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it didn’t take a lot a look a few words a few more looks bam not that any girl stuck around and so it was on to the next nothing is precious everything is possible forget what you know leave the road behind invent dance new dance cough spit breathe dance verbs multiplying gazillions of verbs stars what is it about art in my mind i hear all these things i was going to express all these itches scratch pick scabs get drunk write poetry dance ******* in your mouth ******* in my mouth salty sea surfing waves Caravaggio Courbet Turner Goya Ad Reinhardt Rothko Rimbaud Johnny Unitas Walter Payton Annie Proulx Patty Berglund Hannah Wilke Kim Gordon dark clouds rainbows meteor showers lantern licorice amethyst bone

in the end it’s you and your maker ashes to ashes dust to dust Mom questions it’s 4:30 PM December in Chicago and pitch black i don’t understand it’s not supposed to be this dark this cold she imagines a past that never existed events never occurred

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

it will be daylight soon and i am unprepared so terribly unfit for a new dawn suddenly realize tomorrow is today

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

when people die in masses is it any less lonely more comforting than when you die individually or is dying solitary for everyone

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

redemption is a powerful force but what if existence actually does not present second chances and we must live with the consequence of our mistakes

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

if there is an afterlife do i have any say in it or are we all merely lost baggage tossed from airport to airport

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

what if travelers at airports were met with welcoming arms shared stories food instead of suspicion body scanners separation boarding seating procedures

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

i built a magnificent sandcastle with wide open rooms interesting views spacious bathrooms huge kitchen secret places winding stairways auspicious towers swinging rope bridges welcoming gates but the tide washed it all away

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

i cry yet know not why am i a ***** i must take the goose by the neck whatever that means

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

speaking personally i’m never interested in the last bite only the first bite the middle tastes rather bland all chewing gulping automatic consumption talking swallowing stifling gases

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

horses mate with donkeys then out comes mules yet mules cannot propagate nature is so strange mysterious what is it about the attraction between donkeys and horses

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

2 gorgeous petite charming sweet young girls are subletting my place in Tucson i imagine ménage à trios or relationship with either one of them then realized how improper my thoughts will i ever learn

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

Reiko likes hanging out naked if the door is locked and they’re in for the evening she strips Reiko is one of those women who look better without clothes the curls under her arms are growing in dark thick her bush is filling out even her **** is hidden by silky brown hairs he cannot stop checking her out she pretends not to be aware as she trims her toenails he leers **** your cooch looks tasty Odys i like that you can speak crude to me he murmurs you really like that she answers yes i really like that he sees himself in her he is deep in sleep wakes by her hand pulling his hand down to her ***** bone he stirs confused in half sleep as she continues tugging his hand Odysseus realizes what Reiko wants it is 3 AM he touches her there warm distended begins to massage wetness gushes moves down bed puts face there she presses pumping grinding whispering repeatedly i want to *** so bad his mouth tongue breath work her hands grip his head push unyielding muscles stiffen arch shudder continues licking until her body lies still crawls up kisses her forehead hair bodies spoon fall to sleep in the morning he comments you were a naughty little girl last night Reiko grins answers i had an orangutan attack he questions an orangutan attack she confesses yeah they both laugh he has never known a woman so fierce urgent to ****** Reiko has a man’s libido she reminds him of himself they mimic each other hearing Reiko speak Odysseus’s own words back at him and visa versa convey how demanding insecure insensitive each can be to other they do not simply speak but mimic each other Reiko ‘s voice drops to low pitch as she grabs his buns kids hey Reiko Lee what do you think about us wiping each other’s butts we could become more intimate with our bodies Odysseus raises his voice sounding feminine replies Schwartzpilgrim you’re gross take a hike it is hilarious yet intuitive therapy that maintains level playing field neither allows other to be too weak or dominant

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

it is Sunday snowing blizzard freezing cold outside Odysseus sits on floor watching Bear’s football game at Reiko’s she sits naked paging through Art Forum magazine across sofa from him he hears her crunching on bag of barbecue potato chips during half time he reaches touches her bush runs fingers through her ***** hairs twirling them in his fingers she spreads her legs wide open he smells her hair breath perspiration ****** *** feet feels both repelled and attracted he is lost in fascination gently tugs on her lips slides finger inside massages probes her opening she directs him to kneel stands above him her arms at waist her pelvic bone in his face she orders **** it **** it good he follows her instruction **** my ***** she commands as she holds his head in hands her long skinny body thrusts hips forward Reiko presses gently pumping then more furious rough into Odysseus’s face ooohhh i’m going to shoot a load baby swallow my *** she shoves ***** bone into his face bangs his nose hard yet he remains ******* her legs thighs stomach muscles tremble oh oooohhhhh ohh Odys did you see that i came just like a guy oh Odys i loved that he wipes mouth laughs

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

a person’s sexuality is always in question how one interprets his or her own ****** persona relative to another person’s personality response ratio how one’s power measures reacts to another’s vulnerabilities strengths Odysseus and Reiko fit well together switching roles in impulsive volley he loves her masculinity the unpredictable equation of their love he teases Reiko Lee i’m so attracted to the tomboy in you i want to **** you off and let you **** me come over here and stick that fat hard **** in my pink little **** hole all the frustration rage pain pent up inside you i want you to harness that hurt and slam it into me and shoot your load all over me **** me good Reiko Lee she looks at him strange says you’re a weird bird Schwartzpilgrim how weird do you think he asks her voice takes on a creepy overruling tone Odys, you want me to fist-******* he snaps shut up Reiko Lee get out of here she runs fingers through hair breathes out through nose taunts Odys let me ******* a ***** and ******* in the *** Odysseus’s voice grows loud Reiko Lee you’re crossing the line just because i mention some crazy thought doesn’t mean i’m actually into such weirdness don’t try to take what i say to some sound conclusion i enjoy experimenting but i’m one hundred percent male i like to test limits because i’m secure in my manhood spicing our *** life with ***** fantasies is one thing but don’t overstep i got the **** and you got the ***** let’s keep it that way don’t mess with me she replies ok ok Odys i didn’t mean to offend you

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

often he personifies the lead and she interprets the willing or amendable he requests many ****** urges she for the most part eagerly fulfills yet knowing his desires run over the top he considerately concedes to her sensibility he asserts rule number 1 Reiko Lee please let me have my way with you ok please try to not refuse me she smiles consents ok Odys and i want the same from you he insists rule number 2 repeat after me i’m addicted to your ***** i’m codependent on your **** she repeats i’m addicted to your ***** Odys i’m codependent on your **** he challenges rule number 3 at least one ******* a day agreed? She answers yes Odys agreed later he thinks about their conversation approaches her Reiko Lee sometimes i need more than one ******* a day maybe one in the morning and one after you get home from work i need your adoring attention down there will you do that for me please she shoots sarcastic look at him what are you a cow that needs milking everyday all right Odys whatever you desire he gratefully acknowledges Reiko Lee you’re so good to me thank you next morning he says Reiko Lee when i think about you the first image that comes to mind is your eyes i love your eyes more than any other part of you she comments oh yeah more than my **** hole? he flinches surprised oh god i can’t believe you said that you are so outrageous Reiko Lee you have got the sexiest **** hole i’ve ever seen i love adore revere your hairy **** hole when are you going to let me get some of that she remarks we’ll see Schwartzpilgrim in due time the following morning he notices bathroom door is wide open peering inside he sees her sitting on toilet she looks up smiling as he nears he questions which are you doing peeing or ******* she answers why do you need to know he requests lift up and let me watch she raises her thighs knees legs curling toes on toilet seat her **** muscles pucker then a brown extent begins appearing from her hole her vaginal lips flare urethra presses as short spurt of ***** accompanies discharge the ***** length drops into bowl followed by smaller piece Odysseus perceives the action produced by her body as intimate natural expression occurring without contrivance manipulation he studies the form as if it were a sculptural object descended into water to bottom of bowl Reiko reaches for roll of toilet tissue he interrupts **** she answers let me wipe myself first it reeks in here you mean watching me taking a **** turns you on you are one sick monkey he says shut up and **** she follows his instruction after several minutes he pulls out of her mouth jerks off while she watches he shoots wildly on her chin neck chest she rubs his ***** on her ******* they both break out in laughter she says come on let’s take a shower together she begins speaking sentence he finishes it she says Odys i’m not comfortable with more than he breaks in one ******* a day i understand Reiko Lee she expresses thank you Odys one is enough agreed he replies ok ok

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

a week passes Saturday evening she comes from work to his place with stressed look on her face she falls back into wall on floor with her legs stretched out she asks got anything to eat he answers a couple of beers in the fridge her brow furrows as she speaks in low tone Odys i’m guessing there’s something seriously wrong with you he questions wrong with me huh what she comments your physique is weird your shoulder blades and rib cage stick out you’ve got a sunken sternum he answers yeah i know it’s not really a problem more like natural peculiarities she says yeah well you’ve got other peculiarities he asks oh yeah like what she remarks i’ve never known or heard of a man who gets hard as often as you it’s deviant you’ve got some kind of disorder you need to go see a doctor he admits i know i got a problem my libido is out of control it’ll calm down it’s been a long time since i felt so hot for someone do you really think it’s serious enough to go see a doctor she answers serious enough to insist you bone me once a day he laughs Reiko Lee you had me going she grins get over here you ***** ******* and **** me good Reiko’s favorite way to ****** is with her legs closed tight she lies beneath while his ******* presses in pumping her thighs buttocks squeeze stomach muscles tense whole body jerks spasms as she reaches ****** Odysseus’s favorite position is with Reiko on top he likes her rhythms and control

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

when Michael Vick was found guilty for dog fighting mauling cruel killing i wanted him dead dead dead but he is a brilliant quarterback and i was wrong who am i to understand another person’s background judge them maybe there is redemption

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

if another war comes it’s China we must fight to hate fear them run hide

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

it’s a long twisted road down a dark cold hole many are too damaged others work toward salvation yet some unscathed by all this filth

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

on the brighter side death gets a bad rap by mortals think positive perhaps death is graduation to whatever at worst death is release from life’s disappointments expectations responsibilities burdens betrayals pain horrors

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

i remember when Dad was dying all these new people who i still remember entered my life for a brief time it seems like the same thing is happening now

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

Mom i’m right here behind you don’t be scared i’m watching out for you

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache
jad Jul 2013
What if this was all bones bones bones
Rocks were nothing but bones bones bones
What if I was all bones bones bones
What if we were just bones bones bones
When I go, leave no trace but our bones bones bones
Oh home is where I'd like to lay my bones bones bones
What if cemeteries were more than just bones stones bones
What if cemeteries were just forests
oh no Nov 2014
my silence is burrowed in these bones, my bones
let me go alone into the catacombs let me breathe the heart of this impenetrable darkness
I swear to god I never meant to hurt you
outside, on your doorstep I am worn out
sick and tired, and so on
these cave walls hover on my ribs I will never make you understand how the music
of this death march haunts me in my empty chest I am filled with the waning moon
the song of our sorrow overflows me my bones, my bones,
weaved within the stone floors our bones, your bones stacked against the walls
let me go alone into this hollowed darkness this
hallowed ground
in the dead of night this void shudders in my bones, my bones
I swear I’m dying I swear to god the cavern of this morgue is
my only home
let me go gentle into this good night
this holy unborn chaos under cover of darkness our world is small and scarred
someday I swear I will be still my shaking hands
will settle in these bones, these bones, let me die among the dead
under cover of darkness this new world washes over me the water of my veins
will flood this empty sky
there are thrones in the corners of this room and we turn away
(the underworld is not in flames it is drowned
in this cold breathing earth) there are thrones
in the corners of this room, and they
are empty
let me go alone into this heart of darkness, when I fall upon this floor my soul
will dance on torch lit walls my heart runs cold across this sacred stone
let the pure unsettled darkness strike in me that kind of hollow
I am trying to build a home here, these bones, my bones
the music of our heavy mouths drifts upward to the sky
I am a tragedy, for the last time
we will lose our senses underground and we will thank god
as my eyes fall wide on these hollow walls I am more at home than I have ever been
let this open earth bite me to my core
as my chest is bared before this empty sky I will not rage against the dying of the light
I am worn out
sick and tired
the chorus of our footsteps echoes on my bones, our bones, my bones
melted in this torch light we are dying
Hinata May 2012
lovely bones scattered on the floor,
beautifully red and intersecting all over the door.
lovely bones ran clean with no scrapes from the knife,
the very knife that took their life.
lovely bones, so beautiful, so pretty.
more beautiful than their blood that tasted ever so sweet.
lovely bones decorated the floor so beautifully and gave it the beauty of death,
not caring that i took their owners breath.
my beautiful bones, my lovely bones,
smooth and heavy as beautiful stones.
my lovely bones, i stroke your skulls,
your blank inexpressive expression tells it all.
i love your beautiful ribs and spine,
knowing that they are now mine.
but my favorite of all time is the arm and leg bones,
i love that bone.
its beautiful and long with a unique characteristic.
its beauty is just so majestic!
my beautiful lovely bones, i adore you!
i laugh wickedly as i fondled you.
my lovely bones, so beautiful,
only getting you was a task i must fulfill.
come to me, my fantasy as beautiful as dazzling stones,
my angelic, lovely bones.
i thought i could capture the mind of a killer, so anyways, any thoughts?
Sofia Paderes Sep 2013
The next time someone says that
someone else is skin and bones
I'll say that they don't know
what the heck they're talking about
because they haven't seen you
and the way your skin grips tightly to your
tired old bones
the way it sags in some parts
because there's barely any bone to cling on to
or how your skeleton of a body
just lies there uncomfortably on the bed that isn't your own
I can hear you crying out for home
you are the epitome of skin and bones
skin and bones
skin and bones
you are the epitome of skin and bones

But you are the strongest skin and bones I know.

I've never seen you in pain before.
Not even when you cut your finger
or fell down the stone stairs
You complained about everything and everyone else but
not once did you complain about your bones creaking
or back aching
or feet hurting
or knees shaking.
You never told me when you were sick.
I'd only find out from the medicine bottle beside your plate
or from Mom who'd say.
You never told me you were sick.
I only found out from Dad and the way
your body slowly faded every
I found out from your headaches
your new scars
your bloodred skin in some parts
your speaking
your breathing
You struggled with your  breathing
yet you refused to be confined
because you wanted to make sure
someone would take care of me.
I can take care of myself!
I should be the one taking care of you so
why would you...
how could you...

You are the strongest skin and bones I know.

But I saw you in pain today.
I didn't think that
it would hurt me that much
to see your face white and crying
your brows knitted together
your bony hands clutching your stomach.
You didn't want me to see you so
I left the room because even in your agony
you didn't want me to watch.
I bet you were pressing the cancer down, telling it,
"I'm not going
The eldest hasn't graduated
The youngest isn't in high school yet
and I still need to teach the second to make chocolate cake."
Or maybe you were telling it,
"Stop it.
My apo* shouldn't see me like this.
If I'll go, I'll go quietly.
I know when I'm defeated.
Just stop the pain
because more than me, it's hurting them.

You are the strongest skin and bones I know.

Lolo was a fighter.
He fought it tooth and nail.
They gave him a month
He showed them a year and a half
because he refused to go down
without a battle
without seeing the face of
the grandson he'd been waiting for.
He saw him and held him.
He was hairless and his lungs were blackened,
but he saw him and held him.
But you are a fighter, too.
In your own way.
You don't want to fight like he did
no, you don't want us to see you like that.
You fight with your eyes
with your silent love
with the way you finally let my rough lips
brush against your soft forehead today
with the way you gripped Mom's hand tightly
for the first time
with the way you let my brother clumsily kiss your eye
with the way you let us stay the whole day
even though we were kind of sort of rowdy
with the way you want to go home
with the way your lips silently
formed an amen when we prayed for you.
You never did that before.
I know you'll keep fighting like that
and I know you know when it's time to fight
and when it's time to surrender.
I don't know what's going to happen
but please promise me you'll surrender in peace
without pain
without troubles
without fear
and please, before you go
I want to tell you that

You are the strongest skin and bones I know.
*apo - grandchild or grandchildren
Courtney Taylor Jun 2014
We are bones. Us as the human race. we are bones covered in flesh. Different flesh, but we're still bones.
We look different, but we're still bones.
We sound different, but we're still bones.
We move different, but we're still bones.
We act different, but we're still bones.
Get it yet?
We are individuals, but underneath, we are bones.
We are the same. Equal.
Each of us are skeletons created by the same God, who personalized us according to His will.
All in all; we are replicated bones.
Pao Jun 2018
in my bones
i’ve grown up to the way
you creep at the back of my mind
beckoning me into your
sinister light

after all these years
i never seem to get over you
you’re in my bones
i can never get rid of you

i don’t know if you ever think of me
it’s such a shame you will never know
what you meant to me
it’s such a shame we never worked it out

you never listened to the people
that held you near
you never listened to the people
that wanted the best for you.

i wanted the best for you
but your ego struck hard
your stubbornness made you insufferable

you are in my bones
i try to burn you out
but you are wedged within my skin

i will never understand
why you ran away from me
i will never understand
why my love was never enough for you
i will never understand
why you chased me down all these years

you are in my bones
i will never wash you out
nothing i can do
will make you fall out

i wish you could understand
how well we could have been
if you would just listen
listen to what people have to say

you are in my bones
i will never wash you out
nothing i can do
will make you fall out

you are in my bones
you are in my bones
you are in my bones

in my bones
in my bones

get out of my bones
a song about a first love
I am skin and bones, bones and skin
barely held together from within
all the hopes that held my dreams
didn’t really know what to be
but skin and bones, bones and skin
now I’m floating out in space
didn’t leave a bread crumb, not a trace
don’t follow me into the darkness
I’m hopin’ you will see the light

wraith-like, an apparition of humanity
a daring definition of me
I’m not really here, not really standing in front of you
one sneeze and I’ll blow away
‘cause I’m just skin and bones
you know it, bones and skin
so thin you can see right through me

cradled by the world, in a tiny little house
balled up in my covers, quiet as a mouse
you walk in and call my name
I hear it, I breath in an exclamation
it’s all the same, it’s all the same I fear
don’t call me baby, don’t call me dear
I’m just skin and bones, did’nt you hear?
standing in the darkness, I know it’s true
that light was never meant to be, not me and you
can’t you hear the crying of all the bells?
can’t you hear the lighting of torches and yells?

I am skin and bones, bones and skin
hold together, don’t let me in
no dreams ‘cause hopes are ignited by flame
it’s a curse, don’t call my name
I didn’t really know what to be out there
a part of me told me not to care
for I was meant to be skin and bones
There’s a Devil of a night each year, the night of Mr. Haim!
When the devilish and ghoulie ones come out to play their monster’s game.
And why some would seek to trick or treat on this scary day of dead?
Careful now cause gremlins, trolls …sprites and wolves, will offer up their dread!
Quiet, shush, I hear a pack of creepy-crawly boots…

Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo!
And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.

That crafty-smith of horns and hooves is spying on these kiddies,
As Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo are hunting strays to do their dastardly-ditties.
Quiet, shush, I hear a pack of creepy-crawly boots,
And their costumes, oh-so-foul, the evilest of suits!
And there she is, that little girl who can’t keep up, in a tasty mushroom ensemble.
And the skeleton bones clink in her path to give her quite a tomble!

Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo!
And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.

And Sammy Haim, that smithy-devil, a ***** hoof -igniting ghoul’s desire,
He’s howling out, demanding now, “Put that child to the fire!”
And little does he know, no little bit, not even a small clue,
Neither Ra’atan-Zu nor Boogedy-Boo intend on giving him his due!
For once a year on Halloween they get one night to spaz,
Get down and *****, wild and crazy and play a little jazz!
That little mushroom of a girl will play a tiny fiddle,
Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo, a jazzy duet with child in middle!'

Ra’atan-Zu, Boogedy-Boo and a little girl too as they get down actin’ a spaz! Playin’ all night, howling to the moon and kickin’ out some wicked jazz!

And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
  The skeleton bones clink.

Halloween narrative rhyme.
R Amber Sep 2018
today i carry myself not too gracefully
but with the air that says i am doing it gingerly
i hold the tender bones of my body close
in hopes that they stay and not fall to the floor

it's been forever since i met with my doctor
and let her inspect my bones that do sometimes
threaten to break, brittle
but i make sure she knows that my brittle bones
have become stronger, even though each step
has to be taken little by little

the bones in my chest--they constrict and they expand
the bones in my head--they either weight too little or too much
the bones in my legs--they take time to obey to movement
the bones in me--they work together to form this person

this person that carries her tender bones
that is me, i am her
this person that bends but rarely breaks
that is me, i am her
this person that forgets where she left her bones
she is not me, that person is gone
Alysia Michelle Jan 2015
Hollowed in cheek bones hollowed out skull
drugs will make your brain go dull
hollowed in cheek bones hollowed out skull
all other feelings but euphoria are null
that's until the high wears thin
then I need more in my skin
less of a person more of a drone,
less of a person more skin and bone
can't get out the bugs
can't sweat out the drugs
Hollowed in cheeks hollowed out bones
My skin and heart are full of holes
I'm still a person beneath the monster
But what if it one day consumes me?
Hollowed in cheek bones hollowed out skull
childhood is what i stole
i used to have children
now i have child support
and i can't even support my addiction
hollowed in cheek bones hollowed out skull
how long till the drugs take toll
dance with the devil
flirt with the monster
clean for a moment
then it calls to me again
come back to me
come back my friend
want so badly to stay clean
but my friend the monster
needs me
hollowed in cheek bones hollowed out skull
the monster has devoured me whole
hollowed in cheek bones hollowed out skull
is there salvation for my soul?
i'm in prison
or a slave
is it in my veins today?
hollowed in cheek bones hollowed out skull
out of prison on parole
hollowed in cheek bones hollowed out skull
how much longer can i control
my veins ache with the memory
i need that constant reverie
just a little couldn't hurt
one more time
one little flirt
hollowed in cheek bones hollowed out skull
now im on the patrol
need to find more
need more cash
find another stash
empty stomach is no concern
need to **** this aching urge
when will more emerge
how long till my teeth fall out
how much longer on this route
went out one day for a stroll
and fell right down the rabbit hole.
disclaimer: I have never done drugs myself, but I have witnessed the damage they cause first hand.
NellieThePhoenix Feb 2014
These bones are invisible
I can't stay like this forever
The mirror reflects rolls and cellulite
I can't see bones
All I hear in my ear
"You Anorexic *****! Gain some weight!"

I don't see bones
Thighs covered in fresh flesh
My pant size two sizes too big
Will this be me forever?

Consuming salads with no dressing
Isn't satisfying, but its easier to remove
"You ugly *****!"
You finally see what do too
I don't see bones

Sticks and stones can't break my bones
And I don't even have bones.

These nights spent bawling And shedding tears
Wishing I could lose 30 lbs
That scale spazzed out on me
"Get off of me!"

I look down and read 73.
**** this! Why is this me?!
I don't see bones

Rolls and cellulite
Is all I see
But I can't see bones
Kealey Jan 2019
Delicate, slender, beautiful.
Cheek bones,
That encase a beautiful face,
A glowing smile highlights those bones,
With a tint of pink.
Collar bones,
Which lead to big beautiful *******,
That are ****, and hold a head up high.
**** little bones, peering right through the skin
Showcasing every small gasp,
Every small breath.
Hip bones,
A product of a flat stomach,
Sharp and beautiful,
Something he can grab tenderly.
Knobby knees,
That have a gap between them,
A gap for someone to fit in.
And long spindly fingers,
Cold to the touch.
I want to see them,
I want to touch them,
Caress them with a tenderness never shown to me,
Then perhaps, when I can touch the fragility of my bones, under my skin
Will I be happy with my body, with myself
No longer will I be the girl needing to lose weight,
I will be beautiful, wanted, cared about
Perhaps, even people will see how fragile I truly am,
Perhaps someone will look after me, finally.
Andrew Parker Jul 2018
Bones for Breakfast
July 2014

Bones are like peanut brittle.
Gnawed on til toothless,
by us old mangy mutts.
Tastes sweet tender as a drop 'o dew,
Feels soft in a bride's whisper, "I do."
But speaks crunchy crackles of Tic-Tac language,
instead of ******* out bad breath breathe shards in.

Although bones may break,
become buried under archaeologists' noses,
slip through crevices cracked and crumbled.
They were once anything but brittle,
covered only by skin yet to be bruised,
backs yet to be battered,
blood yet to be spilled,
faces yet to witness the history yet to be written.

I do not believe we are supposed to eat bones,
but we break them down into shreds of paper-back tidbits,
consumable by children during the snack time called 'history class.'
Our teachers are creating cannibals,
consuming culture on textbook platters,
but pay no mind while wearing bone bibs,
they leave out the thickest cuts of meat and just eat the ribs.

History is a living thing, dressed to deceive those who blindly believe.
I remember reading George Washington's claim to fame,
"I did not chop down that cherry tree."
But Mr. President, what about your enemies?
Because every revolution needs people to die for the revolutionaries.
Ain't that a sweet piece of cherry lie pie?

I learned Genghis Khan sure got it on with many women,
but didn't read about Alexander the Great's great ***,
much of it involving a same-gendered mate.
Wait, was that a mixture of patriarchy and hetero-normativity?
Words that weren't worth the pennies to print?
Who hired these fact checkers for the publishing industries?
I'll give you a hint,
Learn who has the most to gain from condemning intellectual content and corrupting it with a corrosive lack of social conscience.
As textbook reps tell professors, "Buy our books with cute new features."  But since when was that what made good teachers?
And so, these chapters get served to us on poo poo platters,
passed off to be refreshing as fresh mint pours in for corporations like Pearson Education.

I surveyed the lay of the land in Egypt,
purveying the literature of pharaohs.
Pyramids meant to portray a portrait of powerful people,
not a foolish riddle.
"Who built them," we ask.
But not of curiosity for whose backs broke building.
Its whose bones mummified beneath are made into mythological creatures along with Sphinx features.

I was taught the Holocaust was a unique horror story,
along with the catch phrase "never again."
Yet those 600 pages neglected to educate about the "re-education campaign" against the Cambodians.
Where was I to learn of the Rwanda civilization's tensions and exterminations?
Perhaps those pages were buried in the mass graves and dirt ditches, deserted and desecrated like the indigenous individuals we now call Native Americans.

Tell me more about art again.
It conveys a message about the historical humans experience,
but I think that message got lost sometime in the Renaissance Period.
When men had beards and wore colorful clothing,
but now that is either unprofessional or deemed gay as a bad thing.
When women were depicted full-bodied as that meant social status,
but now they are painted in photo shop with air brushes and slimmed slick.
We've created a glorious new empire of gastrointestinal bypass Groupons, and have either **** out or surgically removed all the bones we swallowed to get here... So, who's ready for lunch?
maya May 2018
what sound do you make
when your bones hit the floor?
heavy like the noise
of a slamming door.
light as a bird, bones do sound
soft as whispered words.

when they are ripped
from your body, a little,
you’ll look pretty and brittle
and breakable; little china doll,
I advise you not to fall.

tapping on bones, like sticks,
little drummer boys
make a war cry noise.
the battlefield is invisible
until it’s not, and your skin prickles.

fingers, bony spiders, crawl
hurting, tearing it all.
barren like a desert
the bones do seem
bleached and white,
like a mother that weeps.

gravestone bones like little dancers.
strong as milk, shatter army advances
in you; they sabotage you,
then they try to break through
and crack and bend.
they’ll be out!
they’ll be much better then-

but your body, made of jelly
misses the commensalism.
bones, they create a schism
between mind and body.
they’re ever so naughty.
v V v Feb 2011
The skeletons my father keeps in his closet
are not my own,
those bones would be far too obvious.
The demons he fought I've put in the ground,
the bones his daddy gave him,
the ones I said would not be mine.

But dead bones don’t die,
at least the bones that pass from fathers to sons,
instead they fester and stew
and boil below the surface
where barely a sound is heard.
Meanwhile my boys are busy digging them up.

Its true
boys tend to dig and get *****;
my boys dig up bones
and drum them on my door.

I worked so hard to break the cycle,
to raise my boys without the pain,
to protect their fragile hearts from heartache,

I kept telling myself to keep the dead dead,
but its hard to do when the dead don't really die,
instead they lie about the absence of pain,
the pain I knew so well,
the fear that motivated me to be something more,
to push myself beyond
what I thought I could be,
to a place where I might be a man.

But here at the end
my boys are still boys drumming up bones,
no fear, they expect the world to be easy.

I have learned that fear can be a great motivator.
It worked for me
but not my boys
I never gave them anything to fear.
I gave them boats with oars
and straw to make brick
and lots of love and plenty of hugs
and always told them I was proud of them

but I never gave them fear.

Now my boys fear nothing
but expect everything

dead bones don't die

they just look different
Published at Pyrokinection, June, 2013
Liam Kleinberg Jun 2015
I’ve always had a fascination with bones. The skeletal system was taught to me in my fourth grade year. I learned the name of each bone that laid just under my thin layers of skin. I read books on how they were made, how they were broken, how they fixed themselves. I saw them as self-sufficient. I gazed at the plastic skeleton that lived in the corner of my classroom. I tried to match his bones with mine. ******* in my stomach to pinpoint each individual rib. Stretching my skin to watch the edges of my bones appear. I remember narrowing my eyes at the plastic toy in front of my face. It was like he was mocking me. He was showing me everything I wished I could see on myself. Staring at me with such contemptuousness in a sneer of his plastic teeth. I walked away in a mood that rivaled a hurricane, tears that felt foreign against my soft cheeks and a boiling pool of disgust deep inside my body that was covered in too many layers of skin.

I spent my first two years of middle school in quiet distaste. I forgot my fascination with the bones inside me. I never quite existed anywhere but in my own head. I was content. When my father pushed us away the first time, we fled to a different home on a different street. The second time, he shoved us into a different house in a different state. I started a new school with new people that inhabited new sets of bones. In my biology classroom, another plastic skeleton took up home in the corner. I went back to my new house everyday to my mother who I only saw once a day if I went to seek her out and sisters who had to take the blows silently. I trailed behind them, gathering their missing pieces and using the glue holding me whole to stick their parts back together. I scrambled to feed the zombies wandering around my house, shaving off layers of skin. I had to stand by and watch my own body turn into the skeleton I envied. I could peel back the skin I had left and finally see the sharp edges of milky bone.

We were pushed again. To another house in another state. I panicked to hide what was festering inside my chest. I tried to shield it from the eyes of my sisters, trying to keep them pure from fear of death or something just as scary. I pulled a veil down over my face, building a wall between the people I loved and myself. I watched as girls my age twisted and smiled and matured. I felt uneasiness as I tried to be like them, taking note of the way they flicked their hair back and tried to replicate it in a mirror. I painted my face with powders and rimmed my eyes in black to cover the red. I grew out my hair long enough to cover the bones trailing down my back, trying to bend in a shape that I didn’t want them going. I spent nights trying to find something that could bring my bones to life. I danced around death, grinning like a maniac when I dipped my toes into the ******* I had found. I watched the blood drip from the cracks in my skin as I stared by at my own face that looked like a ghost to me now. I didn’t recognize the person in the mirror. With white around their nose, red around their eyes and with features almost parallel to the skeleton that had mocked me so long ago.

I came back from myself in the months following. I tried to rip off the veil over my eyes. I worked to carefully dismantle the wall between me and everyone else. I let my skin grow and grow until I couldn’t see the bones I used to find beautiful. I let myself dress how I knew I wanted. I let myself be who I wanted. I took the pain I had nurtured in my chest since I was a child and bundled it up, pushing it away because it was a friend I didn’t want to be around anymore. I had to learn how to hold my sisters up and climb up with them too. I started scribbling a new name on the canvases I have poured my heart into. I stopped trying to carve my own bones into the shape I wanted them to be and instead, I painted the way they grew. I molded creatures out of clay. I drew beautiful things. I made beautiful things. I began only drawing the things I saw most beautiful. I drew flowers and animals and the people I had allowed to help me. I drew architecture and waterfalls and insects. After my bones had disappeared and the smile on my face wasn’t pulled up by the thought of being non existent, I drew myself too.
this is the poetic essay I had to write for English. It's supposed to have a theme and only be 640 words long... I went like 200 words over **** this thing *****
erica court Mar 2017
subway metropolitan subway
               can't keep the clothes        on
         and i know
                             what you do to me

what i need is you
                  high heels and only them
         creeping on fleek
  in my bones, bones
   laughing shivering me
to the core
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
I am the fire
And your the gasoline
You like my charactertics.  
You like my soul
You can’t break my bones

I’ve got broken bones
But not from
The sticks or stones

I’ve got broken bones
Not the stick or stones
But by the racism

I’ve got broken bones
Not from the sticks or stones
But by forceful people
With forceful beliefs

I am the fire
And your the gasoline
You like my charactertics.  
You like my soul
You can’t break my bones

I’ve got broken by
Not from the sticks or stones
But from the words you call

I’ve got broken bones
Not from the sticks or stones
But from phoney personality

I’ve got broken bones
Not from the sticks or stones
But from the threats

I am the fire
And your the gasoline
You like my charactertics.  
You like my soul
You can’t break my bones

$&%? You!!!!
Can’t break them.
From the song broken bones from the pop band love inc.
Addie Mar 2015
Do you ever think about your bones?

The way the support everything we do.

They break and they age and they grow.

Bones hold every story you've ever told.

From the time you broke your toe dancing to ice ice baby

to the time you wrote a new chapter.

Bones are everything we are

and everything we ever will be

Our bones are what's left behind

after we move on to the next life

Our bones will tell our lives stories.

The carpal tunnel from writing, painting and playing an instrument

these are all left behind

to tell the archaeologists we

were here

and we tried to show the world

we cared

about its

valencia May 2019

from dust and broken glass, from silver and stone, an army arises from their shallow graves. and to this day, no one can remember that this is how it all began.

demons run when a good man goes to war.
that’s what they have always told me. there haven’t been any good men here for a while then, because I can still see demons lurking around corners like shadows.

there have always been things in my life I have learned not to question. you do not doubt the stars in the sky, the ground beneath your feet, or the strength of the northernland. we do not question the northernland.

i like to ask myself questions-
after the sky fell, who gathered it all up and put it back in the sky?
they won’t tell us in school.
when the sky fell, what did the stars taste like?
i think it would taste like fire and pain and sugar, like drinking lighting hot lemonade in the summer.
we don’t ask in school.


there has never been enough. money, food, water. in school, they teach us about the war. the war has no name, it is just the war. maybe it will someday. no one dares to name it. you do not name the devil.

we bow to the throne of the northernland, unaware that is was born of lies. the cameras are our leader now. they are all we have ever known.

on Sundays we go to church and pray. the crosses will never hang right and are always turning upside down and the priest is always looking pale. we all look pale, now. the cloud of dust from northernland blocks out the sun most days.

I went to Lou's house today. she has a red front gate and ivy growing in her garden. we kicked a deflated kickball around for a bit, but she kept looking over her shoulder. she pretended to drop the ball behind her but couldn't bend down to grab it because her arm is broken, so I went over. tears were hiding beneath her eyes, but she did not say anything. then her dad came out and watched us play. i didn’t like his smile, it was too wide.

when i wanted to go home, he offered to walk me home. i said i could do it by myself. wouldn’t want you to get into trouble he said, somehow smiling wider. lou made herself laugh and smiled too, but it wasn’t a real smile. as we walked home, he didn’t turn his head away from me, even to cross the street. i looked deep into his pupils, which were so wide they covered the colored part. i swore i could see someone behind them, watching. i didn’t say anything. after i went into my house,
he stood out front for a long time, watching. then i heard. shout from the basement but the door was locked as always so i got scared about that instead and when i looked out front again he was gone.


today in school i fell and skinned my knuckles. the blood that came was strange, reddish-orange. teacher grabbed my hand and bandaged it right away before i could get a good look at it. she said you mustn’t tell your mother.

teacher doesn’t know that mother went to go live in the White Building, a place for people who hear voices and don’t like the government and have to be restrained so they don’t hurt people. i don’t say any of this, i just nod my head ok.

sometimes i worry, about alistair. he’s a gravedigger and everyday when he comes home he looks so empty. he won’t tell me why he’s so sad but once i heard him tell canary that the graves just get bigger everyday and then after a long time he said but there are always to many bodies

i tried to listen more but he found me behind the wall and when i asked him why there were so many bodies he said there’s a sickness, that’s all
then after that teacher made us all wear cottons masks that are itchy and make it hard to breathe.


on the telly today the man in the suit announcer we had another victory but i don’t understand how we can have victories without winning the war. the man in the suit tried to show a picture but all we saw was a blurry mess because alistair said sometimes things can’t be shown on the telly but i don’t know why. i doesn’t make sense why they would restrict anything anymore. we now what it looks like. a flat landscape paved with bodiesaccented with blood.
we aren’t supposed to know about that though.

in school, teacher tells us there have been no casualties of the war. but only when principal is watching. when he’s not she’s stuffs our coats beneath the crack and the door and tunes the telly to a different station- one that’s fuzzy that she has to hold a hanger to in order for us to see anything. and she’ll flip back and forth between leader of the northernland and say this is propagandam  and then turn the **** back to the man in the suit, and then say this is the truth

i don’t know why teacher tells us these things.


listen- do you hear it? i can hear planes buzzing overhead. teacher says to ignore it. teacher says we aren’t supposed to hear.
alistair never lets me go in the basement. he keys the key round his neck, even when he’s sleeping. he says it’s dangerous down there. but i’ve always been too curious- that’s what principal says. he looks at me with those stern different colored eyes and says curiosity killed the cat every time ms. hoth brings me to his office for doodling. i still have no idea what a cat is. cardeully, he erases my drawings and put the paper neatly into his desk. we waste nothing here. go home is all he says. but i know what he means. walk home in silence and do not ask questions, do not look behind curtains and do not wander off.

today mari has her birthday party. her mum wasn’t there. i can tell lou noticed because her eyes were scanning the room all strange, but she didn’t say anything. i didn’t ask. mari looked all scared and the camera of the ceiling fan hadn’t moved from her in a long time. i wondered who was watching her.

later, mari pulled me beneath her bed. i tried to say something but she covered my mouth with her hand. they’ll take me for telling you
was all she said.
but i have to tell someone.

i knew the feeling.
after a long time she took her hand off of my mouth and said mums in the garden

while she opened her presents, the mandatory ones from the northernland that are no fun, i tried to look out the window to see her mum. the only thing i could see in the garden was a pile of freshly turned earth. lou caught me looking and grabbed my wrist. she said you mustn’t look.

when i come home there is a woman sitting at the kitchen table, and with her there are four ravens. she is royal, i can feel it in the way she sits and breathes and just exists. she looks at her hands and then at me. but this lady is not a guardian angel, like the kind canary says is always looking out for us. i am not an angel. she says. she is not from the northernland, but not from here either. i know is all i say, because i am not alarmed that she is here and that there are cameras and that she does not belong. i know she is not real. and she says i am a godess. i do not doubt her. she sits up, and puts the ravens about her in her hair and on her shoulders and the like. this is an omen. i nod, because why else would a goddess be at my kitchen table? and then she is gone because she was never really there, and i wash my face and make sure i am no longer seeing people that are not there, because i don’t want to go live in the White Building like mum.


they are always watching us at recess- we mustn’t stand or walk anymore. we have never been allowed to run. there are cameras everywhere now, too. they see everything like a great waking monster that never sleeps. i thought i would feel safe with the cameras, but the back of my neck feels prickly like there’s somebody standing behind me and when i spin around and look the mushroom is empty except for me.

the only place there aren’t cameras is under alistair bed. i go and hide there sometimes, just to forget the feeling of being watched. that’s where i read the stories that alistair’s written. in them, he talks about a sky as blue as the ocean.
i have never been to the ocean. i remember the sky used to be blue, but never really. now it is a sickly grey.
canary caught me looking at the sky once and pushed my head down. she said don’t let them catch you looking or they’ll put cameras in your eyes.
i believe her.


today we went to mandatory meeting, where they passed out rations. there is always less and less then there was last time. while we were there they made us watch a video where the leader of the northernland talked about how well we were doing in the war and how this would almost be over soon. he also reminded us that if we were past curfew there would be serious punishments.
for rations we got a red powder called kool-aid that you mix with water to make juice. we also got a loaf of white bread, a browned banana, circular crackers and a warm jacket. alistair took the jacket and left for work.

canary always looks worried. ever since mom went bonkers i haven’t seen her not wearing her worry lines. i can’t believe she’s only six years older than me. to alistair that doesn’t seem like a long time. to me, six years is an eternity. as long as a war.

canary watched alistair go at the window for a long time, long after he disappeared into the fog. then, all of a sudden, she turned around and said i’ll help you with your homework. i didn’t tell her that i knew how to multiply fractions. mom always used to say that if you were busy you weren’t worried. canary made me a cup of red juice and her hands shook so much she dropped the glass.
pity, that was our last one. it seemed to shatter in slow motion, and i could see every piece break slower and slower.

the day seemed to go by slowly, the cold sleeping into my bones and making me sleepy. i wa so thirsty, so thirsty. i wasn’t allowed anymore water till friday though. if you drink to much of it at once you get sick. i begged canary to let me drink from the stream in the garden but she wouldn’t. it’s black and thick, and smells like nail polish.

the last time i punted my nails was for dads funeral. i remember canary used her last bottle of nail polish to paint my fingers black, so as not to have anybody see the dirt under my fingernails. it didn’t matter, in the end. we were the only ones who attended.

canary is flying together the pieces of the glass with tacky glue. i can’t bear to tell her that all the glue in the world would never be enough. the shards are too small. she’s fills it back up with red juice and fora moment all is well, but then the glass can’t take it anymore and collapses with force into her hands. kool-aid runs down her fingers like blood. intermixed is real blood, from the cuts the glass left. she looked at it for a long time, letting the blood run down her fingers like that.

then she said what a waste


alistair is sick. principal gave us ibuprofen but all it does it make him feel empty. he begs us not to give him more but it’s the only things that will take his fever down. he thrashes in bed and screams ****** ****** and i worry he is going to be like mom, always seeing things and hearing things. maybe he can go live with mom in the White Building. mom would like that, if she could remember alistair.

i have been sleeping at school, because canary doesn’t want me to get sick. the dorms are cold and empty and heavily sanitized. i miss canary and i miss alistair but canary won’t let me come home. i don’t know what she would do if i was sick. so i stay. and every night, i say to myself i hate the northernland i hate the northernland i hate
but i say it in my head,  because i am worried they will come for me.
sometimes i worry about canary getting sick. she says promise i wont, sunshine but i know she never worries about herself. teacher gave me flowers to send to alistair. the card says “get well soon” it has been a long time since i have seen real flowers. most are fake, like the ones teacher sent alistair. i don’t mind. it’s the sentiment that is important.


today at church preacher said and let us pray for our sick
they have stopped re adjusting the crosses. the remain upside down and no one looks. except me. i was looking, while we were supposed to be praying, but canary pushed my head down and said  pretend you can’t see them.
that’s  when i knew she sees things too.

i remember when i came home from school and found mum. there was paper all over the house, because she’s been doing her drawings. it was on the walls and floor and crinkled up under the boxes, all pictures of the northernland and the pastor and everything. and she said there is no god. there is no god. there is no god. alistair covered her mouth but it was too late, the northernland men were already here. she drew here pictures more violently scribbling and slashing with my art pencils. she drew alistair and canary and father, but not me or her. there was lump in my throat. she picked a new piece of paper and drew god, above us all, but she kept saying there are no gods there are no gods there are no gods, and she slashed and scribbled at the paper, and the northernland men were knocking, watching us through the cameras, and mum pulled me down next to her. i could see blood beneath my skin she held me so tight, and she had. a thousand stars in her eyes that were all spinning, saliva dripped down her chin and  she did not look my my mum anymore. she looked lost. she said the gods have abandoned us.

after the northernland men took her to live in the White Building, her drawings were left on the floor. alistair gathered them all up and threw them in the basement and locked the door. then he put the key around his neck. at least, i think that’s what’s in the basement. i have never told alistair, but i took the last drawing she did, of me and her and a boy. i stuck it with glue to the very back of my dresser drawer, so no one will ever find it. in the picture, my lips looks like there are sewn together with greenish yarn. this has always scared me. mums mouth is open and she is screaming, but there is no tounge inside her mouth. the boy looks normal, and he is holding my hand. this boy is not alistair. this has always scared me. this has always scared me. this has always scared me. it’s only a picture.


i keep finding myself in that moment-
when canary broke the glass and cut her hands, spilling red juice and blood like lines on her hands. she sat there for a long time, just looking. maybe it’s stuck with me because she was just looking, when we’re never supposed to look.

the clocks tick slower and slower everyday.


teacher wasn’t at school today. instead we have a woman with blinding hair and an accent from the northernland. nobody asked where teacher went.
we don’t want to know. the hanger and the telly were gone, too.

when i got home i was feeling really sick with tears. i told alistair they’ve taken teacher. his eyes widened and he ****** his head toward the camera. canary dig her fingernails into my arm. of course they haven’t was all he said. that’s silly.

then he looked off into nothing for a long time. i just looked straight into the camera.


at recess the northernland woman was acting real strange. she sat with us on the pavement and when the camera tune we it’s invasive x-ray eyes away she whispered your teacher has been taken by the northernland.

nobody said anything. nobody says anything, anymore. i think if we even spoke to many of us would cry. and then the cameras would look at us. so we just stared into space.
in our hearts, we already knew. but i still wanted to scream.


today was idyllic. sun came through the smoke and lit the sidewalk up orange. the woman from the northernland asked us what we would want if we could have any powers. almost everyone said healing. i said flying. maybe it’s because i’m selfish, all i want to do is fly away. but maybe it’s because i’m honest. i’m getting tired of not hearing the truth.

just to see if i could do it i ran all the way home. my feet seemed to leave the ground, its was as if i was actually flying every time i took a step. but then i landed and took off again.
i hadn’t run in a long time.
my chest seemed to hurt with a good  pain, if pain can be good.
i wanted to tell alistair but canary wouldn’t let me see him. i just need to you to get warm was all she said. over and over. but i’m boiling he said. it was quiet for a long time. it’s going to be alright. she said it again. twice. three times.

you know that feeling when you feel sick to your stomach, not because of disease but of fear. and mixed up in that sickness are tears and realization and you feel weak and helpless.  that’s how i felt when they took mum. that’s how i feel now.

i don’t know why, but a sudden hatred for the northernland boils up in my stomach. i think i am going to be sick. i turn around and run, run as fast as i can until i am at a strange gravel alleyway hidden behind some trees. i rest there for a long time, looking into the darkness after the cliff face. i know where i am. i am in the abyss, a place forbidden so long ago by alistair i had never thought to come here. i don’t break rules, i just ask questions. but i am here. at the abyss. where nobody should ever be.

death is a sense. just like touch or smell, death is a feeling. i could feel it in my heart. in my bones and in my veins. it crowded about our house like fog in the summer. and all i wanted in the world was for it to go away.

teacher today told us about the northernland, how it was kind and safe and loved it’s people. the lie seemed to cuddle in her throat. nobody has ever gotten kindness from the northernland. the northernland started the war and has starved and survieled us to no avail. i know there was a time before, but i do not understand how that could have been. but i still haven’t  made peace with the cameras.

the abyss is where people go to go crazy. your screams bounce off the walls of the hole, but you cannot see them because it does not have edges. you cannot see the bottom or the sides of anything, just darkness. then the northernland men in the gas masks come in their yellow trolley and take you away. the abyss is where the devil lives, in a bottomless hole to the middle of the world.


i met a boy who lives in the abyss. he is made of sunshine and glitter, and plastic and paint and peace and everything that is beautiful.

but he is not really there. instead, he is almost see through. sometimes he is there and sometimes he is not. i know he isn’t real, just an imaginary friend. i am not like mum, who saw imaginary people and thought they were becoming real.

i did not say much to enyo, instead i said the only thing i was thinking. saying it made me feel sick.

i think alistair is going to die.

as i said it, it echoed off the walls of the cliff.
suddenly it was all too much. i was all too much. my heart started beating fast and my mouth felt dry and i stood up. i didn’t mean to cry but i did, big wet tears the dried my skin. i don’t want him to die. i said over and over.
my words echoed against the cliffs, i didn’t  sound like me.

i woke up a long time later next to enyo. i looked into the void that filled the space between the cliffs and the beyond. i wonder of that’s where heaven is i said. i pointed into the nothingness that felt all consuming. enyo said nothing. he looked as empty as i felt.
a long silence later i said he’s not going to die is he? enyo looked me in the eyes for the first time and i realized his were a beautiful black, layer upon layer of black and brown. he said what do you fear more, the echo or the answer

but enyo was not there at all. he is only imaginary.


preacher came again to the house and said that alistair is better. that his fever had broken. i didn’t know fevers could break. i asked him about what being sick feels like, and he took me outside to the garden and we sat on the piles of rubble that used to be the neighbors. he said that your brain gets confused, and everything seems fuzzy and mixed up. i can’t help but think that must be awful for alistair, he was always orderly.

today mari has her birthday party. her mum wasn’t there. i can tell lou noticed because her eyes were scanning the room all strange, but she didn’t say anything. i didn’t ask. mari looked all scared and the camera of the ceiling fan hadn’t moved from her in a long time. i wondered who was watching her. i know who was watching her.


i go down to the cliffs, but enyo isn’t there. schools closed for sanitization, so i have nothing to do.  i swing my legs off the edge for a long time. i don’t dare say anything, i hate how it echoes back. i look deep into the bottom but i can see nothing.  it is only darkness. something at the bottom feels like is calling to me, tugging at me to come. i turn my back.
was this before or after the preacher came? i am trying to remeber in order, tell you this story radially like teacher says.

i go home and canary’s there waiting at the window. she says here i’ll help you with your homework. no, no, no NO NO NO NO NO NO. that did not happen after, that happened before.

i can hear the ticking of the clock in my ears, slowing down.
maybe i’m going crazy.

i’m sitting on a bench, but i cannot remember where. enyo is beside me and he is talking. in my chest i feel something strange, like it is moving and jumping. i feel queasy but it also feels nice.
i look over and he’s bleeding, golden blood from his eyes and mouth running down his chest. i want to scream but it stops in my throat. enyo puts a finger to my lips and the scream goes away.

he isn’t bleeding anymore. we’re holding hands. are we holding hands? teacher tells us not too, it will make us sick. but enyo is different. enyo doesn’t go to school. i feel as if my hands are sweating but it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t say anything.

i wake up cold. it felt so real, it all felt so real. my arms feel heavy.
i’m alone on a bench by the abyss. smoke fills the air and makes it hard to breathe.

mari wansnt at school today. i know the northernland took her, broken bones and all. i remebemer becaus lou told me while alistair was sick. but that was days ago. i am sorry, it’s just so hard to tell the story in the proper order. my head hurts.

i’m sorry if i cross out bits, it’s just that as i understand more i change the words. doctor says to stop doing this, but i want you to know the truth. the clocks are going slower and slower lately. alistair can’t work anymore, the preacher said so. i was going to tell him about enyo, how he is real now, not imaginary, but i didn’t know how. there aren’t words to describe him. looking at him makes crows beat their wings beneath my ribs, but i don’t know why. I sit with alistair after class but i can’t think of much to say. he doesn’t seem like my brother anymore, just a body lying on the floor.

doctor says i am defamilirazing myself, telling the story like it did not happen to me. telling it in all the wrong bits. i will try and tell it in the right order, but my head hurts. my head hurts so much. doctor won’t tell me why i need to explain, what the tape recorders are for or the make i have to wear the mask or why i’m here, what happened to my family. he won’t tell me why every time i say it like it was in the past and not happening right now he checks me for a fever. all he tells me is to start at the begging.

the blonde woman from the northernland has a ring in her nose, but i do not know why. when i ask her she doesn’t seem to understand. she doesn’t talk anymore, either. just points at things on the board. i dreamt that she had her tounge cut off, but that was just a dream. the northernland would never do that to someone.

alistair is dead.
preacher says the disease took him, but i do not know which. the real sickness or the brain washing of the northernland. i think it was both, because the sickness made his brain weak so the mind-poisoners could break in. it’s okay, he wasn’t my brother anymore. doctor says that i never loved him.

church has ended and we are walking home, just arrived when our door opens. i wonder who would w at to come to this house, where the walls smell like death. the northernland woman is at our door, standing in the place the cameras cannot see her. she is smart. canary opens it and the northernland woman opens her mouth. there is no tounge or teeth, and the sides of her throat are black. i scream, so loud and shrill that i cannot believe that i am making this noise. my heart is in the center of the earth, fear running through my brain and i am screaming. canary covers my mouth. it doesn’t matter, the cameras were already looking.

canary pushed me to the floor and dragged me under the bed. i could feel the cameras following us the entire way. when she sat up, her pupils looked strange, the ways moms did when she ways seeing the people in the walls. anger seemed to hide in her voice, she was trying not to be loud but to me it felt like she was screaming, she had never thrown words that hit me like knives before. she told me never to scream or else the men behind the spying eyes of the camera would come for me. what would i do without you she yelled, but it wasn’t yelling it was crying. she help me close to her chest and i could feel her breathing and her heart beating, sparratic and short. she cried into my hair, until it was soaking wet with tears. this was when i knew canary was lost.

enyo is in the void, just there. he is very pale today, and he doesn’t say anything for a long time. we have gotten to holding hands now. i have never held hands with anyone, and my fingers feel strange and clumsy. tecaher used to say that touching was against the rules, but i am so sick of rules that i am now glad to break them.
all at once, it occurs to me that there could be cameras here. there are cameras everywhere. i don’t know why this has never occurred to me before. suddenly i dont care, i want them to see. i stand up and scream as loud as i can.

after i screamed, no one came for me. even when i go back, i don’t feel safe anymore. i ruined the only place i felt safe.

enyo is gone. i go everyday and yell for him, but he left when i screamed. he is still missing. i’m worried for him, but at least i know the northernland has not taken him. a sick feeling in my stomach asks me if enyo was ever real. i know he was. but it is still there, pulling at my head. of course he was. i felt his skin, rough and broken. imagination can’t conjure up real people.
but then i think of mom. how her fever got so high she started to see people that weren’t there. my head hurts so much, like someone is trying to break out of jail in my skull. i am angry, for the first time in my life. enyo was my only friend, the only one who could see through the blanket of the northernland skies. i scream for him ENYO ENYO ENYO ENYO ENYO ENYO, but i am not mad, i am crying and crying so much and loud that someone puts their hand over my mouth, but there is no one there. i am suffocating. i turn around and i can’t breathe, my vision is tunneling into the abyss.
i am sick.

someone is holding my body, but their skin is cold. i open my eyes but i can only see shapes. i am on the gravel and the sun is orange, just like always. i am alone. but can feel someone’s tears, touching my cheeks. i sit up as fast as i can, and i am seeing stars but i just need to look. we are never supposed to look but i am going to see.

the northernland is punishing me.
enyo is making me sick.

enyo is there beside me, crying. i have never seen him cry and something rises inside me, and all i want to do is put my arms around him, so i do. slowly he gets warmer and feels more solid. let the cameras watch, let them see.

im running, running by the tips of my feet and pushing me off the ground, i’m flying. i have to get home.  i think of the first time i ran, letvthe cameras watch, talked to enyo. all the times i’ve broken the rules. i has always hated the northernland, but i had witnessed something better. i had talked to enyo, heard stories of what it was like before. a hatred so strong curcdled beneath my ribs and made me want to punch someone. i ran and ran and ran and ran, shouting HE CANT DIE
i shouted. HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE  CANT.     he is going to die.

i saw a raven in the wire pole today. it was big against the grey sky and he watched me as i walked into the house. i hadn’t seen a raven in a long time, so i turn to enyo to tell him he looks like a raven. he smiles, but he is. if there. enyo was never there.

alistair has gone back to work, though i think he shouldn’t have. he tells me the symptoms of the disease when he gets home. headache,seeing things, bleeding from your insides. i play with the ring on my finger, trying not to ask if that’s what happened to mom. i open my mouth but a rock lives there, and i cannot move it without crying.

doctor tells me to get off the floor, that i can stand now. i stand up and he puts me on the table. he is old and pale, with shiny grayish eyes. tell me what happened to alistair he says. i do not understand. what happened to alistair?

mari wansnt at school today. i know the northernland took her, broken bones and all. i remebemer becaus lou told me while alistair was sick. i go home alone, and cold. i feel like there is a little green man in my lungs running a garden hose. i think back to the time when i ran, the first time i broke the rules. nobody came for me.
i can’t run anymore, my arms feel heavy and when i cough thick red bloods comes out of my mouth. it must be the smoke. I go home, and canary is at the window. she is crying in reckless abandon, shamshing on the door with her fists. two men from the northernland are holding her back, and one hits over the head with a black stick. alistair is being carried out on a stretcher.
look what the northernland has done to my family. all for the sake of this stupid war. i can’t remember who we’re fighting and yet my sister and my brother have died for the cause.
enyo says they are not dead. but enyo is not there, he was never there.

i screamed again. i know canary told me not to, that cameras would look into my eyes and into my head. but i saw the northernland man coming up the street in his yellow trolley, straight for lou’s house. when the door opens she is wheeled out on a stretcher. so i screamed, because lou is dead and the war with no name had killed her. the devil had killed her.

canary grabbed me as the camera looked at me, as every camera in the house was trained on me. there was a disturbance in her eyes i had never seen before, like she was not all there. she grabs my arms and is much stinger than she should be. she opens the basement door and i scream again, because now i know what’s in the basement.

more northernland men than i have ever seen are in the basement, and when the door opens they look up. somebody take sme from canary and i scream and writhe and kick, but they pull at my body until my skin tears.

when i wake up, i am holding very still, and i cannot move if i want too. doctor says this is called  paralysis. there is a very bright light and a searing pain, it’s hurts so much my body is burning. cascades of blood come down into my mouth, and someone is sticking my lips with pins. this hurts more than anything that  has ever happened to me. it hurts in a deep ache, not just on the surface, and my entire body wants to shudder. my lungs are filling up with blood, because it hurts to much to breathe.

when i wake up i am in my bed, in my house. more relief than i have ever felt washed over me, because it was just a nightmare.

i used to have nightmares where there was a man in my room, saying numbers out of order. but then preacher says that if i talk to god before bed and make sure my blood is pure of doubt for the northernland, then i will not have nightmares. this is why i have had this nightmare, because i was disbelief the northernland. i do not care, because it was only a dream. i will never hail the northernland.

my lips hurt, and i wonder if in the night i bit my lips because of the dream. that happens sometimes. i dress and get ready for school, and catch myself in the mirror before i go. i turn fully toward it to make sure i am not hallucinating. in the great horror of it all, i try to scream, but it stays in my throat. i cannot scream, or make any sound at all.

my lips are sewn shut with green thread.

everyone at school is quiet. anna covers her mouth and big wet tears fall on the ground. mrs. hoth takes her to the office, and the cameras follow them all the way there. we say our pledge and do our arithmetic, but i cannot say anything. i hate the northernland.
i hate it, i hate it. and i realize this is why they have silenced me.
the northernland woman is gone, and a man in a yellow coat teaches us arthimatic.
the clock on the wall is barley ticking now.
lou sits at the desk in front of me, her hair greasy and skin pale blue. she turns round, just like the old days, but isstead of telling me what the answer is or who’s the cutest or any of the normal things, all she says is run. her mouth makes an o and she closes her eyes and rests her head on the desk.

when i blink, she is not there. i am alone in the classroom.

i go to church by myself, because i havent seen canary since she sewed my mouth shut. she is not my sister anymore, and i pretend i don’t care what happens to her in that basement.

when i get there preacher is not there, there is nobody there except the northernland woman. she comes and sits next to me and runs her fingers across the stitches. we pray together, even though we can’t say anything and there is no sermon. when we walk outside there is an officers car, and she is handcuffed an put in the back. the man who has taken her gives me a sticker, with a little white cloud on it. it says trust in the northernland. i do not trust the northernland. i do not trust anyone.
i run away as fast as i can and throw the sticker into the ground, but it still seems to follow me inside my head. trust in the northernland. trust in the northernland. trust in the northernland. trust in the northernland. trust in the northernland. trust in the northernland. trust in the northernland.

enyo is at the abyss, waiting. he says i am killing you. and i understand, it all makes sense now. but he is all i have now. if the only thing worth living for is killing me, that is what doctor would call dramatic irony. i do not feel dramatic, i feel used. the northernland has used me and used my family.

doctor says that when telling a story i need to define who is the antagonist and the protagonist. the antagonist is someone who antagonizes people. doctor says this means evil. this is hard for me to understand, because everyone is evil. this is not a story, and it does not have characters. the peoples i have met in my life are all complex and strange, evil and good and unpredictable. doctor says ok and that we will try again tomarrow.

mari wansnt at school today. i know the northernland took her, broken bones and all.
mari wansnt at school today. i know the northernland took her, broken bones and all.
mari wansnt at school today. i know the northernland took her, broken bones and all.


enyo is at the abyss, waiting. he says i am killing you. and i understand, it all makes sense now. but he is all i have now. if the only thing worth living for is killing me, that is what doctor would call dramatic irony. i do not feel dramatic, i feel used. the northernland has used me and used my family. doctor says to be thankful of the northernland, that they did not use me. i turn away from enyo because even though i love him, i am loyal to the northernland.
i am thankful to the northernland.
i am thankful to the northernland.
all hail, all hail.

love alistair
fire element
exposing government secrets
enyo gets more real as he is dying.
preacher dies.
alistair goes crazy, then dies.
something in basement.
Very low IQ but the only one smart enough to see
enyo is a ghost
canary goes crazy and sews our mouth shut.
fall in love with enyo.
not told radially
told in sgememgs like cross cross
deep symboling
A Apr 2014
Just skin and bones...I can almost taste that image

Just skin and bones I can see it so clear

Just skin and bones,the dream I want to attain

Just skin and bones,the woman on my wall won't look so smug now
Raj Arumugam Sep 2012
(a traditional Japanese ghost story, re-told by Raj Arumugam)


Ogiwara sits in his shed
alone, sad
only memories sustain him now
in the lonely hours of his nights

and now it is the night of the obon
and he hears the light feet of women
just outside on the grass
just below the willow

it is a woman with her peony lantern
and beside her
through his window
Ogiwara sees the beauty that weakens his heart
young Otsuyu he sees
and Ogiawara comes out and bows
and he invites them in
on this the night of the obon

What Onatsaku saw

I saw the ladies come every night
and the woman with the lantern
sat out at the deck
while the young one went in
and Ogiwara as happy as in times past

every night I saw them
come as gentle as divine beings
and before the break of dawn
as I prepared for work
I saw them leave
and Ogiwara sad, as he is always now

What an elderly neighbor saw

toothless I may be
but ‘m still sharp of faculty
and I saw these two w'men
one young, and a beauty as one from Edo
and every night Ogiwara received her
and last night I went by his window
and I saw ‘m naked in his room
and the w'man he was making love to
was but bones, bones and smiling skull
and the two were entwined
limb over limb
so close in love making
and the w'man he was making love to
was but bones, bones and smiling skull

What the priest did

And the priest came forth
And warned Ogiwara of the danger
The ravishing young girl
was the ghost Otsuyu
And a prayer he placed on the door
so she can never come in
even when invited in

Otsuyu’s song

O Ogiwara
my heart and flesh
yearns for you

on previous nights
you welcomed me in
but now you have doors
shut against me  
was all your love
false, false as our days?

O Ogiwara
my heart and flesh
trembles for yours

on previous nights
you cried as we made love
you cried that you had found
beauty and joy
but now you let me stand
crying out in the cold
was all your love
false, false as our days?

O Ogiwara
if I may not come in
open the door
and come with me

What the children saw

This morning we
went playing across the fields
and at the graveyard
And there in an open grave
there we saw Ogiwara’s corpse
breaking, rotting
but his blue cloak still round him
And we saw his corpse
embraced by a woman
but she was but bones, bones and smiling skull
and the two were entwined
limb over limb
and the skull-woman he was with
she hissed at us
and she said: *“Go away, children…Go away…”

and she was but bones, bones and smiling skull
(a traditional Japanese ghost story, re-told by Raj Arumugam) for companion picture google "Peony Lantern" or "Otsuyu"
L Meyer Oct 2013
My feet to ground, bound faithfully,
as my breath to air,
or your touch to mine, its warmth
a comfort in chilled moments,
in the tepid nature of nakedness,
its weight upon our bones.

Your crooked mouth and funny bones
carry you delicately, faithfully
our worries live out back, stripped naked,
their nagging cries lost to cold air
while we laugh in these moments
and revel in our contented warmth.

On days without you, without warmth
I carry your smile within my bones
and wait patiently for the moment
of your return, my faithful
heart singing your melody to the air,
carried briefly, then lost to silent nakedness.

As the season turns, the trees stand naked
their bare fingers reaching for warmth
the leaves lost, rot into young, winter air
the smell seeps slowly into my bones
months will pass as they wait faithfully
for spring to break the frost in melted moments.

Our patience will yield to the awaited moment
when limbs can stride in nakedness
the sun never failing to renew the faith
that even the most bitter of cold will succumb to warmth
we will lie in the grass, your bones by my bones
and spill our happiness into clean air.

There are times you spend putting on airs
pretending you are someone else in a moment,
but your façade will never convince my bones
for they know you at your most naked
with nothing but our love for warmth,
so I sing the prayer of us that holds my faith.

Your bones can speak without air.
Their whispers faithful in fleeting moments,
my naked soul forever craving your warmth.
Poet 5068 Mar 2012
I am nature
I am open and wild and free
I am the wind rushing down canyons and the hollering in banyans
I am a bird that sings
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things

I am civilization.
The trapped, fluorescent lighting in a library basement.
The cake walks and small talks and forced conversation.
I am the beeps and hums and dirt on bums.
I’m the faraway cell phone that rings.
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things.

I am exuberance
A child giggling loud sounds of joy
Puzzle completers and Christmas toys
Smiles and laughs and leaves of grass
The casino machine that dings
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things

I am anger.
Tears, scares, and not fighting fair.
I am the red in your eyes as you cry.
I am a ghoul that comes out in the night.
I am the cut that won’t cease to sting.
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things.

I am ideas
Originality through and through
Creations of my own evolve in my mind
Great sinewy thoughts searching for actions to bind
Mister Cleans and Daedalus wings
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things

I am silence.
Quiet. Tight. Composure.
Open. Weary. Closure.
I am the stillness of being.
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things.*

I am alive
I set Rube Goldberg machines into action
I contemplate, gravitate, and try not to hate
I breathe and I heave and I believe
I use my eyes to see
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things

I am dead.
I’m a sideshow reflection of the man I could be.
I am lazy cold and clammy.
Hopefully I can get my heart beating again.
Then I could be me, molecules upon cells upon bones against things
Timothy Mooney Apr 2011
Three Bones lives in the olde dark wood
Three Bones up to nothing good
Way too many teeth in there
Three Bones smiling everywhere.

Three Bones watches children sleep
Waits until their dreaming's deep
Then he creeps into their beds
Tearing into little heads.

Three Bones steals away their dreams
Laughing at their slumbered screams
Nightmare is his stock and trade
In this dark midnight parade.

Three Bones lives in the olde dark wood
Three Bones up to nothing good...
Copyright T.P. Mooney 2011 (From "Tonawanda Blood")
Mary Ann Osgood Feb 2013
what is it that bones are saying,
so trapped and silenced by their fate beneath
whose idea was skin?
let it wash off: your flesh is a figment of your imagination.
I suppose I wouldn't be soft anymore
but I wouldn't have to open my mouth
for people to hear my secrets.

bones are trees
with initials carved in
and hearts left whole
when they have really been broken.
bones have deeper thoughts than you
or the circles that spiral the trunk of a thousand year old

bones know nothing
and everything.
you don't have to tell them.
they are made of whispers, too afraid
to say anything aloud
(though they wouldn't be heard if they did).

for years we have
wondered why the earth's bones
are so very brittle
and why ours are so very
smaller than the thoughts we pretend to think
when we avoid eye contact or run out of things to say.
what lies between one and the next
is simply a breath we neglected to take
when we were waiting to hear if everything was going to be okay.

bones are wise.
without listening we cant see.
what is the point of walking around with our hands over our eyes
and looking for our beds
when we can lie down,
remember to breathe,
and rest in the gentle hand
that we've always pushed away?
Jade M Matelski Nov 2013
i want to see my bones
and i want you to feel them
please, please. tell me i’m skinny,
i need you; i need you asking about the weight i’m losing
that i need to be losing
skinny and you’ll love me
you’ll love me if i’m skinny
please, wait and i’ll be skinny
i’m trying. i’m trying so hard.

***** covered hands
blood dripping from my nose
please, can’t you see that i’m trying?
don’t give up. not yet.
please, don’t give up on me yet.
i promise i’ll be thinner than her
thinner than everyone
please, wait. wait for me. i promise i’ll be skinny.
i promise.

i’m too fat for love
and i know what you think about me
because i think the same! i can see the rolls
i can feel the weight
i promise i’ll be skinny.
give me time. give me time.
all i need is time.
i want my bones to show.
i want to be used as a skeleton in a science class
i want everyone to see it
i want to show how skinny i can get
i promise i’ll be skinny
please, dont judge me for my extra pounds
they’ll be gone soon
i promise they’ll be gone soon

can’t you see i want this?
i’ve never wanted anything more
my hands are *****
blood, *****, sweat, tears.
my stomach is empty
can’t you smell my breath?
my clothes?
my hair?
the scent of ***** lingers
i’m ruining my insides
so you can see my bones
please, see me.
please, can’t you see me?
you won’t look because of the fat
and i’m sorry for the sight you have to see
i promise you’ll soon be able to rub
your bones against my bones

i need my bones to show.
i need them to cut skin.
i need my bones to show.
Mikaila Jan 2014
Don't you worry,
I know which days to hurt on.
I don't need a calendar
Or any fanfare.
You can try to hide them from me
(I always wonder if it's a kindness or a cruelty...
I decide I like to think you're protecting me.)

But in the end my bones know
The days to feel like chalk
My veins know
The days to ache in that peculiarly itching way
My stomach knows
Those days on which to feel sick with disgust
My heart knows
Which days to break on, all over again.
My bones know.
Sometimes I don't realize it
Sometimes my mind
Has no idea
But my body always tells me anyhow,
And if I deny it enough, I can always come up with some manufactured explanations
Not quite right, not quite tidy
For the tightness in my throat
On days like this.
They feel flimsy and cheap though,
And I don't believe them so much as use them like slipcovers
To keep the garish truth from peaking out from underneath.

Because when I know
I know
Cause being intuitive's not all it's cracked up to be.
In an information age
The only use for a sixth sense is self mutilation of the mind-

It's a curse that only warns and warns and warns
And forces you to live in fear and pain,
And no matter how you run from or bury or get around it,
You know
You know you're lying to yourself
You know because you always know
Because that's what you do-
You can't imagine the horrible things I've tried not to see
And failed.
Wonder why I worry
When all my worries are really just advance warnings,
And forgive me if telling myself it'll be okay sounds a little thin
When my bones know it won't be.

I tried not to know the day you said yes.
I tried and failed.
Felt it in my skin like fire ants
A new hate, a new wound, vicious and ugly,
A new pain that felt like someone sliced me open to the marrow and branded secret words in all the little hollows.
And eventually I faced the reality that I knew you'd left me long before you ever let on.
Like I know everything that hurts me
But can never avoid it:
The only difference between knowing and not knowing
Is how long it hurts
Cause life is a runaway train and whoever's steering
300 mph towards the nearest concrete wall,
It sure ain't me,
And it sure ain't The Plan
And my bones

You never fooled me.
You never do.
You give me the kindness of trying
And I give you my cooperation
But the truth is
You've never hurt me behind closed doors.
Thank you for giving it your all, love, but I always know.
I feel every second of it
Real time
And find the explanations later,
Scattered like weapons and bodies after a battle,
Making perfect, searing sense.
And I bury my head in the sand
Try never to fully understand-
Even though I'm loathe to preach a lie
And let it echo through the temple of my soul-
Because I know that if I don't look away
The truth will burn my eyes out of my skull.

Knowing ain't all it's cracked up to be
When the knowing can't change the end game,
And yet
Scattered like twigs and just as brittle
On days like this
My bones
emma hunt david Dec 2018
i am always carrying your name under my tongue, in that small place under my tongue and i don’t think i’m ready yet to loosen my lips and let you slip out and leave me forever because thats a scary thought, thats a **** scary thought. I’d be more comfortable cutting off my own arm or going blind or being spat into the middle of the ocean because that’s just physical, that means nothing, i have another arm, and i have my memories, and i could probably swim enough to reach some kind of island or strip of land  or even just let nature take control and pull me into the arms of the big blue babe and she’d kiss me and show me her shiny shells and dead bones of fish collected in piles on the floor and i’d live down there forever and i would crawl out of my weight and leave it in a collected pile on the floor and i’d float through the air and i’d breathe deeply full of water and i’d be water and she’d be water and we’d be water and it wouldn't matter if i love you or if i’m just afraid because i’d be water and you’d be bones and blood and brains and i’d just be water, and you can’t confuse water with anything else but water but bones and blood and brains are messy and thick and runny and easily confused with things like spaghetti and red paint and death and i want to be water. clear and unmistakable.
but i’m not water, i am also bones, and i am blood, and i am brains, and i’m not one bit clear.

— The End —