she wanted to be
a killer bee
so she honeyed up servant girls
and placed them under
the fruit trees
but upon severing the stinger
a bee loses it's lust
so she left them to the bugs
and took on a bigger love
for pins and needles
and fingernails and a pale face
laced with pain
when they scream she shivers and asks
them to say her name again
when she was still young
her husband taught her necks break
if you bend them back fast enough
eyes go blind if you cut them
crisply across the iris
peasants can go missing and
no one will ever know
god help the ruthless mistakes
nobility makes
dorian gray in her mirror today
****** erzebet kissed the servant girls
like jeffrey's boy with the hole in his skull
she must have looked beautiful
in the moonlight coming through
the dungeon grates
and they finally found out
bricked over the windows
left a slit for food
minotaur in his maze
she thought she'd show off
for her funeral
but she is alone
the bodies decay
now she is a killer bee
in a cage

54

If I should die,
And you should live—
And time should gurgle on—
And morn should beam—
And noon should burn—
As it has usual done—
If Birds should build as early
And Bees as bustling go—
One might depart at option
From enterprise below!
’Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand
When we with Daisies lie—
That Commerce will continue—
And Trades as briskly fly—
It makes the parting tranquil
And keeps the soul serene—
That gentlemen so sprightly
Conduct the pleasing scene!

"I'm sorry for being imperfect...I was born this way...there's nothing I can do about it but it doesn't matter cause i'm perfect in God's eyes."

i recall the perfect sounding pinpoint on a map
a theme park and a wonderful family
the aching cavities of cotton candy
a rollercoaster in the gut
and a mother who cares too much
and the problem of being a child who is always
fading out and pulsing with the lust of being almost free
running towards the exit eternally

and i remember jesus in the golden plastic picture frame
the silicone watches your daughters wore
and the pieces of polly pockets wedged into the carpeting
you blushed when i told my mother i found a tick on my arm
after playing dress up in your daughter's room
not everything holy is blessed
not everything unsaid is innocent
the sun and god are no better than a shepard