warm wine flowing through my body
(Cabernet being ironically the same color as what gives me life)
directed me to my room
at approximately 11:25 pm that Wednesday.
A light in the left corner painting a pleasant and inviting
gold
I tumble into my queen bed
laughter airily escaping my lungs, exhalations of exhilaration
Ruffled a string of words into a message.
Borne of unadulterated joy and hopeless seclusion,
radiation from my center came out of my fingers as
"**** me like the angel I am. I am true beauty and divinity and deserve to feel like a goddess"

I’m scared of permanence

Of any form of an ink stain on a white linen shirt

That no matter how hard I try, the scrubbing I do

Will not disappear, will not fade

One day I will come across a stain that will ******* me

And as I attempt to rid it, it will damage me further

This shirt I wear, lies lightly on my skin. A second skin.

I want to be involved yet fear an embrace

Or rather, confuse being held to being held down

Wings being clipped, screams that fall to deaf ears that cannot hear because what I fear doesn’t exist…

The fear keeps me from playing the game, yes,

But can it keep the game from playing me?

what a strange quiet house I'm in
Where i can't even hear myself think
Bottle after bottle and the silence ensues
I am alone here, and I will be alone here
For as long as the vacancy in my chest
And the absence of my mind
continues

~
I want a house overrun with lavenders for my children to play with.

i can make one bottle of beer last hours
From cold to lukewarm
My *** settling into a state of what I call
Perma buzzed
Wussy sip after wussy sip
Perplexed looks and slights from friends
It serves me right to drink so slow,
Evading the glass bottle bottom but
I guess I want to be able to hold onto something so much,
It warms up to me and serves me well.

~

Right now, I want to be buried in a house of lavenders.

August is the twilight of summertime
the nagging sensation of things coming to a close
tugs from the collar of your shirt, downwards
until it lifts itself up with your shoulders
wrapping its arms around your neck

Take the smooth out of the mouth and place it into hands

of those who hold

sheets messed, lips pressed

feet walking, slightly depressed

tracks in a barren land of snow

snow as white as our intentions, as blank as the path we follow

look back, see tracks

they don’t tell me where to go

the wind blows, hair sways

i look back to the most golden day, sky was pink

flushed with the rushing collision of two

walking, following, leading

back to lying

sheets messed, noses press

fingers strumming the skin, sensations like

trapped reverberations

louder than the silence of miles

I’m a breaker, at best

and at my worst, I’m broken

I can still remember the pauses

after every word that was spoken

my room is dark, I don’t quite feel alone

I don’t really miss you like i thought I would

~

My hair grows long, I think I can breathe easy

Yet sometimes, when I feel you round, I get queasy

No, I wouldn’t miss you if I could

No, but you definetely should