give me
hydrogen peroxide
and chlorine
give me industrial
strength soap
maybe that will clean
this mess up

cover me in it
pour it down
I promise I’ll swallow

make me pure and
white and beautiful
make me clean

give me the brush
and I will scrub my skin
clean
maybe make way
for a new skin entirely

the smell of chlorine
once repulsive
is almost pleasant
to me now
as I let the acid
melt my skin off
drown me
until only bones
clean, smooth, lovely
white bones
stick out of a
puddle

don’t worry
I'm a professional

I know what I’m doing

there’s a drizzle
of tiny pebbles
too small
to bother anyone

they fall on his
hands, but stay
unlike the snow
that broke his heart

he tried to explain
the loss, but they wouldn’t
listen, so he
looked at the pebbles
and made a
decision

a few pebbles make
a molehill, and we all know
you can make
mountains out of
those

so he built himself
a mountain tall
taller than anyone
had seen

now they will listen
he thought
now they will
see

and he stood
at the top
proud as a Macedonian
king, awaiting
endless praise

but at the top
of that mountain
only the wind blows

quiet, quiet
she is dancing

silent skin moving
under the twisting lights
cracking unnoticeably
quietly, like the morning sun

a leaf falls to the ground
slowly withering on the way
spiraling, turning, falling apart
mixing with her skin

and the gutter starts to fill up
and as it floats down to the sea
no one notices a few vital body parts
sinking into the mud

the light on the walls create visions
she imagines they are places
the gutter passes by so her eyes can see
she forgets where she is

she is a windmill of bones, creaking, breaking, falling
they are trees standing still and tall
soon I will be among fish, she thinks
the wind doesn't bother fish

she is dancing
they are watching and
the lightning
is about to strike

quiet, quiet

If there were
shortcuts, I’d
take them
I’d put them all
in my pockets
and always carry
a spare
in my bag
(and one in
the glove box, just
to be safe)

I might even
hand them out to
strangers  who look
like they
might need one
or give them to
friends
I’d hide them so
people could find them
and rejoice

but there are no
shortcuts, and
my pockets are
always empty
just like the
road ahead

and that’s really
too bad
because
my pockets
are quite big

There was a girl
who got
presents
every single day
from admirers
young and
old, from close
and distant

she never thanked
them, and never
opened them
she’d pile the gifts
up
outside, in her
garden

whenever she was
feeling down
she’d climb up
on top
and enjoy
how all other people
looked like ants
from up there

one day
she got a present
from her true love
it was an
empty box
so big
that her tower finally
reached somewhere
with no oxygen
for her to
breathe

Surrounded
by pale,
dead, white
light

one single candle
pulsing
with the last
oxygen
left

Now
clean your
wounds

patch yourself
together

look at
all the graves

It was worth it
right?

Everything is better now
right?