Whispered body types
replayed melted melodies
Do you feel the jive above your head?
Stick, stick our toes
Where was that porcelain face in that cup, so bitter?
Trick them with polished giggles,
I know you.
Little, Insignificant, give me your
bones to crush and huff.
Forgive me. Not.
Candid rush of paint
retake, retake, retake.
That girl should have been a
reindeer, she's road ****.
We are soft grunge.
Play it by fear.

I intently studied this nauseating flirtatious jive
shared badger from you to me of our relationship already framed and fitted
we never fell asleep at decent hours, ****** dry
we were just another product of society
we questioned the reality of a world never belonging to one
so to be swayed in the music cold, taking it upon ourselves to never hold our heads too low
we connected the tissues past pure plentiful parking spaces
I saw it happen to us, taken over by fixation
letting words fall from my *** into the world where you stood bewildered, courageous lark it was, you made me into girlish shrieks
expecting a slight coldness from you I decided to sulk eating the dust
I attracted my own thoughts remaining unhappy as you were oblivious our chosen concrete pathways: the negative.
Child, as we were envisioning snow angel memories
hallucination, love, courting to a distant yield.
Child, a rush of adulterate naked plea
who wandered busy streets grasping mace and typewriter keys
make fun with your water bottles I'll dedicate a song to you
Child, salting your French tongue we shall fall apart only once we lie beneath the ground curtaining our once frenzy shell
Child, who put her ******* to the air as she wrapped her ******* with bandage
wearing those skinny jeans a hipster queen lenses in front of her face never did a thing
Child, make away with a masculine feverish clean your witch hands do graze his bare skin
Child, who broke glass bottles on her head to prove she was real, grew lady ***** as they were called
in an effort to uncover what happened to the corners in a circular prism
bid farewell your worrisome thoughts of homicidal suicide
Child, scare the stop signs, the fragility of your former state has asthmatically fallen
do not break me in half though your capable eyes do trace the outline of my body and feel my bone hidden beneath thin skin and weak muscle, veins of blue
Child, who tore out the steeping cool of a farfetched acid tripped visionary iconic lie crucifying their  dirt stained bare feet to welcome pain, a hello name,
Child, who blasted **** yo couch into their ****** distilment we have nothing to lose let poured
down CO2 fill my lungs as I readily lie hiding from herb grace o’Sundays
oxytocin expelled from our uteri we turned our back on the slight touch of pale skinned parts
skipped meals skipped beats my heart weak fluttering grows strong with the running of my fingers in
your fresh cut hair
they questioned my appetite, whispered missing, she never met the standard, they had forgotten
we let ourselves become our own nonconformists but we never admitted to it
we yelled Bullocks at those who threw us into a status quo social movements mainstream.
craving to be old fashioned, we lowered the skirts in our mind and forgot to swat the message that
our ******* made us inferior
Futures of Singularity we were scared of an age of machinery
tossing our new cameras flat screens cellular devices iproducts we read books and intelligence floated above us.

Department store leg warmers
sharing the stage with thrift store achievements
candle wax and I can't recognize futuristic defeat.
Here in my corner
red lights, behind plenty of ears and tattoos
cardigans, cardigans galore.
I've seen them all before,
these cardboard cutouts.

Lamp, desk, repeat
lamp, desk, repeat.
I love the view when everything
dissipates into jean and jean and
t-shirt

I was reading when you're pineapple hair scooped
up my conscious mind
behind books and bags,
books and bags and cups.

Part I

My body never prepared to run out of air
celebrate it?
I said Send.
I said it again and again. Send.
the world's loneliest flipping machine
withering from your obtusity.
I'm sclerotic.
Yes, yes that's it.

I want to stir you
strike you into soup.
I'll observe the dictionary,
every word will flow from me to you.
Flip, flip off the diver's board,
Blank and Blank by the shore
Color it in, out, up, down
I'm sclerotic.

Remember this, need this
counting people all in pairs:
I saw everything through sixteen vision,
bleary, misted with vanilla yous.
Soft skinned, little girls, hot and milds between their teeth

I don't hunt but I could.
Autumnal again and I'm just repetition
speaking of repressed rage.
Let us analyze the handwriting of every
colleague, drop out, ghost buster,
Coffee house inspired.
I'm sclerotic.

I'm walking through the forest and
you're not there.

Part II

I write because I'll die
I die, I die, I diee.
It's been too long since I went swinging
Missing my pour of moon to the tip top
of my new ceramic mugs.

It's all up for traps
the reindeer, the telltales, the chlorine.
Hyperextended among the cruel cats, where are the cool cats?

REVERSE back to nail polish
I got manicures as a little girl
Staring at my hair now
every shaved bit on my leg is its own waterfall. Hah.

I cry for my beauty
I was told I was wrong with
highlighters, colored ads,
illuminated in the eyes of old dogs.

Take a gulp,
I did and I walked
for every moment I regretted.
I walked.
Childish foolish acts, crimeful commitments.
I said Send. Send.
She said you might not like me but to never fret
you love me.

I'm walking in a tunnel
(Where's the light?)
and you're not there.

Part III**

This is the beginning
of a low-budget film, black and white
this part is when the audience yells
"Someone fall in love already!"

I think there is something truly remarkable about me
(and you)
and the boy who cried wolf and
probably other people
too

I don't want my words to dissipate or fall
into space
disappear in the inners of the web.
I want them to creep in through the crevices
speak to the many as they
walk and see and notice.
I find a strange comfort in swinging at night in
an empty park
and a intriguing mystery the first time someone sighs my name.

I'm swinging in the park and
you're not there.

Rabbit-hearted girl
fox-witted boy
I will mist till you see me as epitome.
My lassitude has grown
but here I remain
waiting for you return
so you can hear
my lullaby

Under the strain of
a gleaming lightness, chronically
sitting across an empty
chair.
Book, book mark, pen, and a
glittering loneliness to sting
the rest.