"benzodiazepine" poems
you have to face it:
you are getting tired of your boyfriend
especially when he sings along to the radio
your smile is cut open,
you are daydreaming through the midwest
your friend looking a little too hard
you touch your boyfriend’s jeans
just slightly.
her mouth is cut open,
and you can feel her red hair
spreading through you like a fever
you were always tired of her boyfriend
and you are already tired of los angeles
and you are only in texas.
you’ve been here for three days
and the earth shakes with *******
and gold bikinis. you sip a harvey wallbanger
and watch people **** in the fountain
and you resent your boyfriend
you cross your legs. you study the greek myths,
holding a cigarette.
her name is roxanne
and her mouth is a vase
of red flowers standing in the kitchen
of your connecticut home
when you are thirteen and
everyone is still alive
she is wearing black
and so are you.
you’ve never been ****** before.
the sun pushes through swelling flowers
towards the bar. you can’t stop blinking
when he leans into you, you giggle
like a mouse in a minidress
and uncross your legs, slowly
like you learned about in the magazines.
you’re wondering how much coke
one person can do in one night
(a lot)
but it’s not you, and the red fills the room
and you have benzodiazepine in your pocket
and you think about the word “calamity”
calm, or not?
what is the music industry?
you have started to sleep face down
and you keep the flowers close at night
and in the morning.
you’ve been kissing the sun
with your mouth open
so your boyfriend does a stage dive on national television
from 30 ft up
and the red fills the room.
when you are invited to his house
you want to say no
but instead you dress in silks
and take peyote, or LSD
roxanne drifts, laureled, around the ceilings
the host is drooling mad words
all over the candles. they’re not going out
and neither are you.
do you deserve half a million dollars,
or are you just telling yourself that?
roxanne doesn’t feel the gun in her mouth
until it’s going off
and she can see you outside on the beach
building your dream house out of sand-
but only for a second.
obviously, you didn’t think
you’d ever love your boyfriend again
but he relearned to walk
and you think it’s admirable
and strong, and brave
you’re the only one that los angeles didn’t swallow
by this time, the sun is going out
the blood around her mouth like a vase
of flowers on the kitchen table
give it a minute, you’ll be gone too.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 8:32 PM UTC
i. take a lesson from the way watercolor paint bleeds through notebook paper
ii. if i lose my mind and we lose our clothes i promise to never lose our hands and i hope you never hate me when the sun is up
iii. you made your bed now lay in mine
iv. my death wish is you telling me that you're sorry over and over again
v. all of these streetlights won't stop staring at me
vi. your eyelids, someone wants to kiss those and no it's not me okay it is
vii. what do you mean you don't keep all of my exhales in a glass jar
viii. i loved a thing once and then i died
ix. **** the world and then don't text it back the morning after
x. **** your love is my benzodiazepine
xi. are we making love or sulfuric acid
xii. how it is vs. how i want it to be vs. how it should actually be
xiii. oh, you didn't hear? your raspy screams and hollowed eyes aren't enough anymore
xiv. and now every car crash sounds like the last time you ever said my name
xv. pretty sure i have john f. kennedy's brain
xvi. you whispered "i love you" and it sounds more like an apology than anything
xvii. i have no poetry left inside of me, just a lot of white paint
xviii. accidentally bashed my head into a wall on purpose today and yes, i still have a mind and yes, you're still on it
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
I love how i feel your whispers
at night
on my ear
sometimes they're cold like me
sometimes they're gold and
i keep them in my pajamas pocket
forever
just in case that you have to leave
and i can't never hear
your whispers again
so i come back to bed and you're sleeping
beautifully and quietly
but your words seems to want to
escape
from my pocket
so i call you once, twice
and start talking to you with
my slurred voice
and you shut me up
with a goodnight kiss
first on my forehead
and then on my lips
i couldn't taste it well
from the medication
but i can hear
you saying
goodbye, little girl
sleep well,
farewell.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
I once wrote a poem
Of a girl that I knew
But I no longer feel the same
So take this poem to be true
This girl that I know
Acts blonder than her hair
She likes to put on a show
And got caught shoplifting at Claire's
She surrounds herself with guys
And Miley Cyrus magazines
She has the prettiest eyes
And would die for a benzodiazepine
She hates her size, and her thighs
But she really just can't see
It's in vain that she tries
Because she is nothing but perfect to me
I've never felt better
Than with this girl that I know
She's cuter than an Irish Red and White Setter
Hannah, I love you
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 6:27 PM UTC
It hurt, it always hurt
But when it was with them,
It wasn’t so bad.
It wasn’t even bad, it was addictive.
In the world of unlikely friends
People like them
Were the equivalent of a shot of Jack
After a ****** up day or week.
Then he smashed that glass on my face
And forced himself on me.
He shoved his fingers in my ***
So hard I came.
Later that week he watched
Me get wet through my trousers,
In the mirror behind me.
All that from just a conversation.
And if it had been anyone else,
I would’ve kicked them out.
It was hardly a question of being unable to defend myself.
But in their hands
Pain and pleasure slept in the same bed.
In my bed, between my legs
And made out till dawn.
If it had been anyone else,
Heads would’ve rolled.
But he just gave me a painkiller
And rubbed benzodiazepine on my skin.
And somewhere between
Them pulling my hair
And threatening me
You know to make it feel more real
I fell in love...
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 8:36 AM UTC
You are
The full moon
I stared at from a car window
As a child
On a long ride home
The sun beaten spot
On the floor
I seek, like a purring cat
For warmth
The foamy ocean wave
That stops just before my shoes
At the shore
Of the edge of the world
The exquisite fallen leaf
From an autumn tree
In the center of a forest
Filled with solitude
The smell of sawdust
Gasoline and
Damp basement
The crackling aftermath of fireworks
Cacophonous church bells
And deafeningly silent snowfall
The sunken benzodiazepine mattress
Disheveled hair brushed out of my face
A chronographic measure of a heart beating
The necrotizing infatuation of mortality
A dancer trapped and tangled in tissue
An oscillating fan in the summer night
The hand pressing down on my hip
Swishing of a brand new switchblade
Fibonacci sequence knots in fresh cedar wood
The polished stone between my fingers
A drop of black ink on eggshell stationary
And the soft glow of a night light
You are a collection
Of the best, unspoken
Parts of me
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 2:03 PM UTC
I get
only to have got
only to have lost
want
and O to have lost I will
only ever initiate gratified animation
when this tie of
anthropological operation
divides my
contemptuous feline inclination
where I want ease
where for scrutiny I plead
negligence reclining on any
every dream
imprudently high on benzodiazepine
I dreamt purity was conceivably
Tranquilized on
Horizons beach
applicable as subjectivity may be
the fabrication of chemical composure
has emancipated its tie
to beauty
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 3:05 PM UTC