Je vivrai toujours avec cette tristesse
qui va et vient avec une telle vitesse.
Je suis les feuilles qui se cachent dans l'hiver
et ne se souvient pas du printemps d'hier
Don't follow the wind when she blows by your cradle bed.
She'll pick you up and leave you lying dead.
And you won't remember the view
because you were too young to notice she grew bored of you.
We became the ants trapped in the sky.
The ground as our witness; building clouds to pass the time
Feel the cool of the rain
but do not imitate the droplets fall between your eyelid pains
or tie paperweights to your kin
before the knock lets herself creep in
As years grow heavy, your conscious will slip
to the ground that you kiss with dry, blue lips
And the chimes will sing a lullaby
Forever spent flying, but you only have so little time.
"hey, do you want to go fly kites?"
she led me down the ocean green
that whicker in my last nights' dream
fingers trickled down like spray
sweet voices linger the next day
oh seaweed mistress make my bed
make sure that I wake up dead
send me to the ocean queen
let me wake inside her dream
the rust on these walls
has begun to beckon and call
me back to a state
of wanting never to look back
so young and obscene
my cold brought by warmth
is stagnant as times shuffles forth
to new chateaus uphill
where the numbers live in safety
on beautiful screens
I'm still there when its storming
listening to the bells and ghosts swarming
as echos in these halls
still alive in the ways of this building
growing old and mean
Our tears have solidified to rust
now far too late for most of us
to reclaim forgotten comforts
cast aside with indifference
in that foolish scene
but those walls still stand in concrete
rotting away in summers heat
still guarding the memories
cast aside for sake of forgetting
ever being thirteen
The glass walls shield me away from a world contradicting the one in my journals. My experience is limited through generations of filters designed to rid me of challenge and deprive me of ambition. They have prevented my escape with their attentive care. When I step outside my throat closes at the smell of flowers, eyes water when its sunny, legs tense up inclinations. I could burn myself inside of this townhouse and I'd still be freezing. The uncomfortable is as foreign to me as the tops of trees. I am only exercised out of obligation to the billboard queens and anticipation of physical intimacy. I breathe out of habit. Fresh air tastes like money. I can't walk outside when it's raining, for fear it washes away my face. I am sanitized until numb. Educated until dumb. Holding my breath so I fall out of consciousness and into a blanket of stars. Each of them brighter than ours. Meant to remind me of the sky hiding behind my glass walls. Neither waiting for, nor needing me. Simply having the autonomy to be.
i dont remember writing your birthday on my calander
but i don't see why i should
when the point of having it there in the first place
is so i don't have to remember these important dates
rather, just how to read a chart
but August 27th was always your square
even before i drew candles in the corner
and i dont need a flipbook to tell me how to remember
the anniversary of someone like you
still i wish you'd remember mine
maybe you should try writing it down
its december 30th
An existentialist sat quietly outlooking the garden,
offset by the noise of a steady heartbeat
and the warmth of his skin.
He was dismayed by the smell of dirt
writhing with worms and pumpkin seeds below his porch,
so he kept distance from the steps for fear of collapsing;
letting them rot back into the soil.
He began resting his eyes against the midmorning breeze,
for his nights were spent awake, listening to lonely calls,
feeling their whispers reverberate in his fingertips,
unable to satisfy them with reason
so never sleeping out of fear of submission.
Only now under the prying sunlight
does he understands the need for light at both ends of the tunnel.
Letting the rock of the chair run lose momentum,
his thoughts run through a stream of finite silence.
Did you **** him?
You slit his throat.
Well, I guess.
So you admit it?
Might as well.
Why'd you do it?
the end is nigh in a grocery store parking lot
full of lost trolleys turned batting cages,
barren shelves seemingly feeding the hysteria
there's another clean up on aisle 3
a gallon of 2% milk coats the floor in white
then turns a sickly shade of strawberry
when a woman unknowingly cleans it with her bleeding hands
No one is left to check us out
so we'll wait until the stains are gone
it's only a minute but that's all it needs
so we eye each other behind masks
and clutch our bread flower
not able to distinguish a glare from a smile
because all our squinted eyes look the same
Especially in 5 o clock lights
when we come home from offices
that double as playrooms and bedrooms
infirmaries and wards
but we're all itching to crawl back into our cages
and to be fed when the zookeeper makes his rounds
in morning updates and nightly news
we pay and run
jump in our cars, still full of gas
wipe off our milk
and sing happy birthday to the trickle of the faucet
written 5 months ago, oh how the times haven't changed
air comes cold when it blows in the summer
fields now bare star crossed lovers
made way for us; the calling birds
we wait outside the doors and curbs
alone on branches and powerlines
our silhouettes aren't hard to find
old walls of bricks, of straw, and birch
have wavered not the mighty chirp
crows and sparrows in the night
are unlike you, we need no light
for then comes machines and bustling towns
rings of rosies falling down
no need for such when you have wings
take comfort in the flying things
she was so beautiful
so i plucked her from her bed,
denied her a glass of water,
and suffocated her between
so she could stay
is only being in love with the idea of myself
behold the product of my isolation
the disease turned the sky gray
and our forests into highways
stained the passing cars with blood
with those who continued along old paths
while the rest of us hid anticipating the hunter
the movie was saturation
dialogue like poetry
people like greek goddesses
when the dog died my
eyes filled up like wells
but the movie wasn't real
just a mask the world wears
to laugh at itself in the echo chamber
it only became real when I let it
you are a
who hides the same dilemmas
behind a mask of
and toned stomach.
who may not lose weight
but will always count the calories
who won't hide for hours
but is "tired" when she needs to be
who learns to communicate
but never speaks unless prompted
and who studies the same sad songs
over and over
just to spark the past's turmoil
you're happy now
because thats what you said you'd be
three months improved
yet you're still
i drew a flower today
and the longer i stared
the more it wilted
into individual penmarks
ugly and random
like stains on a white shirt
unphased by the wash
i looked in the mirror today
and the longer i stared
the more i noticed
the slant of my nose
the scars on my cheek
ugly and random
like stains on a mattress
unphased by the eyes of another
he still loved the picture
i cannot feel your pain
the walls in this house are too thick
my ears only register your shrieks
i still don't know what they mean
mom is stagnant and docile
your punching bag
dad is watching jeopardy downstairs
he adjusts the volume
to the flares of your voice
the arguing still lingers in my apathy
i don't sleep let i miss a sound
and when the commercials break
i'll listen to the crickets through my window
but it's just background noise
i don't know what they're saying
the doors in this house are close
still i refuse to enter a world
where you're drowning in your own tears
hoping someone will come to save you
rather than learning to swim
to be locked inside that room
i press my body against the doorframe
and listen again
but i only feel your silence
he still spells your name with an "i" instead of a "y"
even though you're the one who fixed it in his contacts the day you watched him write it down.
it doesn't matter.
it's just a small mistake.
just like the one you made this morning when you didn't realize you were being asked a question.
not being able to distinguish your name at the beginning of a sentence when you're not looking for errors.
responding to his text messages.
typing out his name.
tracing back over red lines.
he might not be able to spell your name but he takes the time to spell out:
Baby instead of Babi.
**** instead of Sexi.
Easy instead of Easy.
Lying instead of Lieing to you.
and now you're starting to see the world through his "i"'s.
so you'll stop reminding him.
stop asking "y"
only with him
I was only serious when I said to send postage.
Your mother's tongue dries around the cats you brought off the streets
and your brother stole the room you'd rather gaslight.
I can still see you riding in on street corners whose light never concerned you,
so you won't have to make the bed you never sleep in.
I was only speaking when I said goodbye, tuned in and out by the radio wires wrapped inside your skull.
Your visits bring back more than packages wrapped in twine.
Walking on stilts and stepping over homeland;
you must grow dizzy from the way the world spins.
We were bred in nuclear captivity
Raised behind the safety of stained glass.
We learned to follow the leaders,
memorize the Billboard Top 30,
sleep on apparently royal mattresses,
make love in forest green colored cages,
make money by counting other people's money,
track the number of times our feet hit the pavement,
and then die on a 700 dollar couch.
Still unable to believe in a god other than this one.
We don't trust the rich man with our money,
and we don't trust the homeless man either.
So maybe money has nothing to do with it.
tonight I'll steep my tears in tea bags
and listen as the kettle shrieks
burning my tongue
and warming my teeth
salted chamomile send me to sleep
is stuck down in the drain
wetting my dress
and drying my veins
it grew in too late
making me spin
in a hellscape of hate
nothing's the same
and everything's great
are shedding their nails
to blood on the trails
cannot hold their weight
my bones look the same
as the ones on my plate
nothings's the same
and everything's great
it knocks and it shakes
pinning me down
how low can it take
should rot in a case
inside of the flesh
where I used to be safe
nothings the same
i'm going to faint
We never stopped inflicting
The wounds our grandparents gave us
They withheld the inventing
Despite dulled knives
And cold summers
Running their course through weakened veins
And softening our skin into old newspaper
Then as she parts
She never leaves
Lingers as dust
Or a palm on concrete
When she breathes
She needs not air
Her now scent gone
The dress she wears
Swatch of silk
That wind commands
The jagged edge
Of her silver hand
Her whisper creeps
Through carpet halls
on garden wall
And teapot bubble
She stays a spell
And means no trouble
A gentle hum
With every set
Shes merely gone
But she never left
— The End —