#52series
backseat baby,
press your strawberry lips
to my wolf throat and sing
like the full moon.
backseat baby,
i’ve got a half eaten heart
bleeding out, staining my
wooden hands as they draw
hearts around your ******
mouth.
backseat baby,
they say lovin’ makes
you weak, makes you a
monster, makes you
a freak.
and baby, im all three.
backseat baby,
you’ve got your holy claws
in holy places. making ‘amen’
taste like blood on the lips.
backseat baby,
i’m sin in the skin and my
black soul is starved for
your candle lit collarbone.
backseat baby,
they’re watchin’ us through
the window, watchin’ you-
watchin’ me.
and baby, we’re a freak show.
backseat baby,
your knees are porcelain stars
against black leather.
backseat baby,
we’re poisoned tongues
fighting, knives and guns,
wrists against hipbones.
and baby, what a sweet,
glorious and thrilling
death.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 1:02 AM UTC
nightlight kisses flicker
under covers, while
gun-like fingers wind
around gasping lungs.
tangled lies become
obscene truths, as our
rosary lashes pray for the
yearning boxes, we call hearts.
here, we align our bodies–
ears to mouth, secrets spoken.
‘are you alive, darling?’
red rosed-lips blooming against
the needy and hollowed ribs
soft confessions, quiet heartbeats.
‘if this is what it feels to be
alive, love–let your midnight
hips bury us both. and in the
morn, let the sun coax our hidden
love–sprouting like baby’s
breath from our rotting chests.’
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 12:20 AM UTC
we were weathered,
torn and frayed, we were
midnight skies with the stars
ripped out. we were broken
knees, busted lips, and
heaving lungs. we were
neck deep in the water,
we were floating against
the horizon and the tide
was chasing after our
last breaths. we were
clasped hands, shooting stars
against the gravity of time.
we were old and we
were infinite.
but it’s only a dream,
disposable camera wishes.
fragile lashes wake to another
empty room, ghost kisses
against the back of the neck.
it’s a graveyard nightmare, skin
crawling with the need to stop
living–just to feel alive again.
because as fate would have it,
we were young, and we
weren’t as endless as we
liked to believe.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 11:55 PM UTC
the pulse in the palms
of shaking hands, reaching
–always reaching
for the
sea as she carries away
a bottled message, floating
–forever floating
the horizon
grows in midnight eyes
a new sun, rising
–always rising
and the
old chests of vacant lovers
will root us, blooming
–forever blooming
in the
sea, we are wrecked tragedies
wooden-hearted boats, sinking
–always sinking
it tastes
like the sweetened rage of defeat
but keep those sails, adjusting
–forever adjusting
we’re not
drowning, we’re surviving.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 10:00 PM UTC
we were born between
the ribs of our last
breaths, ones that made
ghosts out of us
this isn’t a haunting, darling
no–it’s just the opposite
you are my north star
and forever I will follow
in life and in death
i’ll make a casket out of
the backs of your knees
the ones that bend as you
whisper a litany of devotion
to me, to us
and so it goes, just as
it’s always been–
when you wake, i will wake
when you sleep, i will sleep
neither of us, brave enough
to face a moment without
we will die, just as we were
born, my love. on the slow
exhale of our mirrored lungs
and the warmth of our bodies
will mourn for our departed souls
come morning, we will
shed our moth wings
and search for the heat of
a new sun.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 10:18 PM UTC