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Apr 4 · 129
Blood Brother
Some days I mourn my childhood
Washed away into the sea, on a brittle wooden raft
The world was so far out of reach
But my heart was dying to be crushed by it
I was a jester, making everyone else's bleeding heads fill with laughter
The sweat leaked from our palms
Hard labor for unappreciative guests
And I ache for the pain we shared
It was ours to grow together, over watered and drowned by the old shed out back
Now the distance in our lives grows larger
And I am proud of what we made
But I miss you terribly.
Sep 2020 · 37
A memory.
Monique Matheson Sep 2020
We made plans some days ago to see the food truck on Saturday. It wasnt just any food truck; it was the Hello Kitty truck. You knew I had been wanting to see it in california but we never got a chance to go. We loved going to california. The calm beauty of our vacations made everything else so forgettable. My boss gave me a paper showing me how to get to the truck. I couldnt believe it was coming to us. There was no hesitation in your agreement to join me.
We drove Saturday morning in the early sunshine. I hated mornings, but they can be bearable for the right reasons. Driving with you is one of them. We were so laughably broke all the time but it didnt matter. Money comes and goes, but time stays and turns into memories. We would find gas somewhere. The journey was 1/3 the fun. The music was the other 1/3, and the destination was the last.
Arriving, we saw displays of expensive plastic. Cookies I could make at home with love. It was a sad sight. We couldnt afford anything that was on the menu, and the line was so long. The day was warm. I looked at you and shrugged. You flashed your warm smile. I loved you. The days couldnt be that bad with you. I asked if you wanted to go to a coffee shop. You were relieved to leave. We discussed consumerism and hated the hand life dealt us. But it was okay. You taught me how to play chess in the corner of the coffee shop. They had a lavendar drink that made me think of you. You loved lavendar. We talked and played chess for hours. Everything would be okay, I always knew.
Jul 2020 · 246
Algorithms
Monique Matheson Jul 2020
I never used to have trouble sleeping
Until the beat of my ear drums caught up with me
And I started to recognize the song playing out my windows
Every line was a piece of fruit growing in my heart
And harvesting the blood can wear me out
The night peeks through half open blinds, sheepishly
As if it were to ask me if it can come in and haunt
Reminding me of secrets I never told myself.

I slept through a fire alarm once, my father said
And now they always appear in my dreams
Running to catch the wind, grappling onto symbols and
meaning , as if there were anything to say.
The silence keeps tossing me awake, prodding
Like an electric shock, forcing the experience of
Trembling honesty and regurgitation.
Jul 2020 · 156
Bad Guys Finish Last
Monique Matheson Jul 2020
I walk the hot midnight sidewalk
Alone with faces who only know my smile
The same song repeats in my head and
It drives you crazy to see me happy
I forgot who you were because you can't hurt me anymore
A hallucination of uneasiness erased by
Foggy chatter and experimental absinthe
I’ll race you to the end of the line, where I’ll still be
Laughing at your remorse.
to the worst in my life.
Jul 2020 · 186
Boring Days
Monique Matheson Jul 2020
Coffee stains on white sheets
Only spots and insignificant
When I inhale your bare face
Into my womb, hide safe in me.
Jul 2020 · 167
Pink Shorts
Monique Matheson Jul 2020
During the most uncomfortable instances
I think back on the piña coladas and sweet cream
Still fresh in the fruit, still whole
The salty air left sand on
The creases of my eyes
We found medallion shells together
But I held my own hand then
And let the blue wet my shorts
Unexpectedly, there was nothing to be afraid of.
And there still isn't.
Jul 2020 · 84
January's Stories
Monique Matheson Jul 2020
A man sits outside to watch the dusk. Scents of rosebuds and freshly cut grass arise. The blades all uniform, standardized. His chair feels cool, like the bottle in his hands. She, inside, creates his favorite dish like muscle memory, the glass door in between them. The children are safe in the shelter he has provided. There is nothing out here.
Only the mind and all of it's heavy storage. The key is always accessible, but he never wants it. Nothing has changed, but nothing is the same anymore. Inside closed eyelids are ghosts of his friends' torn up soccer ball and his father's ***** hands. They smell like earth.
The garden was bare towards the end, but once, a long time ago, he had oranges. There was everything out there.
Jul 2020 · 478
Ripples at Night
Monique Matheson Jul 2020
I used to make little whirlpools with my finger,
In the dark
When I was a bubble, you couldn't hear my pop
I landed back in the cold water
Bleach to sanitize, never enough
My eyes were bloodshot underwater
And I dove to the safest place
The bottom of the sea
The sea shells were never real
And neither was your face
The pressure in the trench would take my breath away
Float to me, I always screamed
But I was too busy chasing the light.
Jun 2020 · 37
Untitled
Monique Matheson Jun 2020
You're still a child
fighting the dark asphalt
to find your mommy again
she's lost you to the cold
wanted posters cloud the telephone poles
where have you been?
She asks.
You've spent your whole life trying to answer her.
Monique Matheson Apr 2020
The perfect woman
looks like me and you
breath down her neck
hairs standing tall
unholy mistakes rewritten
on the bathroom wall
The sharp heel stabs to ****
her own heart with.

Mistakes, I'm guilty
of faking a smile with you.
Mar 2020 · 43
The apartment window
Monique Matheson Mar 2020
A sea of sweet, bitter gulps
the truth is so far away from me
it sweeps me here like dust, I am
back to the soil
where the flowers slow dance in the place
they've always been
tough and sturdy
reliant, time and time again
with branches and leaves
and books and time
and grapes melted in my throat
help me be here, stay here
with me.
Monique Matheson Feb 2020
One of my favorite things you do
Is mumble in your sleep
A wispy whisper, secrets only we know
Underneath heavy sedation,
The comfort of avoidance
Life wanders off, forgetting us
Cotton fresh and messy hair
The sun doesn't dare bother us
Anything matters only in these short breaths, enclosed.
Jun 2019 · 116
She's in Colorado
Monique Matheson Jun 2019
She's alive! I gasp
Waking in the saturated falseness of my dream
I drive for hours every time
Just to see you proud of me again
Are you proud of me again?
Your tired eyes pierce my rest
And I always fall for it over and over
Knowing well I'm stuck in a bubble of lies
I'll still look for you, frantically
To tell you what I never said.
I'm sorry.
Feb 2019 · 196
The Flare Gun
Monique Matheson Feb 2019
When the world knows who to look for
And how to spend their seconds
What will you say when
Your palms are empty with choices?
When the clicks are in tune without you and
Their sounds know where to go
When you run to find the oceans
Have all but dried up
And you've been looking in all the wrong places
What will you have left, to call yourself?
Feb 2019 · 91
Resurrection
Monique Matheson Feb 2019
How far are you willing to go?
Would you let the sharp shard of satisfaction
Cut you where it matters?
Would you let yourself bleed colors on the floor?
How far would you let your glass heart
Crack again?
Oct 2018 · 201
Parasite
Monique Matheson Oct 2018
Today, I was going to call you
I thought about it all day
I practiced what I would say to you
"hey, hows it going?"
"hi, how are you?"
"you doing okay?"
but none of these questions were about me
I didn't rehearse lines such as
"oh yeah I went to a concert yesterday" or
"been working a lot" or
"I hate you".

Today, I was going to call you
because even though I wouldn't admit it,
I was scared of your anger for not having
jumped as your lap dog after 2 days
1 day
a few hours
I know how you feel about me
I know what you say about me
So today, I was going to call you
but no matter how many times I say
"how high?"
when you ask me to jump
you'll always tell everyone
I'm a terrible kid.

so I'm not ******* calling you today.
May 2018 · 241
Your 10pm photograph
Monique Matheson May 2018
I could draw the shape of your eyes over and over inside my head
The smooth curves of your lips
There's a softness that welcomes my long days.
I am willingly chained to your unblemished heart
My song, my sun, my God.
Jan 2018 · 320
Water
Monique Matheson Jan 2018
Blue fish, please help my heart
Its drowning in my stomach
Broken down by acid and disease
Churning to force the rose petals that come out of my mouth
There's not enough for us but
For him, seep out of his pristine white box
In excess.

Blue fish, your colors are soft to my aching eyes
Swim and take me with you
I'm restless,
The water will be warmer
Where you go, there's nothing to lose
But the scales from your thin fins.

Blue fish, I hope to become you
When it's time to swim away.

Relinquish and release their heart beats from my back.
Dec 2017 · 311
321-1038
Monique Matheson Dec 2017
Some days I feel as if I don't know myself, not one bit,
Because I don't know you.
I don't know what you were like when you were weak.
I don't know what you were like when you were wrong.
I'm trying to grasp onto a fragrance of you,
of me.
I cant find you anymore, or hear your faint voice
or feel the prickliness of your unshaved thighs on my cheek.
All I have now are cut strings that traced back to you before your eyes went blank.

A strange man answered your phone and told me to go home.
Apr 2017 · 144
You(I) Can't Win
Monique Matheson Apr 2017
I really hate that everyone looks like pieces of you.  
Skinny hands, ***** fingernails, thinning hair and yellow skin.
Stomach acid bubbles up and the bitter taste of your lying words surfaces on my tongue.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand tall when the stench of your black stain, lingers, unwashable, even when I bleach myself to death to rid myself of your impurities, you goblin.
You have given me no satisfaction, let me live loosely,
I would crawl a mile to you, knees bleeding, pleading you to release me,
Remove the destructive fear of looking any man in the eye anymore.
You don't exist but in a stale memory of a time I wanted to go back to someday.

But not today.
#you(I) cant win #moniqueisblue
Jan 2017 · 317
Self Sabotage
Monique Matheson Jan 2017
It’s been awhile since I've had one. I try to push it away when the slightest things seem to light the fire, burning everything down I've worked so hard for. Most days, I come home fine and feed my fish, make dinner and live the life i deserve. I deserve it, i gotta keep telling myself that. It used to be so much worse though, oh god. So much worse. Each time my head explodes, I always hope it’s the very last time. The very last time or i can’t do this anymore. Or so i think, anyway.
By then, I can’t bear to nurse this succubus any longer, and cannot handle the leech ******* off my stability. My life is constantly dancing on a tight wire; balance and don’t let go.
Don’t fall apart.
She comes for me still, and I have some hope that she will die in some nasty trainwreck or even better, taken hostage by some scaly aliens in a world I can never get to. And when she comes, she takes everything from me. I’m not doing well enough, i didn’t do anything to accomplish the goals i have, to have achieved everything i could ever want in life.

Anxiety has a way of making everyone feel less than, or things that could not have been farther from the truth. Tonight it came to me, in a rush episode followed by bouts of extreme sobbing, trembling, mania, and telling myself to let everyone go because I make their lives miserable. My head will try to poison what good I have here. I believe my significant other can do better, way better, and why isn’t he? Why am i not making him? I will sit there and question him and trap myself to really assume he actually does not want me, only pities me. And for that, I must make him go. Run away, please, get away from me and hide because i’ll look for you. I’ll look for you and scream your name so loud my ancestors will hear it. Don’t come back. You are better off without me, without my low self esteem and my fits of rage. You are better than this, pristine and godly and I am utter trash. Tell me to go f*ck myself, hate me and say you never want to see me again. I will have won and lost at the same time.

She tells me I am a disappointment to my family’s name, weak and small. My energy drains in picking up every phone call from my mother only to tell me she knows I've been busy, but they are still there waiting for my call. She doesn’t really mean that though. What she really means is she’s upset at how busy I am, how I never see them, and how I never turned out to be the daughter they lost. I will never be her but I will live my life and die trying, so hard that my veins will protrude from my neck in frustration. No no, that’s all wrong, it got to be all wrong, I tell myself. Two sides of my mind that battle to the death, coming up with every fake persona to please. All I want is for people to like me. What a ridiculous idea, isn’t it? What matters whether or not someone that I will never meet again cares about what i think? Or even yet, my own blood, as it is my life and absolutely nobody else’s? That’s just it though. It’s everybody else’s. I am everybodys and I am nobody’s. The only thing I belong to is her, the only thing I try to break free from.
Someday I will give up, I say.
I will not.

It’s too bad that I am doomed to share my life with the deceiving entity that is anxiety. Fear, what grasps on tightly around my neck, squeezing slightly tighter after some time. Gradual, like it should be. I have no social outings and have decided to give up on them, seeing as I am too afraid of disappointing. That’s all i ever do, it seems like. Or so i thought. Of course, once it bangs me up and leaves me in bruises, do I then realize it was never really there. I am free, I think, even just for a moment. My lungs release the liquid inside and I gulp a large amount of air. I sob quietly on my bedroom carpet, hoping and praying to whatever nonsense is out there, that my loved ones have not given up on me. I turn to see my SO and he was right next to me the whole time, waiting for it to pass like a seizure that he can do nothing about. Wake up, it’s time for the next episode of your life, you idiot. This is all the moment you get. Be free.
Nov 2016 · 1.4k
Poverty Tax
Monique Matheson Nov 2016
“Give me the winner, this time! Last week you played me like a fool. I’m done ripping up these tickets, guy.”
The man behind the counter laughed, a big billowy kind that would bring forth rain clouds.
He printed out the next ticket and wished her good fortune. She walked away, bow-legged with a grin on her face. She knows it this time. She feels it, the adrenaline radiating through her weak body, worn down from all the pampering and dry-cleaning she had done for other people.
Other people. How she longed to be other people. The other people had a home, a simple life, songs from their time blasting through their speakers. I can’t keep up with this, she thought to herself. Her dreams were shattered forever and eternity ago. She was going to go places, boy, did she have it all figured out. Planned, organized, obsessing, obsessing, recycling herself like a ***** grocery bag to squeeze every last drop of glimmer she had left in herself.
This is the winner. She knew it would be. She’s aged oh so much more than she had anticipated, her skin dragging lower and lower, as if the devil himself was pulling her to hell, her destiny. There isn’t much time left for this one life, this only forgotten life.
She kept on walking, chin up and tears surfacing. As always, the clerk dutifully waiting until she could no longer see him, if she ever did at all.
“See you next week.”
Oct 2016 · 350
Multiple inaudible noises
Monique Matheson Oct 2016
He opened his mouth and out fell,
The answers I had been waiting for all of my life.
They tasted bitter, but fuzzy at the tips,
Tickled my mind.

This time, I believed him.
We all did.
May 2016 · 207
Tunnel Vision
Monique Matheson May 2016
I hate this place.
I hate this feeling,
I hate these people.
I hate *** and
I hate food.
I hate the weather,
I hate this music.
I hate that I'm afraid of death's first kiss,
I hate this air.
But most of all, I hate that no matter what,
I will never hate you.
May 2016 · 197
Short unbearing thoughts
Monique Matheson May 2016
You used to be so proud of me.
Apr 2016 · 231
The Endless Cycle
Monique Matheson Apr 2016
Break my brittle bones
Like you know best,
I can't help but let go
Stuck to the icy floor
My breath is cold and running out
All the electric light flows out from my fingertips
Pour out like crystals and
Leave me hollow, eyes dilated and lifeless
The only way I know how to be.
Apr 2016 · 368
Til Starvation Do We Part
Monique Matheson Apr 2016
When every song drags inside your eardrums
And bright colors remind you of nightmares
Paralyzing numbness,
When faces seem distorted
You know she's got your back
When she grips you by the waist
breaks your ribs, you can't breathe
That's when she's got you,
and she loves you, til the very end.

When there's nothing left of you, that's when she's had you.
Dec 2015 · 204
Echo
Monique Matheson Dec 2015
Quiet uninvited words invade my solitude
Like consuming shadows, they lurk in all
The corners I once knew as safe
And remind me of my imperfections
All the reasons you need to leave.

Slice me open to pull them out
Venomous letters dancing in my head
As if you were always looking for the next best thing.
Monique Matheson Oct 2015
Pages from a long lost notebook scream
Your every touch, pained ink spilling
From my innocence in the days of knowing you
Rules and lines I can’t erase
You stay, hovering my simple mind when you weren’t even there
And so
Do I burn it?
Cherish it?
Tear it to shreds and feed my hungry soul?

If I stare long enough, I’ll summon your imminent presence.
Everything I own is a memory.
Sep 2015 · 253
Waiting
Monique Matheson Sep 2015
For the voices to cease,
Fall into slumber
Sweet voices who do not know
My nightly ritual show
Desperate relief from my sorrow
Clutching my last hope.
Sep 2015 · 543
The Old Man Beside Me
Monique Matheson Sep 2015
There’s an old man beside me, sitting untouched in the ripped withered chair. He sits alone, his only company, a crossword puzzle. Coffee complimented with 2 pieces of apple pie, his highlighters neatly placed parallel to the book. Concentration becomes him, screaming children does not impair the streaking.

And for a few seconds, with strong beliefs of being unnoticed, unimportant, he releases a look of pure nostalgia. Memories flood the man’s white hair, pupils left vacant.
Sep 2015 · 260
Eulogy
Monique Matheson Sep 2015
To say my morphing characteristics have
Flown out of the window from the
7th floor white-walled room
Can only give me goosebumps at best

I know not who I claimed to be
But only the smooth dirt that slides off of my fingertips
The impending embrace of the insect filled corners
Are all I can promise you, my phantom.
Sep 2015 · 195
Time is A Circle
Monique Matheson Sep 2015
From every comfortable slumber
and sleepless night

You are my favorite dream.
Sep 2015 · 348
It's a Simulation
Monique Matheson Sep 2015
Sometimes I don't wanna let go
Cause this burning wax is all that I know
And if you peel it from my cracked hands
I'll have nothing to breathe for.
Sep 2015 · 296
God is Dead
Monique Matheson Sep 2015
At the strike of 1:30pm, she inhales her surroundings
Of static and melting human faces
Every detail of the smiling man send her nerves
To that sharp edges of this ***** desk
And fantasies in her simple mind
Toss and turn, ideas glitching in her iris
Of snapping the necks of poor incompetent strangers
But mostly, achingly, her sweet gushing blood
That surely tastes of her dreaming unclenched fists.
******* ******* ******* ******* ******* ******* ******* ******* fuckk meeeee
Monique Matheson Aug 2015
On nights such as this, lovely painted nightlights
My soft petaled sheets become
Course on my brittle ankles
The unorganized pile of miscellaneous god knows what
(Does he?)
Transforms, hallucinogens point and laugh
Becoming bits of deities to serve as an alarm clock on a plate
Ticking my black hairs to grey
The cold air suffocates my toes and
Fills my shell with images of
Once laid here with the changing eyes that kept me quiet.

Sometimes, I wake up and search for your nonexistent space.
Aug 2015 · 527
A Sugar Coated Glass Bubble
Monique Matheson Aug 2015
Intensify my involuntary ticks
Here is my virginity, not peeled from my skin
But ripped from my flesh
Like a child's band-aid.

Leave behind the bitter taste on my cracked lips
You'll only ever be
A mistress to fall on, seducing me to your weak trap.
Monique Matheson Aug 2015
I lay, alone in my closet of unused black dresses
Awaiting the dark blue cool sky to greet me
Staring at the ceiling, attempting to cry out for help
Alone is all I know, the wooden doors divide me from
The burning acids of the unknown, the outside scares me
Blood tears roll down my cheeks
Clumping, carrying a timeline of glass shards in the alley.

I lay, alone in my closet of fading yellow splattered ceiling
That pretty crystal raised to my eye to clearly see
Beauty that was on the other side, guarding me
An old friend I’ve missed for so long, dear absolute satisfaction
Assurance and safety of only when I am ready
Hologram glittered tears roll down my chin
I am a raw human,  and my surroundings, animated sketches.

I lay, alone in my closet, when You sat by a wall between us
Somehow, you knew the magic words to my poorly built tree house
And cupped in arms that always knew, me, this surrendered rag doll
Poorly stuffed with ***** cotton and trinkets
You rinsed out my stains and replaced loose buttons
Pink painted tears roll down into my pores, invade my veins
And for an instant, for a short pause in all that ever was, stood a small child with flowered braids.
Aug 2015 · 188
Eight
Monique Matheson Aug 2015
It’s ridiculous to try
To comprehend whether you tasted
Bitter or sweet in my mouth
All these years.
Jul 2015 · 304
Hide and Seek
Monique Matheson Jul 2015
Face the wall, sunshine
I wanna play a game
Don't peek through your fingers
Come out when you count through your anxiety.

Do you hear my heart quicken through the plaster walls?
I'm hoping anticipation lost its scent My feet shuffle quietly in the moonlight lullaby
Just tell me when you're ready
This fractured body twists to fit in your cupboards, by furniture that smells like old thoughts left lingering.

Trembling ticks roll by
While I wait patiently for
My welcome angel of death and grins
I'll hold my breath to beat this game
On repeat, broken records.

As my bones brittle, my strands dyed
Gray, I'll be here
Hiding in the tracks for your
Choo choo train
I swear I'll stitch my lips
Run me over, I won't scream
Whisper to me softly
Fire your gun through that checkered flag

The cold tile will never be sufficient to raise me from my post
Waiting for you to find me.
I'll be waiting for you to find me.

And I don't mind.
An idea for a song.
Jul 2015 · 255
Translation
Monique Matheson Jul 2015
In between languages
I struggle to find those words, like a nervous tick
Flick of my pink tongue
To speak in your presence
Accents will do me no good
If my mind races faster than my heart and
My heart races faster than my hand
When my lips part
Vomiting swarms of insects, my throat burns into disappearing smoke
I'm a quiet daffodil being fed by
The mighty sun.
Jul 2015 · 233
The Damned
Monique Matheson Jul 2015
Holy water burns my organs
Replacing all liquids in my temple

Don't touch me or
You'll drown in my baptism.
Jul 2015 · 441
Savanas Blancas
Monique Matheson Jul 2015
En la madrugada, por las puertas largas de un cuarto desconocido
entra la aroma de tu enfermedad
rosas con muerte, esperando
tus lagrimas saladas no se me van de la boca
y los dias pasan sin sentido de realidad

Ya no trato de entender, no
pero salto, entrando cuevas negras y basillas
memorias como papelitos quemados
es mejor no saber
lo que pudo ser una vida
Platiada, sin manchas.
Monique Matheson Jul 2015
Accompanying the sheer blue dress, some earrings she found for 3$ at the thrift store.
Walking outside listening to the taps of her shoes, she gets in the car.
"Adjust mirror, adjust self. Hide your thoughts of immortality, this one's going for the punchline." The corners of her mouth itch, "scratch it until you seep red, scarlet like the lips you remember." She claws at her face, "rip the pieces of of of of of," repetition from the ugliness,"strip the dermis, drink the poison of your insides."
She was never fond of The Voice, but today ohhh today it can consume her in flames, melt and rot. "70 mph, no need to obey." Wheels roar loudly and smoke tastes so good, similar to the sound of creaking making her shake her head violently.
T-***** through the middle, sliced like a piece of cake.
"Haha!" Cheerful goodbyes!

THE VOICE IS STILL THERE.
Jul 2015 · 293
Hurl
Monique Matheson Jul 2015
Demented, bent, thoughts that don’t make sense
The firm grip that was on my
Bleeding walls
Sick from the memories of *****
Cigarette stench blasting in my room
Distorted languages of I love you
Static forming with an elegant bow
Adieu.
Jul 2015 · 164
Brain Dead
Monique Matheson Jul 2015
I found myself in the directory
With pink ink
Scribbled by blood
Of mental clarity
Jul 2015 · 192
Plucked Feathers
Monique Matheson Jul 2015
My legs are on the brink of
Breaking, shattered bones from
The weight of voices.
Jun 2015 · 230
A broken seat by the window
Monique Matheson Jun 2015
Salty rocks from the shore
Cut my heel to the bone

I'm in love with the sting
But the metallic taste is comfort.
Jun 2015 · 340
Glazed Eyes
Monique Matheson Jun 2015
my favorite color is
Purple on my skin and
Red on my cheek
Reminders of control
The sound of gripping leather
Singing sweetly in my ear
The wet fear from Your eyes that turn yellow with livid flame
Warm brushing past my bottom of
What holds Your treasure from me.

Swimming into the ivory depth of
Every fiery star in the known universe from my
Vivid imagination
Illusions that I wake up from by every
Pinch of my *******
Bend and tear me
Fallen scraped knees at Your feet
Where i belong
i’m still with You, i think.

But if i lose myself in grey clouds
The shock of Your lightning
Will free me.
Jun 2015 · 432
Casas Vasillas
Monique Matheson Jun 2015
Fresas partidas en la cocina
Rojas y dulces como cuando
Me cojes con sentimiento

Las ventanas no se habren
Cortinas sucias
Con diseños de manzanas
Mordidas, secas de su jugo de vida
Asi como ayer

No entra luz en este silencio tan
Medida.
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