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Brielle Bishop Nov 2020
11.1.20 //

Today I masturbated twice
I wanted to try to feel again

Not to be confused with intimacy,
Manifests as moments of panic
Flashes of unmitigated rage
Wandering through doors that were never placed in front of me
Coasting on “what if” and “maybe one day”
Unaware the afternoon was coming to a close

I felt most at peace watching the sunset through the paned glass
In moments of awe
And contentment  
The physical images never match
what’s flashing before my eyes
Vibrant hues
Ever growing nostalgia
For something that may not have ever existed

There’s always tomorrow.
But I say that everyday.
Brielle Bishop Nov 2020
11.11.20 //

Mentally I am pulling my fragile frame from
The landing that meets the river
And dressing it in my Friday’s best
Pinning the corners of my mouth
While the flesh peels off
Paraded around without a second glance

All the while
No one will ever see
How the glow of the common room light
Caresses a fistful of agony
That I’m a dog without a bite
And your swan song will always be the sound of bone against plaster

Redemption doesn’t come for the wicked
My burden was released with the burning of your body
Brielle Bishop Oct 2020

I spun in a circle three times
Once for wishful thinking,
Twice for a loosely outlined plan,
And three times for an escape;
Hurling my body toward the map tacked to the wall
Marking where I will build alternate versions of myself.

I find it noteworthy to mention I partake in this activity once a week,
No set day or time
Only when I feel my skin has become too tight;

It seems far easier to glide in and out of the hands of fabricated lovers this way
Sifting through the images associated with eleven scenarios on how they will hurt you
That you created yourself
Before they even get the chance to try.

Some read to exercise the mind
Some partake in regimens enforced through pressure
That leave them unfulfilled and lonely.
Brielle Bishop Jul 2020
7.14.20 //
I met a palm reader who guessed my middle name
Normally I would question the validity of such a practice, but tapestries adorned her halls
Brought into existence by clothing of the men she discarded
To the masses, she appears barren
Only accompanied by the rattling of bones
In the morning she wakes, with her mouth tasting of pennies and thoughts left unsaid
Internal chorus of screams
And so in this instance, I welcome the familiarity

“An amalgamation of your parents....”
It’s true, the nomenclature deriving from both
Eyes of my mother
And on the topic of my father, I can’t remember his voice and yet I envision his corpse’s smile
Or how I felt him in every room of the house except where his soul departed

Tired eyes lock across the table
Notice how the lines of our palms aren’t always parallel
And most of us think in sequences of flashing lights
“We speak in ellipsis... live amongst muted shades of grey.. feel in yellow”
The emptiness begins to subside when you realize
We have more in common than you think
Most of us are just afraid of ourselves at the core
And if the broken parts of ones self allow light to shine through
Brielle Bishop Feb 2020

I once had a dream that every cruel
Act done unto me
Resulted in the loss of a tooth.
Fragments of bone,
The consistency of chalk and unmitigated rage
Liquified by blood and pooled in my mouth
Shards in hand,
I presented them to you
In hopes I could still be deemed as wanted.
Your ever loving hand ripped away at my flesh;
What I would give for you to walk around in my skin.
And yet it remained discarded, my body did not belong to me for 1460 days;
Robbed of my sense of self.

As I reflect, I have come to the conclusion I no longer want to be the reason you leave the light on.

This is not the love
I allowed to breathe life into every beginning
The one I gave purpose, such as;
The magic behind the intertwining vines that scaled the porch beams
Why snow fell on Christmas morning

At the end of it all, I used to fixate on the thought that love was dead
But I never allowed it to narrate my ending.

So here is what I’ll leave you with;
The ring was not quite my taste,
It still turned my finger green the day you went away.
Brielle Bishop Feb 2020
12.29.19 //
You’ll never understand why I stand so close to exits
Or why my notebook contains hastily etched dates
Of all unattended birthday parties
Quietly fashioning a noose out of wrapping paper
And drunkenly recalling memories of our ex lover(s) assembling a book case
We cease to know which way is up
But my mind will forever fumble its way backwards
Weaving in and out, much like a serpent
And constrict until I’ve lost my breath
Brielle Bishop Feb 2020
11.29.2019 //

I once found the body of a lifeless man
Discarded on the side of the freeway
It was the Fourth of July
With the other commuters eyes’ glued to the west,
Harmonious laughter and cheerful gasps
Filling any void of silence,
The chaotic combination of chemicals
Illuminated and rattled the never ending desert sky
Mimicking the synapses of my brain that should have taken place
All the while, I remained slumped over in the passenger seat
Head cocked slightly to the right
Confused as to why more blood
Hadn’t left the victim
And why the hypothetical perpetrator(s)
Left their **** face down
Maybe it was due to the fact that looking
Death in the eyes
Giving it a face
Is seemingly impossible for most
Terrifying in a way that destroys
Any hope of peace when daydreaming
Or drifting off to sleep
The funny thing is, when you’re selected in the lottery of chemical imbalances;
You lace up your boots,
Cross the threshold,
Venture out into your day to day life,
And the idea of Death forever looms over you.
When you’ve had your feet planted
At the edge of the Missouri River
One swift movement of the current away
From Here and There
You begin to grow apathetic to the thought of passing on.

And there’s something comforting in embracing the end, whenever that time may come.
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