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Mar 2019 · 186
love me like u love him
elliot Mar 2019
love freshly baked in the oven. filling made out of cherry jam and pretty hopes. does she ever get sick of pretending? genesis leaks out of her mouth and she smiles sweet. ****, she's so beautiful. angel with the stardust halo and ripped wings. she says what he wants to hear.
   i think she's tired. god, don't you think she's tired? she wants to love his scarred hands so bad. but every time they tremble, she grimaces. baby, wants a boy who can hold her with clean hands. a boy who doesn't love her so badly. the boy who lies right back. fishnet shredded sheets underneath secret pride. she wants to love him like he loves pills . but he's too sweet. too mean.

and the boy? god, he's tripping over himself. drug induced comas and love feel the same in his bloodstream. he's all jealousy and numb drilled eyes. he buries himself under the road and waits for the cars to come by. always felt bored of everyone and everything. except for her. she's what makes him feel alive. bringing shock into his system and spitting him out. oh, ****. hell.. that boy will never love anyone like he does her.
Mar 2019 · 179
whale cut curtains
elliot Mar 2019
im the in between of everything. mildew heart made to be a pin pouch, kept for when i knit. fishnet curtains stitched with suicide attempts and fear. every crevice cased in hospital visits. the paramedics sigh when they see me. "not again?" they ask hungrily, as if my hollow drilled eyes can feed their paycheck and maybe their ego.
    kiddie technicolor walls drawn with the images of whales that the youth group scribbled. the whales are drowning now.. forgotten how to swim. choking on plastic bags made from arrogance and money. i want to be whole again. i'm so very tired of the cold air and my trembling knees. i gulp down the manic pills like the goldfish my ma kept in her fish tank. did my grandmother feel like this? love so deeply that they took her away to a place with pills kept up in locked spaces? shoe strings cut with safety scissors. i bet it was scarier. i hope that it wasn't.
Feb 2019 · 167
fog lake
elliot Feb 2019
when does broken stop being beautiful? my ma asks over her honeybee tea. i think about it long and hard. my legs are still trembling from running away the fifth time this week. my chin is cased in dried blood and i gasp for breath hoping to seek mortality.

     i look at my ma. this town has been ours for too long. hollow fields of poppies and daisies. just the way my dad liked it. i drink in her eyes. sad and tired from so many children. my chest closes up and i feel like i've done something terrible. like robbed a liquor store or broken a heart. i can feel it crawling up my ribs , like gold dust spiders.
when it takes the ones you love, she whispers at me filled with something i can't quite describe.

i let myself drown in the words. i feel like i'm back at the lake, my legs entangled in the boys with sharp teeth. my hands whimpering under the moss. but-but this is home. my shoulders start to shake.  my eyes become the moonlight. sad and cold. please don't give up on me. she holds me into the new day.
this *****
Feb 2019 · 587
rosie
elliot Feb 2019
i thought i saw her in my bed today. the left hand side where she curled up into me. rosie's rib cage against my knee. the soft hymns of her breath carrying me to peace. she looked at my skin and blushed. the stars were ours.


   rosie isn't who i thought she was. her mouth is a gun and she shoots right through me. she doesn't remember the night i kissed her. -my room breathing as if it had a heartbeat of its own. the house was on an astral plane of its own existence and my wings drifted me through. rosie doesn't have wings any more. she tore them off with her own hands. blood has been dried under her nails since.

  we used to sit on my roof listening to the moon. on cold nights, he was easier to hear. i wanted to tell her i loved her. deeply. i wanted to tell her how  i could feel her in my veins constantly. i knew she'd laugh. rosie always thought that was a good joke. so instead i told her about the night i puked pills into my ma's flower bushes. rosie was the only person i could tell words to that were hard to say.
:/

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