wanna make it, i wanna make it wit chu."
4. i loved you, and you as well.
5. i never made a playlist for paris.
6. "the less i know the better"
7. "better late than never; just don’t make me wait forever."
8. that’s the problem with falling in love with musicians, they’re immortalized in songs
9. maybe he was just important for that moment.
10. like a … a… a thing, that bloomed and burst in an instant.
11. supernova?
12. memories are how we travel through time.
13. we are living in the future they imagined in the past, it’s just not the rich and glamorous silver machines, it’s the dusty poverty.
14. "i couldn’t love you any less than now."
15. we want the exact same thing, but for some reason you don’t want me.
16. but sometimes you did, isn’t that strange?
17. did you always have to be drunk to love me?
18. or loving me make you drink?
19. i had a 10 day love affair in paris, how ******* poetic is that.
20. i miss eating chocolate croissants for breakfast.
21. everything is the same, and everything is changed.

arms
a tangle of legs
i’m blind
and i’m following your breathing.
the drumbeats of your heart are keeping rhythm
as we drift along a black expanse lifted up on diamond shores.
and all i can taste is your skin
and all i can want is your more

maybe it was before the salt burned your skin when i was a waitress writin’ out recipes for Death prescriptions.
maybe it was when my hair was long and reached to my knees and in the summer i lived rooted in the good black earth, skin burnt by ultraviolet fingers.
maybe it was when the cancer creeping took hold of my insides, with each dose i took to fix a broken mind, the virus extended through my arteries and veins.
maybe it was wicked, all a fluke. maybe cards lie and candles don’t reignite.
maybe i’ve lost my touch with words and ramble on in the dark, just like the oozing musician...