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You know that time between
the seconds, when minutes
don’t mean a **** thing
and a lifetime of memories
flash by like lightning bugs
when July turns to August
and then September comes
with 1 less day to worry, 30
doesn’t seem like much, but
a month of lonely Sundays
followed by a single Monday
well, hell, it ***** a bunch.
your F major eyes
are a color only i can see
for that reason i am fully convinced
you only made them just for me.

the ghost of your fingers
still lingers on my guitar strings today
the ones i still strum
with the things i’m scared to say

i no longer hear your F major eyes
nor can i listen to your G minor hands
your E major skin
i’m doing what i can

but now under all the harmonies
the only melody i hear makes me sad
i’m only playing loudly because
silence drives me mad
my teeth
              are thick blocks
                                         of white.
that only seem to find pleasure in
interrupting my speech
and my smile.
they chatter while broken
          and phrases
crawl hesitantly out of my mouth.
i carefully mold the definitions
and the
wrenching metaphors
into clay that’ll dry up in the sun, and
              like a pin.
and i feel my bones come together
in my state that i call my own
           my eyelashes off
clipping the idea of being full grown.
i ignore the fact that some things are inevitable, always cautious not to be too aware
what i see
is a completely separate being
moving in the mirror.
i watch you spit toothpaste
into the sink
and cry off your makeup
that i saw you spend hours on
this morning.
i’m stuck
in a two-dimensional buzz
and i watch my body do the things
i should be doing every day.
****** teeth
Dripping in the sink
Watching all that pain
Drain away
So perfectly
Summer sun
Lights up my white
Putting pins and needles
Up and down my spine
Painting out
My chalk outline
On the corner of Lounge Avenue,
somewhere between Lung Cancer and Grey Goose,
I wait for you to come and tell me
you miss seeing my **** face in your bedroom mirror.

I wait for you to cry and tell me
you slit your wrists on your broken mirror.

I wait for you to surprise me.
i like your landscape
your scenery different
from here, yet we have
queen anne's lace too
yesterday we swept along the new bypass
yet the flowers were gone over though
else where is all rowan berries and rosebay
willow herb

such a day
freedom from driving
mapping the land
pausing in montgomery
go google

the next destination

your road is straight
as was ours
roman up to the castle

today is quiet work
again to see what comes

have you heard about the dam
at whaley bridge?

news on the radio
i have to be careful
how i spell things
what no one has ever told you about the devil, is that they aren't real.

my mother gave birth to a rose with pure innocence. clementine, raspberry, oh! look how sweet she looks like. the glow she produces, everything her fingertips touches becomes stardust, and her stares can feel bittersweet - get burned or ache for bonfire inside your home? either way, you will discover how hungry you are for the thrill and torment.

beneath the pillows is the pain - how easily forgotten, but it will never stop regardless of how many white dandelions she will plant at her backyard.

her bones marbled amongst the other, calm a crocodile upon its attack, distance - that's what she's good at. i wish this dampen cloth made from grief does not cloud her judgment. she made too many ruined choices, embarked a journey alone once or twice, sew the torn sheets, spilled four caffeine - and still, all she knows is how to look at the stars with tearful eyes and buttermilk aroma smile. naïvety. a great trap, i suppose.

   ; don't you know how much i want to drown those lovely sins? it makes me think of the galaxy i once felt, and like metamorphosis, it turned into wishful skins, then slowly, burned into ashes as i try to nurture the wooden skulls. i shouldn't have done that.

will you light an aggressive fire for me?
look what you made me do

... the devil, perhaps, it's within us.
alternative name: lilith's rage
don't touch my skin
my whole soul is burning in hell
i think i've put myself in here,
didn't i?

don't come looking for me
when i am gone and withering
i opened the cracks once again,
didn't i?

this feels like coming to my own funeral;
honeycomb in tea, destined battle
i told you i am fragile,
didn't i?

don't come looking for me
when i am gone and withering ....

alternative name:  full moon
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