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Mar 2014 · 284
Untitled
K Mar 2014
1.
Pull the door closed,
or the cold will creep in again.
I’ve only just gotten rid of the winter in my bones.
Oceans spilled over the rims.
They froze in the pit of my stomach.
I’ve been eating ice.

2.
I’m no artist,
and I don’t **** for fun,
but I want you to eat your heart out.
I want you to feel that puncturing wound that I will never be rid of.
I want you to kiss your lover with that mouth, I want you to never
Speak to me again, bid me leave, bid me free, bid me yours because *******,
you wear the queen of hearts on your sleeve, but there’s no serpent under your feet.
and all I am to you is the crown bearer.

3.
Let’s play a game in which I am victorious and you are everything I never needed.
I’ll never be the same because you are my pieces.
I’ve already locked the doors.
Goodnight.
Mar 2014 · 516
But I'm only human
K Mar 2014
I’m going to tape the edges so it won’t
cut me.  You told me this as we waited on aisle 43
and I smiled because I knew that if you bled
you wouldn’t stop.
All of you would pour out

all over me because that’s your blue-blood selflessness.
And you’re only twenty and I’m only seventeen
but you’re a sophomore and I’m a senior and how
will we do this?

I will fall down and break down knowing that the miles that keep us
apart
are not the only thing my machine heart will long to destroy.
I can see her now:
Red lips on your neck, soft sighs from the tips of your fingers,
Filled,
Satisfied,
Real.

And here I am, unhappy for me and overflowing for you.
But I’m only human.
Jan 2014 · 827
new orleans
K Jan 2014
just listen:
I gave him two dollars and he blushed at me blushing at him blushing for you-
“I know that’s your girl man, I’m sorry, here, keep it”
no, you need it more than me, I smile.  “that’s your girl man”
it’s not a hard sentiment.
and maybe we’re more alike than we realize;
you’re buying me my first sword tomorrow, and you taught me how to blow smoke rings
that reach the skies quietly.
poetically incorrect go-getter and psychotic backwards ******* we are,
waiting for six o’clock

— The End —