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Laura Aug 2013
And sometimes,uncontrollable depression lunges into me, through the back of my head. It’s a painful and terrifying surprise, it knocks me off my feet and it ties my hands so no one can help me up. And like expensive ink it spits on everything I try at, and everything I find meaning in, and it takes days to wash off the stains.
Laura Aug 2013
He carried her home as she slept
Her dress like a wilting flower
He set her down in a pool of moonlight
So the dress dried on the loveliest hour.
Laura Aug 2013
It began beneath a hot tick
Slipping off the clock like honey
Landing in a small, round summer,
Existing inside a piece of fruit
We stayed soft ,
We dabbled in sweat and citrus from the sunrises.
We were hornets
Molly tossed herself against the glass
I watched the yellow  chip off her back,
I watched it gather on the bottom of the jar
I loved her carefully
Until summer rotted
I loved her while being smothered
By the guts of a dying, edible season
I loved until it was all mixed
Hornets, hours, and fruits
In a jar
Laura Aug 2013
It began beneath a hot tick
Slipping off the clock like honey
Landing in a small, round summer,
Inside a piece of fruit

We stayed soft,
We dabbled in sweat and citrus from sunrises.
We were hornets

Molly tossed herself against the glass
I watched the yellow chip off her back,
I watched it gather on the bottom of the jar
I loved her carefully

Until summer rotted on top of us
I loved her while being smothered
By the guts of a dying, edible season
I loved Molly until we, and the hours were flattened
Stuck on the bottom of the jar
Laura Sep 2013
She’s a burning, beautiful, ****** tease.  When she runs her hands over my abdomen, she breaks everything familiar to me into complicated shards. My only plans were to study with the other Molly. Then she shows up, coiling herself around anyone next to her, jokes about ***, waits for me to finish homework so we can go to Nomad, says “can we pretend to be lesbians tonight?” I said “I guess”, but I’m thinking “what? Really?” A ******* tease.  She lights two cigarettes and slips the extra one out of her mouth and gives it to me. She talks to Jason, and I find a beautifully attractive 36 year old named Miles.  I let Miles run his hands down my back, then I let Molly have a turn. It goes back and forth. I’m so torn between his cute glasses and sweater, and her wild hair, and long black skirt. But Molly’s also got her dangerous eyes. The ***** gimlets came out again, and she tries to teach me how to salsa. Grabbing me tight: “I go back, you go forward, we meet in the middle”. Then as if there were a timer in them, her hands dive for me, all over me, wonderfully everywhere. Her hand slips down my shirt, but that is another tease. Her other hand pulls my shirt down off my skin, but I stop her out of instinct. She decorates my cheeks with the longest lasting kisses. She blows in my ear. She asks, “Are you uncomfortable?” I say, “No. are you?” But I’m trembling below. She hands me to Miles again, and I watch her lips eat up another guy, while he goes farther and farther up my skirt. I let Miles’s hands be rough. I let him kiss me, and then pull him outside so we can interrupt them. She says, “You speak Russian to him, I’ll speak French.” Foreign words loft from her mouth like cigarette smoke. Miles leaves after I refuse to go home with him. Molly gives the guy her number, takes my hand and drives me home. I say “so you’re getting laid tonight, I’m going home alone. Again. Alone again.” She says, “What if he doesn’t text me? Then I’m all yours.” I don’t expect her to follow me inside, but she does. I put the kitten in her arms, she says “where’s your room?” and we fall on the bed. Nothing ever escalates from careful strumming of fingers on skin. But when I complain about getting no *** again, she starts to speaking words that are sexually vicious.  “Well, we’re both wet. I’ll tell Miles how you like to be touched when I’m gone. I’ll tell him–[in her German accent]-how you’d like to be spread open.” Her hair is still wild and gorgeous, and I run my hands through it once. She’s wrapped in a vintage plaid coat. Then she leaves. Says she’s tired. Hugs me, bites my ear, and says she loves me. And by standards of a miracle, I was not left alone feeling miserable. But now I have to do something about her.

If you’re going to tempt me like that, then I’m not letting go of you until I get what I want. Or more likely: “Molly, I really like guys but then there’s you. You show up, and your hands explore more and more of me, but you always stop an inch before you’ve gotten to all of me. Molly, congrats, you’ve got this control over me now. Why don’t you take it further? It doesn’t have to mean anything. We don’t have to tell anyone. If you don’t, you’ll have to watch me go ******* crazy. You drive me. Crazy.
Laura Aug 2013
The night asked me nervously:
“When did you get here?”
But I ignored the question and turned to the moon.

It said: “Let me be your inspiration.
It said: “I’ll handcuff you to what is lively here.
Ignore the plants. Their hands are burnt inward, stuck
Inviting you over to them. But they have nothing to give you”

Notice the fires under your feet. I’ve seen stars trip and crash
In the dirt. Take of your shoes, their danger is delicious.
Notice the water in the wind. It turns stems into whips and puts knots in your hair.
Notice the blackness I’m standing on. It keeps me from falling and I stop it from killing”

So I did what it said
I noticed it all
I told the night to keep its hands off me
I didn’t want the safety it offered.
Laura Oct 2013
"I abandoned my heartache in the woods. When I returned, it had grown so old that it started to mold"
Laura Aug 2013
Yellow bird inside an empty body
Thrashing up against the bones
Becoming bruised like tender fruit
Its carrier wondering about its strange migration route
How exhausted it must be from heavy miles
How it must be melting off its honey colors
And hushing to an antique gold
Poor dull creature,
Tossing back and forth,
Deafening itself with snaps and cries
Realizing something, as if highly intelligent
That it’s better to be hunted than haunted
Yellow bird, poor creature
Bursts like a fist against the ribs
Litters the body with its feathers.

— The End —