I am soft-hearted,
And Sapphic.
But she is not a human girl
Anymore.

Every time I lay her to rest,
She rises
Like a phoenix.
Or a zombie.

She is soft-bodied.
Empty-headed.
Empty-hearted.

She is rotten to me.
All memory of her,
Warm woman,
Is gone now.
Her body is a dead thing.
A shell, only good for gutting.

My heart is spilling.

My insides are gooey.
They slip between other girl's hands-
Repulsive.
Hazardous.
A lost cause.

My heart is a terminal case.

Until it's replaced,
I am all robot.

Hard-bodied.
Hard-headed.
Empty-hearted.

Every girl
Who gives me the kiss-of-life
Is cursed.

I search for a shell
To put my dead into.

But she is in cahoots
With the rotted.

All I want
Is a soft-hearted girl
To lay with.

To lay me down
To rest.

To love to death.

I. Honey Whiskey

her eyes are too dark, but they burn when she thinks of them. everything burns, her chest, her face, her skin.s he can’t imagine what it would be like, to have her skin flush with hers in ways that weren’t so innocent. she can’t meet her eyes anymore without feeling her torso heat like she’d just downed a shot.

II. Prism

“despair is a prism.” she can’t see her, but she remembers the way her eyes get, like she’s looking at something too far away to see clearly. “you need it to see that sunshine isn’t just grey, it’s every color of the rainbow, stacked on top of each other.” it’s hard to stay too sad when she spouts things like this, without warning and completely unprovoked.

III. Chlorine Thighs

they’d never actually been in a pool together so this had to be a dream. sunlight streamed through her hair like the water did, and she’d blame that for the shivers down her spine whenever their eyes met. She was babbling about something, anything, trying to keep her frame of mind, derailed by even the slightest giggle. she didn’t mean to dream them so close together, but her laughter filled the air, and they were nose to nose, and she smelled like chlorine. she woke before she knew if she tasted the same.

IV. Headlights

she’s afraid of driving, and claims she’s a better copilot. it hurts her heart to heart to hear it, sweet indulgent pain. she’s tying to remember to keep her eyes on the road and only letting herself glance over every so often. she looks beautiful in the flashes of her periphery vision, and as their voices rise in accidental harmony, she can’t help but glance over for a bit too long, memorizing the moment. eyes closed, lips parted, head tilted back… she looks like a vision. she almost forgets that green means anything more than being able to see her better.

V. Refuge

she hadn’t meant to cry. it was obvious in the way she stood, in the way she held herself a bit too upright, moved with too much purpose. she remember the way she’d stared at the ceiling as though breathing was too much, the way she didn’t even seem to see the things she was doing. she hadn’t known what to do besides hold open her arms, and then it had began. she held so tightly it was like she didn’t believe she was real. her breath came out all at once, and then she was breathing too quickly, hitches and gasps and small little shivers that only made her hold on her tighten further. her breath was warm against her shoulder, her fingers ****** in her shirt, and she was content to stand here, solid, safe, and wait for her to collect herself. no matter how long it took.

I hate girls with irises like
the shade that encompasses the heavens above
directly after a ravaging storm
one that beats like a drum on the drums of our ears
threatening to take away our ability to hear that beat
but never once threatening to disallow us the feeling

I hate girls with laughs like
the sweet notes that Wolfgang coaxed
from a line of slender white bars
to carry them onto thickly drawn black bars on parchment
so as to force them into his service; though they never once
dared do anything but sing, not a single time daring to
utter a flat or sharp twang

I hate girls with charm so
alluring that it crawls into my nervous system
exquisitely, beautifully sating
so absolute, so concrete, so stinging
so fantastically intoxicating
and so irrevocably bestowed
that they are all I can write my words about

I can’t remember
why I laughed six months ago
at a joke on the back
of an apple juice carton

(It said something about winter)

I can’t remember
why you laughed six months ago
why it made my veins glow warm
why I let you thumb my cheek
why I let you sleep in my bed
why I did not sleep next to you
why I laid down on a mattress across
why I still let you call me “yours”

(You never said anything about love)

Many legends there be back in days of old;
Legends of bold knights upon their noble steeds.
This be a tale starring a knight and his steed
As one and the same.

'Twas in the Renaissance city of Poitiers
The prodigy of a holy knight was born;
Sir Nathanëal of the Salomon bloodline,
Lineage of victors.

He bore the heart and voice of an archangel
And the loyalty of a priest to his God.
No other horse he rode but his first and last;
Dear "Divinitus."

Alas, his loyalty had cost him dearly
In the midst of the Battle of Moncontour.
Thus came the end of Nathanëal Salomon.
Or so it had seemed.

By the hands of benevolent sorcery,
Nathanëal and Divinitus lived again,
This time sharing a peculiar physique
Of both man and horse.

Thus, blessed with fur of white and a mane of gold,
Well-equipped with lightweight armour and claymore,
He walked the outskirts of France slaying evil
As both knight and steed.