If you must tell a lie, do so well - Lies likely fall apart Often crumbling due to bumbling A speakers deadly demise My passion is the lonely lie Lone creates shine A lie must deliver cleverly Or all would align -
A poetic imitation of Emily Dickinson's "Tell all the truth but tell it slant" I did for my poetry class.
i’d like to feel alive when was the last time you really felt alive? the last time i felt pain was this morning when i brushed my teeth until my gums bled maybe i’ll stick needles in my skin to feel something something to imitate the addictingly horrible pain of a lover’s touch
I am from a hungry sun unsated from sewer smoke and old trees I am an eviction notice swept into yesterday’s trash. (but it’s okay, nothing lasts forever: everything is changing and the sidewalk tastes of past lives.) I am from burnt coral pine needles - dug into the soil clawing, rooting into ageless thighs forever in a dream an old static VCR loop where we stayed forever by the lake.
I am from old new farms, (quiet ghosts weeping in the rafters, and family photos) attic-squatting: never coming home.
peeling paint trembling apartments creaking floors dirt driveways sparkling water couch made of wine stains home made of humans forest of suns - (there are faces in-between, blurred photographs and burning meteors in a shoebox made of steel. I keep it this way, so we’re always together.)
I fantasyse a fodder/ who myght feeed mye goost/ amende it atnyght/ when thee darke nd dreade onlee drenche/ nd drowne my hart in sorowe/ I am lost/ softlye now tale me/ all thee preteee thyngs I wont to heere/ tale me/ you love me/ that I am evrythynge u’ve wonted neer/ that mye prestencts dose not alarm you/ that thes sun is bryght/ yellow/ fool of energee nd lyfe/ that you are proud/ of me/ not ashamed/ of my bryght colers/ tell me you love me