The gutter is lined with a thousand neon lights,
flickering in the morning's rising sun
We tied rockets to our wrists
and repeatedly committed a fantastic cosmic suicide
Our legs were bound by masked oppressors on government soil
and we were stoic the whole time and still embraced
Together we watched Pierrot le Fou
but I could only adore her hands in the movie theater dim-light
She always looked as if she'd been crying,
maroon nose sniveled and her pursed lips did glow
And we stood catatonic in low slung dance halls
Satiated.

You played piano almost as well as you played with my heartstrings.
You live with excitement nobody can echo with a voice
stronger than yours. I was following my heart, as you had
directed me to do. I found myself at your doorstep. You always claimed I'd be the last
person you'd turn away. I can be strong for the both of us and go, but I know
someday I'll find myself wandering back to the light at the end of your drive. I hope
you won't let me in. You were never one to invite strangers inside.
If we meet again, will I have the chance to introduce myself as
someone other than your killer? Murdering you
in my own attempt to destroy myself was never my intention. Speaking to
your back was the only easy way to say "I love you".
I hope you always turn around when you're headed my direction. I hope
you always stay the same. I hope you never forgive me.

“Love,” am I right?
Either you handle the concept with a fifty-foot pole,
or you lick your lips, and
sink your teeth right into it without question.
You choose to be safe
or you choose to be satisfied.

But there’s a small collection of us
who hang back in the shadows.
Those of us who choose neither.
Those of us who think.

We’re hesitant to even speak the word.
[Rightfully so.]
You're a naive if you use it too much.
You're a heartless ******* if you don’t say it at all.
But it's only a word.
We shouldn't give it the authority
to paint us into a corner.

Yet, here I sit
where my favorite two walls meet—
plenty of moments for thinking—
a thick, fresh coat dripping down
on either side of me.

There you stand,
arms crossed and smiling—
all come-hither and inviting—
saturated paintbrush in hand.

The only thought I can manage?
*****. I really like this color.

you strummed the strings of my heart
like a guitar
but I sang along nonetheless
while you enjoyed my beautiful
cries of pain, emitting from the strings
able to cut through glass,
but not your fingers
that held my heart. **(c)

I died back in '85
but I was told my whole life
I was alive

the mattress I sleep on
is stained with my tears
multiplied with the years
of emotional trauma and fear
fear of dying alone

I pour my heart into different bowls
add some water and mix it with a brush
then sling it onto the blank walls
of the asylum
I built inside of myself
where I go to forget
that I have died before
and this is hell

the colors bent with the corners of the room
a different part of myself is in bloom
I'm redecorating my mind
as an abstract collage of everything I've learned so far
in my short amount of time

I entered back in '85
and it took twenty eight years to realize
that I have been dead this entire time

i will wade out
                        till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                                       Alive
                                                 with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
                                       in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
                                            Will i complete the mystery
                                            of my flesh
I will rise
               After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
             And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

Popping pills won't help
this tense ache
in my bones
this pressure
inside and within
even upon my skin
I have scars and bruises
all over me
sensitive to touch
because I get weak
everywhere
including my body
Mascara stains
where I last cried
Lipstick smears
on white pillows
where I last tried
to piece myself together
even though inside
I am dead
memories still haunt
and hold me together
a mix of dwelling
and surviving
trying to keep above
the uncontrollable
frustrating weather

If I had a million hearts,
they'd all be yours.

it will be a very long time
before i stop thinking of your lips
every time
i hear the word
*"kiss"