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Becca Lansman Apr 13
finally; after i have clogged all the drains in my bathroom;

the tub--
stomach acid stained, a lingering ghost of putrid bile.

the sink--
gurgling chunks of yesterday.

i buy four XL bottles of drano
only to empty them within the month.

my poor ancient drains--
begging me to stop baptizing them in electric acid.

my throat pleads  the same.

i dissolve the body of my secret lover
but can't seem to rid her haunting memory.

eventually
i cannot pick up my sack of skin to confront the drug store clerk for just one more bottle of drano.

forced to my knees
singing  lullabies into the toilet bowl.

trying to wake myself of this bad dream.

hey God-- remember me?
I have built a shrine on my bathroom floor for you--

a well of unseen tears.

how am I simultaneously less and more body with each waking day?
trying to birth and abort myself with the same *******.

i am the sick twisted joke with no punch line.

i am drowning in my own toilet bowl--
i have built this grave; and now must swim in it.
Becca Lansman Apr 12
It is comfortable here

The purging.
The pulling.
The pressing

Molding into less space.

Chasing

Smaller
Smaller
Smaller

Ornamental skin over bones

You feel safe here
the control
The confined
Closed Corridors

You have made a den out of your guilt
Now you must live in it.
Becca Lansman Apr 12
A shadow enters my room
Immediately I turn to clay
Gripping and molding I become
The shape of his hands

Suddenly
I am a broken record
Making music in all the wrong ways
He throws me on the ground

and I go silent.

A cascade of force hurricanes my small frame,
I quake
A bee without a stinger

Our bodies orchestrate
like an out of tune violin
He tells me

“you feel so good”

How can two instrument play such different sounds?
The same chord just out of key.
He tells me again

“you feel so good.”

I dry heave–
mistaken
disgust for ****** he strums the last note

collapsed
he cradles my cold dry shape

how can two bodies feel
in such different hues?

Him- red, hungry
I – parched, pale

I think—
He must be color blind.
Becca Lansman Sep 2019
your dripping fingers
reached into my stomach
scratching
each long fingernail against the sheath of my organs

not so long as to puncture
but just long enough to leave a lasting mark

the scar of our leftover lust affair
seared into the very core of me

your handprint; like a remembrance flag
waving
tall and proud
planted right at the place where my world begins.

a windless sky—all shame and no remorse
your name carved into my night blue veins

i am all breath and body and heaving;
you are all skin and stone and night sky

pulsating like a parched tongue on a seasonless evening

i am all blood and bones and fire—

ignited
i swallow myself
for fear of burning Our entire town

my skin turned ash; all that remains is

You

burnt and becoming;
We pulsate in the remembrance.
Becca Lansman Mar 2019
My bones bubble with lava
red pustules absorbing the hot air an angry cloud full of
hail and snow and sleet
blockades my throat
I am all feelings and no action
all body but no voice
Wet and Wanting
All ears and no mouth
All tongue and teeth and spit
but no words
A violent storm with no landing zone

What am I to do with all this wreckage?
Becca Lansman Sep 2018
You walked into the butcher shop
eyes of blue determination
asked me to hand you the cow heart.
Still beating, i let it slip into you hot palm
letting the blood trickle down our arms as our fingers featherd each others wrists.
You took the corpse and slipped it deep into your jean pocket like a secret love affair.


You asked me if i wanted to go swimming sometime. It was not a question.
I cordially accept your wet invitation.

We splashed in the melted blue like children yet unbroken by the cruelties of living.

We ate each other.
Starving
you told me i was the first meal you had in months
and i, so innocently believed you.

The next day you invited me over for dinner. It was not a question.
Full on lust i accepted

Hot
you opened the kitchen door quickly and whispered down my spine,
my body like lava erupting before we made it to the first course.

On the dinner table lay the butchered
heart.
Still beating you asked me to take the first bite,
and i, brimming with your desire- did

I swallowed it like a rock.
pulsating through my core, shaking my small frame.

You kissed my stomach.

The next day i awoke in cold sweats.
Feverish
Vomiting up my stomach lining chunky and undigested.

I left you three messages.

Sick. White. Quaking.
I waited.

Disintegrating into myself. The flesh melting off my body like a landslide.
A hurricane in slow motion.

I waited.

you skinned me like a thanksgiving turkey
left me on your kitchen table to be picked at by the angry flies.
A slow meticulous death.

You said “look into my eyes.”
And i was so lost in the blue i allowed you to take the knife right to the place where the world begins.

I was so in love with an idea.

I ate your heart without question not understanding that you cannot consume someone into loving you.

What goes in must come out.

Now, what is left of our lust lines the bathroom sink.

A bath of blood and bile
I obsessively pick though trying to discern where I went wrong.
Becca Lansman Jul 2018
My body and mind are at war
two beings occupying the same skin

the diverged desire firing bullets into the heart
creating a cacophony of chaos within me

One--
******* the jar of peanut butter
hidden by the blanket of dark sky
hugging the fridge like a newborn
caressing the chocolate bar wrapper

Two--
crouched over
crying in the shower
pinching my skin until bright pink, hot
with anger

trying to resurrect myself into someone more holy
trying to starve
out the monster within

only to find myself back on the bathroom tile singing gospel songs into the toilet bowl.

a cyclical strom
that will not stop raging

like a perverted lover
always, somehow
dragging you back home.
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