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Nicole H Jan 1
You spend that night at my place, using up one-fourth of my handmade soap. I cut you a piece of frozen cheesecake, said: "The fool saved you." You say nothing. You have the fork in your mouth, staring at the bugs outside persistently slamming their bodies against the window. Your eyes are a cold desert after wind, clashing with mine, a murky swamp. "Tell me things about you," you finally say. I rub my eyes for a bit.

"A friend recently got a cat and specially brought it over for me to play with. That was the day I discovered I've been allergic to cats. The same night, however, a stray barged into my house and coiled up in my stomach. I couldn't see him clearly, but I hoped he was a tabby. Hoped that he had almond-shaped eyes. He was quite vain, didn't like me much. I met up with the same friend after a while and noticed quite a few fresh scratches up her arm. 'I heard that's just how it is when you have a cat," her helpless smile was peculiarly fitting against her flushed cheeks. I also subconsciously looked down at my own arms. There were scratches too. I quickly pulled down my sleeves, for I didn't know how to introduce a cat that even I couldn't see with clarity. 'But I really love it, that's why I'm fine with it scratching me all it wants,' the friend proceeded. The scratches throbbing under my sleeves suddenly came in contact with the scruffy material, reminding me that, me too, I also love my cat. Bliss flowed obnoxiously out of the friend. I abruptly became bored of her and made up an excuse to lay in bed for the remains of the afternoon.

It was very hot, even with the windows open. So I just lay there wearing nothing. That was the first time I witnessed the cat without question. Witnessed his claws pierced crudely through my translucent stomach, so much that my stomach also flushed red. I remembered my friend's happy flushed cheeks. Perhaps my body was fading out, for I could even witness the shape of his ears within my guts. They were big ears. He might be just like me, good at listening. I let him ******* me. When I next regained consciousness, I could finally see what he looked like, because my guts had long been hollowed. Seconds before fear took over, I glared at him hard.

He was a grimy cat, indescribable in pattern, with a pair of murky eyes. It was as if he was laughing at me. 'You're so ****! You're so ****!' I cried, my own eyes shifting from murk to ripple. 'You just want my body.' I tried stuffing my scattered organs back into my open stomach. The cat stops in his tracks upon hearing this. 'Not just your body.' He leaves without a care.

From then on, my stomach always seemed eerily hollow. My organs remained but he did not. Yet the scratches on my arms began fading. I had the friend never bring her cat over, nor speak to me about such things."
2017/4/13
Nicole H Dec 2018
grab me by the scruff of the neck and retrieve me from the gale outside.

the glow of the night clenches the window panes and wets the curtains,
the membranes of dusk and dawn blurred like your shadow and you.

i was born to you with my eyes shut and ears closed,
ensconced to your chest it did no harm.

the glands in my mouth dissolved the membrane and resolved the remembrance.

in the ****, i was bobbing up and down.

i washed up upon your shore,
amniotic waters rushing out of the closed canals of my downturned ears.

handed you my wee sailor cap and on your head it perfectly perched.

smear me with tallow

steer me through wallow


there is no anchor other than you
2018/12/25, 2018/12/31
  Nov 2018 Nicole H
Frank
Hush now, its just m̵̗̐͜e̵̢̍ͅ and you.

You're asleep.

We have lots of c̴̠̈́͝a̶̛̞͘t̶̪̊č̵̨̝̊h̶͙̖̎͂i̵͍̰̒͊ṅ̷̮̥ḡ̵̼̲̿ ̸̭̗̌͗ų̴̳̑̽ṗ̵̞̫̃ to do.

It's ok.

Ill tell you everything you did w̸̧̹̗̝͈͌͊̋̅̿͗̚̕ȑ̶͙͎̯͓̓̈o̴̢̭͙̫̠̮̹̬̮̫̫͋͛͛̒̓͐̄͆̓̀͗̑̊̽͝ͅͅͅṇ̶̛̻̑̆̂̀̕­̡͇g̴̢͎͇̩̹͚͈̈́͗̈́̽.

Its ok.


Ill tell you e̸̺̖͖̘̺̼͖̗͕̹̦̺̼͇͇̣̫̮͎̹͕̣͋̌̐̈́̑̂̓͂̆̐̒͒̐̔̒̽̾̆̅̕͘͝͝v̵̙̿͛́̈́̍̀͝e̷̽̂̓̌͗̚­̧̧̢̱̖̬̣̦̬͖̤̲͇̥̥͇͕̍r̵̭͙̥̺̙̜͉̹͕̽̍͆̈́̉̽̾͂̋̕͝͠y̶̡̜̝̮͙̞͖͔̻̻͙̲̒̅͐ͅ ̶̢̧̩͚̝̰̺̜̎̈̀͆͐̉̀́͑̊͂͐̌̒̂̀̃̊̊͘̚͘͜͠d̷͎̤́̔̽̂̑̒͐̑̈́͛̾̈́̿́̊̅̾̕͘̕͝͝͝e̴͋̐͠­̡̠̟̥̼͈͇̫͉̙͕͕͜ṫ̷̡͎̪͈͆͆͠a̸̗̼̤͚͉̟̞̞̥͓̹͔̼̩̟̔̒̏̌̉́́̓̂͒͌̋́͂̑̎͒͜ͅi̷̋̔̅̈­̧̡̡̰͚̱̝͍̱͉͙̎̇͒̈̐̓͛̔̅̔̚̕͠͝ḻ̷̡͖̗̝̿̋͋͜ͅ.̵̧̛̻̼̪̥̘͙̹̜͇͉͎̈́̉̏̐̉̉̋͑̏͆̓̓̀­̥̮̥̜̱̲̱̠͈̦̤͎





Y̸̢̓̌͐̎̒̒ö̴̩̞͕͍͕̣̼̼͕́͗͑̉͋̈́̃̓̀́͊͘͜ͅú̸͐̿̏̒̃̉́͗́̔­̧̨̦͚͙͎̹͈͕̲̻̘̟̩̏ ̶̩̝͈͈̪͕̺̪̼̞͓̙̐́̉̌̒̐́̆̾̂́́͠ͅç̵̧̧̯̹̺̤̙̝̳̺̻̩̲̲̃á̷͕̙̥͍̻̀̚n̴̽̅́̓̀̈́̕͝­͇͓͓̮̰̣͔͉͕̝̓̍̊t̵̨̡͍̰̰̘̖̜̖͐̇͂́ ̵̘͔͇̩̭̤͖̹̺̥̙͇͎̦͓͇̉̆͑́̽̃͑͛̃͂͝s̷̮̜̬̩̞̮̖̪͙̫̪̱̗̠̣̾̈̌̽̉̚̚̕͜t̷̓̾̔̒̎̇͐̚͝­̼̹̖̱̟͈͍̦͈̜̩̃̒ͅö̴͚̤͍͌̑͝ͅp̴̧̧̧̭̼̩̭̗̗̹͔̘̏ͅ ̸̜̅̏̎̐̊͆̌̐̇́̒̍̈́̚͝m̴̧̧̰͕͈̣̬̰̯̰̦̲̣̀͂̋̐̿͛̚̕̚ë̵͍̤́͠.̶̩̞̻̭̯̘̥̪̥̱̰̅



­
Because I H̷̢̧̻̭̹͎͚̭̤̤̲̲̦̹̹̣̞̪͈̞̤͚̰̰̞͔̥̠̲̱̮͓̳̞̪͈̺̦̘̲̺͑̅̽̔̑́̆̄̑̿̒͑̏̑̾̌̈́͑͆͘͜͝­̝͎Ă̶̢̧̡̛̰͕͇̹͙̹͕͉͕̞̥̗͔̭̪̣͙̦͔̥͈̬̼͛͑̑̓̏͊̓̄̌̒͗̈́̾͆̓̊̿͛́̊̈́̓̃̀̎̒̽͘̕͝͝͝ͅ­T̸̡̢̮͓̩͉̞̥͍̻͉̯̠̮̩̪̺̥̪̥̤̦͙̤̯̞͖͈̠͎̰̫̬̠̩̯̜͖͙͓̦̞̬̯̀̂̒͐͛̄̋͋͆́͐͋͘͝͝ͅͅE̸­͇̤̖̲̟̲̾͊͆̇̄̃̀̓͊͊͆̏́̕͜͠ you.
Nicole H Oct 2018
my body is a pond

pondering body of



a pastime of skipping stones

rippling raphes

limping lips

collapsing clavicles



pop a lilac on my iliac crest.



how many hops can you make before sinking in my ****?

how many stones can I take before drinking from your stash?



[Stone skipping (or stone skimming) is the art of throwing a flat stone across water in such a way (usually Sidearm) that it bounces off the surface, preferably many times. The objective of the game is to see how many times a stone can bounce before sinking.]

*

my wellspring is a floodplain floodplain floodplain floodpain.
Oct 2, 2018
Nicole H Oct 2018
it’s almost as if i can see through you at times, it seems,
your translucent, slender torso leaning on a rim
with a **** of your head, you look at me through the eye of

a dripping jungle, a tropical storm gargling
a homely beating, a nostalgic scene brewing
a solitary pension, a forlorn siren searing


“it is i,” you say as we pass by the lips


yet it’s almost as if i can see through you no more, it seems,
your opaque, flimsy torso bending on a rim
with a sleight of my teeth, you look at me through the eye of
the shreds of a battered bond; nothing more.
  Jun 2018 Nicole H
Ernest Hemingway
If my Valentine you won't be,
I'll hang myself on your Christmas tree.
  Apr 2018 Nicole H
E. E. Cummings
let’s live suddenly without thinking

under honest trees,
                        a stream
does.the brain of cleverly-crinkling
-water pursues the angry dream
of the shore. By midnight,
                                a moon
scratches the skin of the organised hills

an edged nothing begins to prune

let’s live like the light that kills
and let’s as silence,
                            because Whirl’s after all:
(after me)love,and after you.
I occasionally feel vague how
vague idon’t know tenuous Now-
spears and The Then-arrows making do
our mouths something red,something tall
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