Peel off your skin.
Look at you.
Your mind is gushing from every vein, every slit.
Your fears are being milked from the exposed flesh.

This is you, my friend.
You have been disfigured and morphed into something you don't recognize.
Scabs are cracked open to reveal secrets only you could be selfish enough to cover.

Your blood drips off the tip of your nose at a steady pace;
As you, my friend, watch your face melt into a sink.
You are disgusting but this is you, and
You
Are
Alive.

Friend, you are perfectly honest;
No carbon copies made.
You let yourself bleed and flood this house,
Because that's all you've ever wanted.
You've finally escaped the cage of bones and skin that silenced you.

You alive and you are free.

I was very cautious
I knew if I wasn't what it would cost us
I made sure the bedroom was perfect
I wanted MY romantic affect
I hung the plastic, then the curtains
Bed exactly in the middle, I had to be certain
Lit a few candles
Then sliped on my dress, and my sandals

I cruise the street
For my baby to meet
I pick him up at the corner
My heart beats faster, my body warmer
We go back to my house
Where we start to mess about
I lead you to my bedroom
We'll be making love soon

To my bed you are shackled
You have no idea of my feeling of hackles
Straddling you, and ridding you like a horse
All the wail your loving it of course

With you still in me, I bring out my toys
They are only for my collection of boys

They are bright and shiny
I will not treat you kindly
They are so sharp they can split a hair
And in their refection you just stare
You can't believe what you see
As the look on my face is pure glee

You body starts to convulse and thrash
Then with my blades I start to slash
I plunge my toy in
With the evilest grin
I love the squirting gushing sound
It's all so profound

I have loved all my men
That's why I let no one chase them
Forever in death they are mine
I'm one of a kind

I slash him to ribbons
It's as fun as the dickens
He's still alive
And feels every vibe
Covered in blood
Our bodies fit like a glove

I slowly climb off top
And lop of his part
Blood sprays the room
Death will be here soon

I'm so happy I made it romantic
And taped up the plastic
I am the Black Spider
I **** all I desire

Mr Peeler, Mr Peeler, why do you creep into my room at night,
and feed nightmares into my brain to give me such a fright?
Didnt your mommy ever tell you its naughty
to scare a little girl like me?

Mr Peeler, Mr Peeler, why do you hide in the shadows of my room
and why is there a stench of doom?
Why, once you've pulled my eyelids from my face,
do you run away as if you are in disgrace?

Mr Peeler why, with my eyelids did you make pretty butterflies
once you had ripped them from my eyes?
Why mr peeler did you have to be so cruel
and never let me sleep at all?

---------------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------------------------

The world today is as it's always been, filled with greed, death and war.
I sadly reflect that it get's worse and worse and through my heart it tore.
Soon everything must come to an end and so must the pain, blood, and gore.
I hope someday Christ will come and take away the pain the earth cannot stand anymore.
People are greedy and vile and I weep when I see them befoul the earth, stop it! I implore.
Alas! With a heavy heart I realize they will not, but ignore.

I sit in my perfect elysium,
A beautiful world, full of happy faces.

I dream of my perfect life here in paradise,
I look around at the happy faces,
Of people drinking tea and children laughing.

I look around and see them in this life of pandemonium.
I see the red puddles on the floor, the uneaten food, the scavenging vultures and the families.

And I smile,
At least they're happy. At least they are with their families.

With their slashed open faces to create leering twisted smirks of the living undead. With piles of rotten corpses and tortured survivors.

With the cries and cruel laughter of the children of my underworld.
Standing with shadows and blunt blades,
Awaiting the chance to shed blood.

It looks like they fell down the wrong rabbit hole.

One does wonder how they are still falling,
Visiting the beautiful Alice, with her chest ripped apart and flesh hanging from her wounds.

But then again,

Wonderland has never been so pretty has it my dear Alice

You look me in the eyes and spit,
          And I kick dust on the wet spot on the ground.
This is how we are, a conversation; you never cared to call me something like my name.
           I never cared to see you in any way but under my boot with blood on your teeth.
               There is no moon above us, even when the sun’s gone to hide at the nearest bar.
This is not a war that can be won with pickets and strikes.
The only way to end the battle
                                                Is that someone has to die.
        A standoff only ends when one is left standing, it’s the rules,
but you never did care for rules, and breaking is easier than bending.
               You never apologize and I never want to hear those words come out of your mouth.
            The sun’s gone to hide at the local bar and it drinks whiskey shots like water.
It has seen us fight.
            The moon doesn’t want to come out, stays tucked safe in its bed.
It has heard stories.
                         Only the stars act as referee, calling out which one of us died better.
            It’s all an act, a ******* contest, and you sure are good at wetting the ground.
                 I’m better at covering up where the bloodstains were,
                         stain chicken feathers red as the sunset, Please, I ask you,
Let him win one last time.

                               The hourglass broke, the sand mixing with the red clay,
And you claim to know that his time is up.
                 I claim to know that you’re a lying ******* who takes what isn’t his.
                        And you claim that I’m just a child,
                                           but children don’t know why their knuckles are
bleeding
                                           and children don’t get why their jaws hurt
                                           and children only bleed when summer is restless
                                           and children never pull real guns anyway.
          You brought a knife to a gunfight,
                 a gun to face the firing squad, a one child firing squad,
                    knees stuck together with blood and chicken feathers.

Please, you ask me,
Let me win one last time.

                     And I learn that breaking is easier than bending;
And I learn how my name sounds on your lips.

Hi my names Lauren and I love things that can't speak.

Hi my names Lauren and I love things that break their own bones and choke on their teeth.

Hi my names Lauren and I see kids with bruises, kids with no excuses, kids with cuts, kids howling at the moon like mutts. They're begging to get out of their skin and into a more feral suit, they want their bite to be worse than their bark, hang themselves in the park, finally be noticed, glowing smiles like that of an alley cat, spat out blood last week, "must've been the pills, that **** kills."

Hi my names Lauren and I forget my name a lot. I write it in the hearts of heartfelt hoodlums, not so brave victims, mothers' worst nightmares, mothers who don't care, boys who dare set themselves on fire, light it up ******, you aren't getting any brighter.

Hi my names God and I ****** up.

Hi my names Lauren and I talk to the dead. They tell me about the papers they keep under the bed, poems no one reads and suicide notes with things unsaid.

Hi I'm Lauren and the dead can't dance when they speak. They're not too steady on their feet, dangling from rafters with chairs beneath.

Hi I'm Lauren and I ****** up, you ****** me up. You won't talk to me, and he won't look at me, and dad can't stand me and mom tries her best to understand me and I once hit my head so ******* the wall I fainted. Yes mom, it was on purpose. I thought we painted that pretty picture in my blood months ago.

Hi I'm Lauren and I write poems that don't lie about the truth, I write poems about depressives, lost boys, starving boys, ****** boys, and my boys. Those all go hand in hand. I write poems about heartache, bone break, undertake, and personality fake. These are all the same. I write poems about things I've seen, things I've done, things I've ******, and threads that were spun into ropes tied into nooses and put behind the pile of ***** laundry on the floor. I write about pills in dressers and knives in scabby skin and how much I hate god but love his children and how my brain is broken and I'm still stuck hoping I'll be left with something to write about next time I forget my name but can remember yours.