winter holidays and you become snow
between glaciers and silver towers
among apes, wizards and goons
you become snow in the winter

as you turn into what you dread
as you turn into this being
a viking, werewolf, you name it
may the games begin, you may die

beneath the surface of your dreams
beneath red heavens and families
in times of hunger, you stay focussed
you become snow in the winter

as you turn into another, an: other
snow is flooding the news flash
sinners, brothers and sisters
burning sandstorms, playful twisters

elijah's path is covered with thorns
roses **** the innocent and they cry
wild roses turn into winter snow
raise your head, watchin' them grow

clocks, the same time, worldwide
remember the oaths of the old ones
remember them praying in the snow

...and turn into this being

Out it comes -
the feelings, nerves, anxiety
You may catch but a glimpse of what I actually feel,
but I doubt it -
Even I only see the meal.

It's become second nature.
I don't even think anymore,
just to end up doing it more and more.
Someday I'll have to stop,
but for now, I'm kneeling on the bathroom floor.

Since I was littler,
it's always made me cry.
But it's not a luxury, rather a nessecity.
Thinking about it now,
I don't even want your pity.

I keep going and going,
not realizing the pressure manipulating me,
and that in reality - I'm suffering from a disease.
One day, I'll have to give it up,
but right now I'm too terrified to cease.

She left me with a bouquet of
flowers that never bloomed,
and a muse with bleeding
verses that never rhymed

At nights when her name
is dancing on my tongue,
I hunger for the cherries
she once promised to feed me

as it was too late, you crushed the milky way
remote from your loved ones, far away...










i took you into my spacy arms, silver-
purple dots were circling us, babe

i came into you and we made love
the silver sound of a white dove

Hunger hurts. I have hunger pains.
Last night in a dream I murdered my mother.
What to do with tenacious voracity?
Uncalm, I wait. Breathing.

what does it say about me
that i think hunger
is what angels sound like?
lineless and with great aching.
and what does it say about me
that i feel like i could
just pull my pelvis bone
from my hip
and watch it
crumble in my hands?
i couldn't sleep so i
traced my bones,
i couldn't sleep so i
felt my gums,
(my skins got a great story that
no onell ever read
fitting, i guess -
i've yet to be anything but
wasted potential.)
but,
despite everything,
there is something comforting
about the lie of a body.
something human in me yet.
what do i want the answer to be
when i feel my chest
and wonder where
my ribs came from?
it was an early lesson that
one must give up ribs
to be worthy of love.

bloated by famine in Ethiopia
the stomach must now digest
a TV commercial
of delicious cat food
cholesterol free

What if I don't want
to get better? This hunger is the only thing
I feel anymore. You abandoned me,
so I sit on the bathroom
floor. I drown out my tears
with lyrics to songs we used
to scream out the car
window. While others congratulate
the damage this hunger has caused,
I obsess over the numbers that
light up whenever I step on
the scale. This is the only thing
I can control anymore. Since
you left.