Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
i’m so clumsy
i’m so full of
gasoline, and
stupider still as
i let you in
i let you win
and i let the
phosphate feel
like loving
when you sing
when you sting
i found it too
one more strike
before you begin
and you’re clumsy
oh, so clumsy
you’re so full of
broken things
and when i burned
i never knew
that i’d also become
a part of them.
Inspired by the song Clumsy by All Time Low.
i am tethered to my sickness—
brain worms and implacable affinity
soil and blood like strings on
careful fingers, knitting precariously
the loose ends, every alteration
another implication, pull hard enough
and i am tightly bound to peril
deeply fused into your liquid mercury
insensate though that may be
unliberated; as my mind is a metal can
rust and decay so effervescent
an empty clanking of unlinked adages
circulating alluvial expectations
throughout all of my weeping nerves
and stillness, if i were still able
pain could only wake me for so long
before attachment becomes a
blunted weapon, and your infection, my
bereaved maladaptive paradise.
autumn leaves
and nothingness
seasonal escapade
ache more for less

hills that whisper
junipers without whim
love without living
wounds without skin

mental imposter
corrupted serenity
flimsy enclosures
where art humanity

mountains that shake
hellebores without bloom
live without loving
oxygen unconsumed.
have you found your next darling spithole yet?
not meaning to come off rude but
i just don't have photo albums in my home anymore
of all those weathered stacks
of glossy tourist postcards and airbrushed polaroids and half-arsed private promises that led to
quick pity ***** and more simpleminded conversations (weather? news? one plus one?)
when you ran out of coffee grounds
and breakfast was cold
and the fingernail scars being shamefully picked on were still quite scarlet
like vampire tongues
fresh off a feast, a binge, a hellfest
of a hot-lipped hunger pang
how many towns did you ravage and terrorise and theatrically swoop over with your velvet raiments
how many people fainted
at the mere sight of your anaemic cadaver-sheet skin and anabolic empty marble glare
how many ****** pitchforks punctured your abdomen and how many furious torches
burned the inside of your pelvis and how many corroded teeth did you lose chewing on
leftover bones the next night
sitting all alone in your grandiose dining hall that smells of decaying rats and halitosis
spitting out the occasional tough marrow or stray spider leg (you never really got used to that odd brackish flavour),
how much of it was
worth it to you?
you were acting on impulse
some other impressive, egregious “i” word you have yet to figure out;
i can't blame you.
blame is too weak a word for anyone with half your brain to ever understand
i can't blame myself
except sometimes in the middle of the night when my teeth refuse to unclench (pissoffpissoffpissOFF)
i understand
you're the same as everyone else (nothing wrong with that i'm wrong i'm wrong so wRoNg) but
sometimes understanding doesn't mean forgiving
[just nod] yes i understand
okay fine, you crave makeup kisses
caked-up made-up fake love fake blood
painting broken boundaries all over brocade bedsheets screaming
slipping almost begging
WARNING don't cross this line and carefully step over the crude chalk drawings
where many unfortunate deaths have occured
splintered spines and shredded vascular systems and cannibal sick sighs
you barely even toed it and you lost an entire ******* arm
past that finish line
where they unhinged their jaws like singing serpents and gorged mercilessly
until their overbloated stomachs
ballooned up and burst into confetti just in time
for the next baby shower birthday party funeral eulogy
and you might be the next
will you fall for that
a g a i n ?
never ****** mind that—
because we're all about acceptance here.
we're all about holy terrors cavorting with holey beggars
we're all about your tremulous callused hands on the inside of someone's delicate insides
coil up their wrenched guts again musicman
spill your unraveling lullaby all the softly shrieking butterflies have desperately searched for a way out
and you crushed them all
just to feel iridescent powder sparkling in your stained palms at 3 a.m.
reflecting the gentle throb of the glow-in-the-dark stars and the grating television static and the godless blue in your undilated pupils
when she's lying next to you fitfully asleep
dreaming of an infinite field where the weeping azaleas never bloom (she still wonders what it meant)
ribcage left ajar just a peep
cascading umber hair and stick-insect limbs splayed all over your worn pillows
sometimes unconsciously feeling your freezing nape
and you feel nothing
at all
i hope you're happy (satisfied?)
or i hope at least, that she rinses off your fraying toothbrush after she uses it to secretly purge in your newly-cleaned toilet
if that's not too much to ask for
and you also left some day-old lemonade and reheated battery acid by the fridge door
just in case
but you missed out on buying coffee grounds again
even though there's an unhealthy smattering of pinned yellow-note reminders
right next to her faded number
and you'll be moving out next week
oh well. oh well. unwell.
my obscene picture collection is still incomplete even though it's set to display on a national gallery next week [this is your cue to clap]
but you never called back so
i hope you're happy (****—sorry—satisfied)
she's not
and please, don't forget to gargle.
you make my heart leap in fathoms;
dazed with love and imperfections, i’m
utterly smitten by you

you’re my slip of the tongue,
my careless laugh out of nowhere,
the pursuit of scarlet lipstick and radical change;
you make me hope for impossibilities and singularity

wishing there’s a dream where i appear—do i
wake you up in butterfly palpitations
the same way you leave me unready, completely
unsteady in the dead of the
wandering night?

(it’s a fickle thought that keeps me going
despite all my misfortunes and the
arrogant reality of our transatlantic million miles away)

i’ve found another “one”
but i don’t want to count higher, this time.

my ribs ache for your missing
puzzle piece, the final fractal of fire that
will keep me warm against apophenic shadows and
keeps me breathing on for infinities…

you make my heart leap in fathoms;
dazed with love and reckless notions, i’m
utterly smitten by you.
Inspired by the song If I'm Being Honest by Dodie Clark.
One too many opened blister packets.

Chalky blue tablets swallowed down; bitter, choking, dry,

Words bleed out of my brain and morph into seven-headed visions, and

My heavy tongue feels like grating metal and frigid sandpaper as

I carefully utter the slurred words that would reach no one—

"I hope you’re ******* better now."
dear love, i'm quite distracted
by that stray curl of russet hair
and those hazy atmospheric eyes
softly peeking out from beneath

dear love, i'm quite distracted
by those sweetly-serenading lips
i reckon your voice needs a rest
dare i move in now for a kiss?
Next page