There's this girl I know
Her name is Elise
and she's cute

My brain is losing touch with reality
I wish you were here with me
So lonely on my own
Be my everything
And let's make a home
For us to live in
A future for us
To look forward to
Me and you

And I will kiss your shoulders,
When they are bare and
Wanting for a kiss.  
I will twine myself deep into your hair
And pull,
Until the back of your neck prickles
With delight.

I will creep in a single stream of honey
When you wrap in your shades and shutters
And pour golden, sticky sweet
Directly into your heart.

I will get lost amongst some cloud or mountain
(You cannot blame me, for as I do
you do often, too.)
And just when you have forgotten
How I warm those certain spots you knew not existed
As I creep through the blinds as you bathe,
Illuminating where you are broken, or soft,
I show myself,
In all bright and shining splendour.
You will forget me not.

I will let you indulge in me,
Take me in until you flake and rip
In chunks of bitter rust.
I will delight in how I eat away
At what once was white and pure.

Come night, I will leave to those
With sharper tongues and bigger hooks,
And you will be cold.

You will claw at the walls on which I once shone,
And with bleeding fingers
Rest amongs the grasshoppers and watch,
Waiting for my reflection in the new moon.

A deep and sprawling swell
Crept its fingers deep and well
Around my stomach as it fell,
And rose.  Each breath a tell,
She's alive.  She is well.

Despite a heart that ceased to beat,
Molded to tawny and rusted to effete,
That despite all attention and treat
Leaked a pussing and steady gleat
That could not help but secrete.

Though I wrapped wrapped my wounds with my hair
Where once hands grasped my neck, wet and bare,
Cocooning deep in skin without care
while I, unaware,
Opened lips and gasped in ecstasy.  Or despair

As he shut my mouth, shut my eyes.
Made me convert, communed and baptized.
In making me what he wants, made  me what he despised.
Leaves me, but one kiss and leaves, and my heart dies.

****** from the start for what I not knew,
Now I'm ****** for what I do.
A knowledge i never sought to accrue,
Wasted.  Through.
****** by me for being ****** by you.

i am church
poetry is church
sin is church
art is church
blood is church
lust is church
little girls selling lemonade is church
sundays are church
mondays, tuesdays, wednesdays, thursdays, fridays
saturdays too.
church isn't a place
it isn't anything
but everything
and god sees all

jump back
bruised eyelids
blooming purple flowers underneath pale
skin
bare skin
veins scratching towards
the surface
clawing
and clawing
to get out,
to bleed
just slice the razor
beneath your thigh
let the blood lie
let it lie

the ache of a violin
thrums in your stomach
a soft sad whisper
and a gray smudged tear
ink calligraphy on a cheek;
a wreck of beauty
so wonderfully ruined.
a glorious ship sunk
and decaying in dust
under leagues
of ocean
reminding us
that the prideful
can be broken.

hell, i know i'm a pain in the ***
i get angry just at the sight of a cracked glass;
because i don't like things that are inconvenient
and i don't like when you hide your feelings.
i become a dam with some poor fool's
finger shoved into the hole, while i continue
to fill with watery rage, until
flimsy fleshy fingers
stand no chance against
the current that is my fire
and i knock the silly fool
straight off his feet, and the streams rush, unhinged
right, bullseye,
into you.

I keep putting myself into a smaller box,
And then complain that I feel claustrophobic.
And I make the walls thicker,
And I make them sound proof,
And I make the doors increasingly harder to open.
And then I complain.
Because I put myself in a room with pictures,
But no windows.
I do it so that I can't see the present,
And I can't see the future coming.
All I can see is the past.
All I can see are pictures of my old boxes,
The bigger boxes.
Boxes that I could get out of.
I'm in one without a door right now.
I'm going to stay here for a very long time.