the price you pay to be thin
you won’t even miss your fee,
it's just the feeling of empty
nevermind the color in your face,
draining into plastic bags,
filled with last nights hunger
no matter your darkening smile,
cracking into sunflower blossoms,
that you hide behind your knuckles.
don't bat an eye at your thinning hair,
swimming in your bathroom drain
strangling your hope of recovery.
now what could those tired eyes,
broken and red with strain say that
puffy cheeks and chapped lips cannot
lips like concrete, spilling weeds,
lips stuffed with cigarette love,
lips that once bloomed spoken word
but you smell of no dandelions.
you wear perfume of stomach bile
mixed with the stench of hatred.
the smell that every bathroom you visit
knows like the back of your hand,
the hand scarred with teeth’s embrace.
the side effects aren’t pretty
but that’s all a small price to pay
for the feeling of trying to be thin.
packets of crisps
not even crumbs are left
the cookie jar is empty
and that jug of sweet tea
washed it all down
so it could come up easy
so it could come up
into the toilet it goes
along with my fear.
I've never felt more alone
than I do inside my very own home.
If the goal was to break me
Why couldn't you have done it much more quickly?
Keep looking you might find something that will leave you unsettled.
A text, a photo, perhaps even a letter.
False promises, empty proclamations, a hollow vow to do better
Lies, craziness, a truly pointless endeavor.
Keep convincing me of what I already know. We're broken, we shattered and I don't much care whose at fault.
He's in my heart, she's in your vault.
"We'd be better friends than partners." You've often exclaimed.
You offer to share equally yet its me holding the majority of blame.
That's really not true, its not how I feel.
You ruined us.
You're the one who broke the deal.
Flattened the wheel
Flat tired the heel
Threw up the Happy Meal
Slipped on the banana peel
Tangled the fishing reel
Ripped apart the seal
Ordered the Veal
I'm at a standstill
I need to get off of the treadmill
My world has gone downhill
I'm an actress in my own life
see the playbill.
I play the role of an imbecile
You lay on our bed, sharing photos of your ****
honestly, I don't care you've become quite the *****.
You're really quite sick
No flame, no wick
No tock for my tick
You think your slick?
It's actually quite pathetic
It's become my epidemic.
I don't hear any music
I don't feel very poetic
I just feel you're a brick
leaving me frantic
and even worse
so very very very heartsick.
It's telling looking through
the window’s eyes ;
a room with a paling grey glass view
befogs the clouds reign inside the storm
Often feeling misbegotten regret
for the unfiltered passing glimpses,
whetstone honed and splayed ;
raw hues of a latent life exposed
There's an uncertain hidden shame
in the unheard truth
starving out in the cold;
dwelling in a petrifying silence
of a common hunger
the lonely do ache
Merciless hunger pangs
manifest and shake
with an unrelenting bitter taste ;
loneliness grapples and grips
like a silent earth quake
rattling a rib caged heart — writhing
as Autumn bares the trees
A jagged ambiguous fault line
ripples through the hollow echo ;
a bolt of lightning caught in a bottle
strikes — silently contained
swallowing the unspoken words
in a greater good
This broken merry-go-round
keeps turning round and round;
the great mandala spinning on
like a worn out hamster-wheel
without a conscious trace
of going anywhere out there
The place you come from
is gone when you leave it —
even if you really never
feel you were from anywhere
but a thousand unmarked mileposts
from out here somewhere adrift;
a pilgrimage towards understanding
why sometimes I don’t know
if I know who I am — or could have been —
waiting on a threadbare prayer
One-day the winds of change
will shapeshift — bye and bye ...
"When the light that's lost within us
reaches the sky"
"When the light that's lost within us reaches the sky"
from: "Before The Deluge" written by: Jackson Browne
a poet's simple truth:
' the only thing that makes you live
is silently killing you trying to let it go '
Just thinking out loud: parsing the raw truth veiled in a poet's blood —
*will* to be creative has abandoned at the moment; unable to rejuvenate as light lessens daily, prompting to take some time away from whatever it is i've been doing here ... for now, i'll just be listening
through the window of the silent pages ...
I licked you cautiously with precision
Licked until your sharp edges were round and soft
Indulged in that millisecond, I let my mind wander off to the imagination of licking and actually swallowing you
Sweet imaginary drops of melted sticky sugary matter were dripping down my esophagus
You were dancing in my throat like a delicate ballerina
Then reality hit in again and my tongue drawed back like it just touched a hot range
My esophagus felt clogged. Your pungent taste was burning holes into my throat-
So I used my fingers like a plunger to **** you out again.
I purged dark matter all over the white bathroom tiles
Tried to extinguish salty burning tears with stomach acid
You smelled sweet and savory at the same time.
I’m sorry for drowning the rest of you in the toilet.
But they say “nothing good ever lasts long enough” for a reason.
You see, love is a battlefield and I’m Napoleon.
Do I escape here
To my cave
Does anyone hear
Is it just minutia
words that get moved around the page
like dust bunnies swirling in the noonday sun
why do I want you to know what goes on in here
inside this cerebral mass
why do I want you to witness the excising of my existence
lancing of these boils
the expressing of **** glands
emptying the dark places
only to fill them up again
I have always wanted to write down my feelings
what I see......emphasis on “I”
I always have felt that I see it differently than you
Not egotistically speaking,
but that I see it the way this mass of cells called Larry sees it
It is me in here
The one speaking to you now
And if you are reading this
Thank you for listening
I arose early......this is what you get.