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Helena Jun 2019
Closed systems tend to maximize, Daddy gave me hint & warning sign. I beg him to decorticate my stubborn rind,to draw the line -----
a graceless short fat thumb-scratch. ***** finger, rough disorder, I unwind in the presence of infection. Bandaid glue and patchwork sweat, chaos in prevention: self- destruction.
Helena May 2019
bowling-pin Tom
tastes like
sour milk and
monthly payments
I run around his kitchen
dressed in lethal
butter knife

my railroad cat
with eyes that
play-pretend the almost
catch me´s
finds meaning in my
nursery rhymes

Trailer park escapism
joy in school-bus
traffic rides
otherwise inconsequent
ring dove hands
that scrape
my sea-salt thighs
Helena Apr 2019
my roman nose did not
fit the cupboard womb
as I stared at
the silhouette
of a ketchup stain on  
a breakfast table
raw burger meat,
ripe debutantes
all bathed in
glycerin and
waiting for teeth
or the occasional knife
(chaining themselves
to trees
whose seeds mostly

I came here alone
(use me and squeeze me)
the insides of the
shrinking constitution,
the demure dissident
such a thrill
to smear my guts
all over the newspapers
to see the visions
of the
ink so

I pressed
the greasy
diner table
arms crossed
to hide my face behind
a promise to be
waiting for you
open mouthed
and mute
chiaroscuro, blind
Helena Mar 2019
I am the shirt you bought
when love was kind

you pressed your head
against the garment rack
and held my ridged noose
like a child
that finds grip
in calloused hands  
and you found
brawn in
polyester sleeves
and warmth
in my youth´s
tender cotton

You bought me
when you still
prayed to silence
and howled in whispers,
with your teeth latched onto
the mesh bars
of a silver cage
and you called me your equinox
and I was your hope
when you didn't know
my name

You wore me,
when you still
wished time
would run away,
when all your past felt binding
and the unknown was safe

I am the shirt that you now keep
all paint-stained and shriveled
in your locked  
bedroom drawer

the one you catch a glimpse of
next to the lonely sock
and your father´s shirts
(the ones still stained with
blood and ***, the ones
that taught you to be fair)
and now you dare and
look at me with
soft despair
when I can't help but shed the

I become the air that seethes
through the accidental
armpit hole
Or the break of air between
the kiss you share
with the one you love
Helena Feb 2019
cyanide kisses
subtle, deluded
swaying softly
against the tender
of a sweaty cheek

subdued candle flame
four hips gyrate to
the quiet sting of
counterfeit moonlight

the raging constitution
of knowing your eyes
But pressing hard to
kiss his cough-drop
and all this sudden asphyxiation

not looking up to conceal
all the things I see
in the quiet ammunitions
of the letters of your name
fading away
ink bleeding with
his sour hot saliva
in your hallmark ricochet

the one you kept in the shirt pocket
you kept close
to your heart rate

I am afraid.
What to do with such unspeakable emotion?
I will hide beneath the surface
of the fine lines of his face
and forget about the almost
the tide against
the rage
in a ship of my own making
an anemone bouquet
the last reminder
of the time and the day
you made me feel
Helena Feb 2019
I'm a wailing cry-baby
In neon
torture devices
I'm a broken antique plate
in the contrasts of
Your silence

Hidden green light
in your ocean eyes
Hidden meanings
in indulgent nursery
Words they shrivel
and I can only shiver
in face of your anatomy

Say nothing,
and tell me everything
So I can keep
stretching my arms
towards unreachable

Say nothing,
and tell me everything
So I can
fade away in the fire
of my rage
Helena Feb 2019
forsake me, anemone
forsake me
I´ll paint every other
flower red
while you stain away my tears

forsake me, anemone
forsake me
you never gave me permission
to only find God in you
you´re not to blame

the sun´s dull filter
a heart next to her name
so I´m drunk
with his saliva
on my face
(your hand
like an invisible string)
forsake me anemone
forsake me
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