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Bee Dec 2017
Pathetic parasite
of a woman
perpetuates
love indefinitely,
a plague
upon hopelessly
romantic people.
A performance.
Smiling, always.
Hates
good news and
sleeps around,
sleeps
surrounded
in black light.
Wearing sunglasses.
Her day is
nighttime.
She breathes
aesthetic,
instagram posts
to survive.
But thrives, only.
The numb gummed
princess cries
every day and
yes. She said it,
even
a hundred times
but
language
proves flexible.
Same words mean
different things
and we
obviously don’t
speak the same
language.
I meant mine.
I didn’t know
she’d sell hers
for snow.
Fame.
Attention from strangers.

Welcome home.

Winter came and stayed,
love never lived here.
Bee Sep 2017
this
sweet-eyed
breathtaking
catastrophe
of mine

hoarding
clutter to the
ceiling fan,
filling void
somewhat
while
trying to
understand

how involuntarily
she crumples
like paper
littered
on the sidewalk
of my brain,
riddled with
scribbles
and nonsense
words,
her ink
blotted
voice like
feathers
under pressure
being
pressed against
whatever

white knuckles
her neck
and
hot talk
from
cold chests.
ingenious
security

boarded up doors
and
one-way glass
windows
to
watch
from inside.

for a moment
she calls
out to me from the
woodwork.
she almost
reaches
for the lock,

she almost becomes more than just paper
for you.
Bee Aug 2017
Has anyone else noticed
that we
date with the
caps lock on?
Yell loud
of love
posting pictures
perfect
poses, smiles
gleaming with
hope
all over.
Shoving happiness
down our friends
throats.
LOOK AT US.
Look at this.
How we
dance in the
light of
intimacy
and laugh
at the hand of God,
declaring
immunity of
his wish for us
ever to separate.
All because
the
contents of
tomorrow are
something
we don't know.
And the ignorance
inevitably
breeds karma.
Expectation is
toxic.
Sleep inspires
evaluation.
Is this
really
what we want?
An eternity of
being
wrapped up in
sweaty sheets?
Is this love??
Sunrise awakens
a predetermined
separation.
Distance,
the space
now put
between you two
is silent
and untouchable as
love slips
away
anything but
slowly.
A decision
never even communicated.
And then
the phone doesn't ring
after work
like it always did
which
sets the tone
for
the rest of forever.
And forever was
supposed to be
together but
now
it's shattered
with pieces missing,
so you wonder
if you are whole
at all
or if you
were
maybe
always a half.
Sort of
incomplete
development
from the get go,
wonder
if you filled
your life with her
just so you
weren't so empty.  
If
the hole
you feel
in your stomach
when the
wind blows
is
where her hand
used to go,
so she stole
that part of you
completely,
thinking
you'd hurt less
if there
wasn't muscle to
hold the memory
of her touch.
Wonder
if she
walked out
on the forever
because her fate
changed its mind
last minute
like she
always did
while ordering food.
And
you think, nine times
out of ten she
ate half of yours because
hers was no good.
So
you wonder if
sometimes
she feels
the way you do.
If she misses you.
If she made the
wrong decision
and
she gets hungry for
honey.
Or if,
he keeps her full.
If the wind
plays with her hair instead.
You wonder
if it was you.
Undesirable.
Second best.
No, last place.
Worst in show.
The words
echo
repetitive
in your quiet room.  
The words
knock the breath
right
from your chest,
you can't breathe.
She only
thinks of you
as a
sick memory.
A regret.
She spits
angry words
at the love letters
she keeps
only
with old news papers
to put
under the litter box.
To start fires.
To pack boxes.
You wonder
if there's still
a little
love, if
she just
forgets about you.
So insignificant
you're like a red light.
She just waits for
you to be over
so she can go on with her day.
You hope
that the light might
break.
That it will stay red
and she might
rethink everything
while she
sits there stuck on you.
If she misses you.
You wonder
if fate makes mistakes.
But it doesn't.

So get the **** over it.
Bee Jul 2017
steady
flow of tongue,
red
sheets fly off
corners
touch
blistered lips.
blood runs,
enough to be a river
down the
valley of her belly
drowning.

admirable
tolerance, her
stained teeth
talking
sweetly,
hands abuse
love exists
but not enough
for you
to preserve her.
mouths brush
against each other
gone white
clasped fingers,
her lost breath
flooding from
blue cheeks,
gasping
until you  
let lungs continue.

she wouldn't be here
if death sounded
uncomfortable.
it
kills her
not to be your favorite.
if she has to
give it because
body
means everything,
if
beauty is obsolete
she will let you take
every day
this week
because
she's weak and
needy.
she
reapplies
clothing like routine
and locks the door
with her key
when leaving
but gets
no kisses
goodbye


why you don't feel bad?
Bee Jun 2017
Soft skin
sliding slippery
silk in my
hand
like it's
singing
smooth jazz to my
finger tips.
Slow motion
solo
sending her legs into
vibration, the
bass in the background
around my ears
as the
moaning continues
as melody.
Quiet. I
wipe her ***
from my bottom lip
And ask her
to taste it.
Taste it again.
Look at me.
Focus.
Me
and you
now.
Through the
darkness of this room
and the
emptiness
of my eyes,
Please don't
get lost but
lose yourself
a little.
I don't want to be alone
and I want to
make music so
Release these
ideas of
sleepovers
and romantic memories.
Run off as easy as
your honey does and
only love for
this moment, love.
You mean nothing
but to feel something.
Bee Jun 2017
yellowing teeth and how
elegantly he drives this car yet
still there's motion sickness
as I hold one nostril to inhale hard
through the other and I've been
doing this frequently enough to
know it won't get better soon because
love like this doesn't fade as the
seasons do and I've tried to make
winter end quicker but the chill
lingers longer than the
tremble of my legs and the
numbness in my throat. I feel old
like an oak tree and weak like a bee
against a boot but
I feel free, still. Flying
disembodied
I feel love I sing
I ring through alleyways
at three in the morning sometimes
six. The song of the lost child
bouncing into brick walls calling
anyone to come find her.
Bee Jun 2017
You think it's love.
Screaming from
rooftops professing
untrue concepts
obsessing over
nothing.
She wakes up different.

She wakes up indifferent.  
Hours prior,
vulnerable
*** naked
infatuation.
Her voice her
eyes her touch it all
swirls around
raspberry in the evening.
You think it's love.
Sunset against
her smile
as night ends the week.
Smoke, ****.
I guess city kids don't
sleep.
You think it's love.
That clouds would part
for the sun to
shine on her
the next morning.
That
you are worthy of
her light.
You think it's love.
Every song sounds
like her laugh.
You haven't heard it
in weeks.
The radio plays on,
crackling
driving reckless
auditory hallucinations.
You lose yourself
in the last
sip, swimming.
Used to it.
You are confused.
She goes on to
show herself to someone
new.
I still think
it's ******* love.
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