Black and yellow heart breaks,
dangerous knife throws and the empty bombs,
full of ;
Laughter,
Gambling,
Recognition,
Divorce.

Here comes the faceless man,
Pleased by her stretched thighs, the sweaty cigarettes she burns one after another & her thick eyes,
He says

"I want you to look ugly"

"Is that a fantasy?" she asks

"Yes," he says, "it's been a thousand years,
thirty-minute hands & 60 pills!"

"Ooooh"

"Look," he says, "I want you to set me on fire, now!" & takes a **** in an art museum behind a Picasso masterpiece.

"All right," she says, "let's wait for a while, come on back to bed!"

The faceless man instantly crawls towards a dry quiet kiss where innocence and vulgarity both are so awkwardly present...


- Samar Charulingah Godfrey

he raises his hand
raises his head
***** a gun
and turns a key
he's not quite sure what he's looking for
but he can't stay here any longer
can't keep screaming into the quiet
can't keep gasping for breath
way out in space
he ***** a gun
turns a key
and he inches forward
he's desperate to find it
but not so sure he wants to see it
he spots it there
centimeters through the veil
mirror twins
only he can't tell
which one in real
and which one is an illusion
on cold reflective glass
the girl and the faceless thing
the nameless thing and the hopeless thing
he ***** a gun
and turns a key
and he tilts his head
and breathes
only he's forgotten that he can't breathe
so he chokes
and they turn
the girl and the faceless thing
or maybe it's one thing
a faceless girl

I am folded and dog eared.
banging off the walls
of your corroded arteries
one of countless fliers
so black and red
with a smirk
and a few choice words
faded by avalanche fire
just a paper boy
and his paper life
blowing about the entrails
of this card board
cutout cell.

R. I. P. poi,
They said.
I wasn't sure what that meant.
You face only vaguely familiar.
Then I walked in to school...

Twas no ghost town,
Twas the town of dead.
Sullen forms gliding along.
So I wasn't down with grief.
But I somehow felt like I'd blasphemed.

We'd walked the over same grass.
Been taught by the same teachers.
Bumped
into each other.

Yet you were faceless to me.
No name,
No memory,
Only guilt.

Maybe you felt like me,
In the lands of Hades.
Walking through asphodel.

Nay.
From what I hear:
You walk Elysium.

this feeling of emptiness,
this state of being,
isn’t a conflict between feeling dead and alive.
it’s more an ethereal, metaphysical
sensation of not really being here.

in the past two years I’ve changed identities more often
than I have had the chance to find out whether the mould fits.
I’m adaptable, for sure.
disciplining my thoughts and personalities
towards serving productive ends.
I know how to give people the me they want -
the happy, loving, family me;
the productive, efficient, smart me;
the me that’s gotten her **** together;
the me who has her life in order.
but I feel amorphous.
shapeless.
less and less
anthropomorphic.

less and less
concretely human.

as I focus on the tangible accomplishments,
on numbers and approving looks.
as I condition myself in a certain way
to succeed, I feel like I’m losing
something concretely human.
an element of constancy
in my personality, a key indicator of
concrete humanness.
it’s not that I’m spineless -
I know how
the world values the opinionated, the fiercely independent.
I just feel

faceless.

shapeless. no identity. no humanness.
no concrete indicator that
I’m actually here, in the real world.
that me existing as me - whoever she is -
counts for something.