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lilli-blakkPoems
BLOW But the second time it comes undone Redundancy and cardboard boxes under the Christmas tree ******* the professor - "Fun fact: by the time you turn 20, half of your taste buds have Died" Holly has tried to die while keeping her memory intact She won't want to forget this **** the twine, slip knots slip -Not in the good way- Her father said he loved her not in the good way The bongos are too loud for this place and they aren't instruments Skin wrapped over emptiness His Catholic echo Georgia watches him flap up to the podium, TAKE A PICTURE OF MY GOSPEL GUT I HAVE DIGESTED MY DESIRE Desire: verb, derived from the root word 'virgin' We have several walls between us, baby Tell me all your passwords. Tabs under the tongue, Joey can't taste her iris and how she constricts Hurting is a good sign, sin, sigh You will never know how to get inside. Bird-shit on your shoulder waiting at the alter, Holly is late and the clock is expanding inside of her throat Deep, suicidal Clean your clothes, wipe off your cellular corpses flaking like funeral snow Joey, baby, tell her you cannot taste her entrances Tell her she does not remind you of ash and acid Tell her you have not been licking your lips ever since she gave birth to you The middle child and you have never believed in God.
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May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 3:22 AM UTC
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BLOW But the second time it comes undone Redundancy and cardboard boxes under the Christmas tree ******* the professor - "Fun fact: by the time you turn 20, half of your taste buds have Died" Holly has tried to die while keeping her memory intact She won't want to forget this **** the twine, slip knots slip -Not in the good way- Her father said he loved her not in the good way The bongos are too loud for this place and they aren't instruments Skin wrapped over emptiness His Catholic echo Georgia watches him flap up to the podium, TAKE A PICTURE OF MY GOSPEL GUT I HAVE DIGESTED MY DESIRE Desire: verb, derived from the root word 'virgin' We have several walls between us, baby Tell me all your passwords. Tabs under the tongue, Joey can't taste her iris and how she constricts Hurting is a good sign, sin, sigh You will never know how to get inside. Bird-shit on your shoulder waiting at the alter, Holly is late and the clock is expanding inside of her throat Deep, suicidal Clean your clothes, wipe off your cellular corpses flaking like funeral snow Joey, baby, tell her you cannot taste her entrances Tell her she does not remind you of ash and acid Tell her you have not been licking your lips ever since she gave birth to you The middle child and you have never believed in God.
"Sine" I once titled this poem A Response Or Reply
#j#abstract#reply#response
lilli-blakk
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lilli-blakk
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 3:22 AM UTC
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