Zero.
One.
Two.
Three.
Fast asleep on my porch
in the middle of the day, dreaming my worries away.
Like how my doll broke and I’m still mourning the loss.
In my sandbox that doesn't have sand,
replaced with my most beloved stuffed animals,
I lay there not knowing what’s happening outside my world.
My mom shakes me awake with worry covering her face.
She screams at my father, how could he forget me here?
Four.
More fights.
Five.  
Dad’s never home.
Never has time for me.
Doesn't talk to mom much.
Red flags, brighter than a firetruck, I didn't see at this young age.
Six.
Dad’s moved out.
I have a new sister.
But at least I get a new puppy,
and whatever food and toys I want.
Plus more presents.
Seven.
Another sister.
This one has a different mom.
The fake mom is mean.
She thinks she's my mom but she's not.
“YOU’RE NOT MY MOM!”
I scream and cry until my dad comes back from the store,
wondering what happened while he was away.
He takes my side of course.
I’ve always been daddy's girl and always will be.
Eight.  
Things are changing a lot.
I don’t like it.
Nine.  
Dad got a house with her,
2 new dogs with her.
Of course my puppy gets neglected.
Favorites are picked and now I'm last.
This fake mom’s gone at work all day
while I look after my real sister and my fake one.
I grab my phone that I use only for emergencies,
and call my mom, my real mom.
“Dad’s sleeping…Fake mom’s at work…My sister’s are crying.”
I stubble over my words, not able to get them out due to panic.
“I'm coming. I promise.”
The fake mom hears it and grabs my phone.
“You can't call your mom while she’s at work. And where did you get this?”
‘Hurry mom.’ ‘My real mom.’
I run away, grab my bag,
make sure my real sister is good, and grab her hand.
It's only real if she has the same mom I thought.
My mom gets here thank god.
Ten.
Fights with fake mom,
fights with mom,
fights with me.
I hate dad's house.
I was first, now I’m last.
I feel out of place.
Eleven.
Twelve.
July 6th, 2019.
Less than a month after my birthday,
he left.
Left to live with this woman states away.
A woman that probably doesn't care about him.  
Thirteen.
I don't talk to my dad,
I guess it works out that way.  
Fourteen.
I wanna help, really I do.
(TW)
P!lls, dr!nk!ng, p@rty!ng.
No job, no phone, no contact.
I just sit and listen to my mom trash talk him.
I know he’s awful, but he’s still my dad.
I try to tune her out, keywords hit my eardrums.  
“Lazy.” “Selfish.” Worthless.”
‘But he's still my dad.’
Now.
I wonder what happened to daddy's little girl.
The one that would make him dress up,
or color while sitting on the balcony.
I wonder how it would have been if he stayed.
I have lots of questions to ask but I can’t.
Fear covers my body every time I  try to text or call.
No happy birthday this year because I was too scared to answer.
Christmas coming up and scared to ask for a simple thing:
To be daddy's little girl again.

this aria spans
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4the cit
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ter.....m.i.n.a.l s-t-~'ation
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lf light

                                                           walls of the hydra's throat (one born every minute(
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trains




_come__t ce_lls wall
cotto_n we__lls c__all

.
                                L i k e
                         a Rolling Stone
                       SatisfactionWhat's
                        Going On R e s p
                         ect Good Vibra
                         tions Johnny B.
                         Goode    H   e  y
                         J u d e  S m e lls
                         Like Teen Spirit
                         My G eneration
                         A Change is G o
                         nna Come  Y e s
                         terday   Blow'n
                         in the Wind  Lo
                         ndon Calling   I
                         Want   to   Hold
                         Your     H a  n  d
                         Help! A Stairway
           to H e a v e  n      L ight My Fire
          Purple H  a  z e    H ound Dog L e t
            It Be  One No      Woman , No Cry
              B   o  r    n             t  o    R   u   n

"Be careful she doesn't get bored with you next
It's a long way to   * f
                                       a
                                              l
               ­                                        l
                                                             ­ ."
That line popped into my head
The other day
&* it's been rattling around inside
Ever since.
It's from one of my favorite books.
A book that says many true things.
I

Don't know.
It just crept inside my thoughts
& grabbed on tight.
"It's a long way to fall."

Sometimes I wonder if I am a replacement.
Maybe it's because
You aren't-
Most people are,
See.
Paper dolls
Placeholders
For the people I can't have close.
I've kissed glass lips before
Gazed through see-through collarbones
& seen only my reflection
Distorted in translucent eyes.
Sometimes they fall & break
In shards on the floor
& I see my tears
In all the little pieces.

But you
Are
Flesh.
Sometimes I ask myself
If I resent it.
I don't think I do.
(& I resent
That.-
"IT'S A LONG WAY TO FALL.")
Because I wonder,
Every so often,
If I am a paper doll to your porcelain.
If I am a poor [wo]man's lover,
Good enough                            .                        .   ­                     .                          .
             ­                                                                 ­                                                                 [For now.]
I don't like those thoughts.
Maybe they are where jealousy starts,
But I feel none.
(I am glad of that-
It is the ugliest feeling I know of.)
But I do wonder, all the same,
If I am only the best
You can do
Just now.
I hate wondering that.
I hate it because I shouldn't care to wonder,
("it'salongwaytofall!")
& I hate it because I should think it's more ridiculous
Than I do.
I looked by accident
In[T]o puppydog eyes the other d[A]y
Begging for attention
At the dinner table
& I heard it li[K]e b[E]lls
"[IT]'s a long way to f[ALL]."

& mostly I do dismiss it,
The possibility that sometimes seems
Very real,
That I am a passing fad-
"It's a long way to fall."
The nagging inkling that ma[Y]be
I'm n[O]t special-
Just
New.
& that I will pass
Like aut[U]mn,
& my leaves fall
& the pretty colors gone
[W]ill leave me bare & ugly
& l[I]feless al[L] over again.
The passing thought that perhaps
The universe is speaking to me & not you,
That maybe the message is
"It's a


                                                            ­          [L]ong



                                                      Way


­                                                                 ­                    
                                            ­                                                   To





                                                        ­                    [ F      A     L     L." ]

In a town like this
I'd rather be completely alone
Than be surrounded by you people
I can't walk/drive through this town without getting ******
That's a really bad sign
I don't think I'm better than you
I don't have anything better
But your tempers and your drama
Needs to stop
I know it's ya'lls way of entertaining each other
Heaven for bid
We can't get along
What the hell else would we do with our valuable time
Without drama
What else is there
Hey uhm
Why not try sports
If you wanna hit someone
There's a thing called boxing
Or....
Throw some ball around
Exercise
Read books
Educate yourselves
Do drugs
Get wasted
Get along
This town is only so big
Your ex is gonna find someone else
That's all this town does
Is date in triangles
Or octagons
We all know we're ***** and *******
Why not tell each other what we don't know
Like all those facts your teaching yourselves out of those things called books
Get a job
Support yourselves
Fighting and complaining is an awesome way to make money
Good job
I'm so proud
We all
ALL
need to find better for ourselves
This town
We're gonna die here
If we don't get out
And I don't want to die here

I
     feelll
  aas             th
                        ough
    yyooou   rr
       hheeaart     tttt
i              c     a       h
s                r      s          i  n g
crushing
I  n  v aa  d ii n g
my  MIND
                                     my  s ssp pp paaa cce ee
Get oouuuuttt
                       away
            over
              lls             over
       hi         t           ls th e
   h e              h      hil       h
T                        e            ills
awayawayawayawayaway­awayaway
and    OfFfFFffff
toooo         buurnn
       y           s   o     u    l
   m            s   o    u    l
               s   o   u     l     ...

some words go US Eng, some go UK Eng
so inside the word-dividing "[ ]" is the chosen sound

KIND OF A WA[ɔ]LKING...
EMITTER OF ENDORPHINS
INNER-LIGHT-EVOKING
VAU[ɔ]LT WITH
A FORMi̲DABLY ENORMOUS
INFINITELY RISING RESERVE OF
THRILLINGLY PO[ɑ]SITIVE EMOTIONS (wa[ɒ]nt some?)
THE EPITOME OF DELIGHT & ENJOYMENT
——————————————————————————
strolling through some au[ɔ]tumn spo[ɑ]ts
sa[ɔ]w some gyals
being dolorous
stole up o[ɒ]n 'em
once I'm close enough
I'm exploding
with that mind-blowing stuff
I've noted 'bove
ba[ɔ]wling "lit morning, quit mourning"
so ear-splittingly like my ba[ɔ]lls just go[ɑ]t
torn apart
they, seemed to me, were in
total sho[ɑ]ck
unloading, giving 'em a[ɔ]ll I've go[ɑ]t
which got 'em a little overpa[ɑ]cked
each of 'em got a lethal cor atta[ɑ]ck
overdosed, they dro[ɑ]pped
on the ground like ja[ɔ]ws of cha[ɑ]ps
at the sight of girls with bo[ɑ]ds
that are smoking **[ɑ]t
——————————————————————————
ALSO, TRULY HOPEFUL
BORN WITH LO[ɑ]TS
OF OFFERS OF EMPLOYMENT
IN TERMS OF MOVING FORWARD
THE MOTION'S NOTHING LESS THAN HURTLING
ALWAYS, EVERY MOMENT
MAINTAIN THE FIRST PLACE
IN A LIST OF POTENTIAL BOYFRIENDS
FOR GIRLS THAT
ARE INDECENTLY GORGEOUS
AND UNBELIEVABLY JOYOUS
lyrically, these word-co[ɑ]mbs
come close to those o[ɑ]ps
a ***** does
[once was told that I have 0 SELF-IRONY]

Why do I keep throwing my memories away?
Every new girl wants to **** my past
Now that you’re gone
The next one will want to **** you too

I don’t want to deny my past
I just want something that will last
Why waste time talking about her?
That’s all behind me now

I never think of them
Except when you bring it up
I’m not the type to go back
Why do you want to go there?

Don’t make me deny my past
I just want something that will last
Why waste time talking about her?
That’s all behind me now

You were supposed to make me forget
But you kept reminding my heart
Why did you do that?
You turned us off before we could start

I put on a slow song about the coast
And then I said, “Let’s dance”
But before long
You said, “That was ya’lls song”

It must be terrible to be so afraid
Why are you scared of a ghost?
You worry about what will never happen
You keep thinking about that song about the coast

Don’t make me deny my past
I just want something that will last
Why waste time talking about her?
That’s all behind me now

Can  the      tho ugt
Oft  his        bet hat
The  ide       als sit
For  all         toh ear
Yet  sim       ply die

Ise  eit         now how
you  exp    ose and
cry  ing      out  sti
fle  tha       twh ich
cou  ld1     day fly

Ifo  nly      you had
not  bee    ngi ven
suc  hch    anc eto
inf  ect      mym ind

Tra  gic      ast tra
ffi  cfi         lls the
air  bli       ndo pen
you  ree    yes tof
ind  thi      sto bet
Rue.

There is no gn to my head
There are no plls in my hand
But a slow sucicide is my poisin
Small smiles
Tight laughs
Small cuts
"Partying"
Slow sucicide is how I die
Playing in snow
Eating air
Sleeping days
Caffine nights
Slow suicide is my choice
Silver pens
Red paint
Smoky lungs
Whisky breath
Slow suicide is a petty death
Braclet wrists
Long sleeves
Empty ribs
Cold hands
Slow Suicide

oh what a beautiful time to be dead it is
to walk amongst the theatrics of absurdity
to deep inhale four counts for nothing
when none of your bloods still pumping.
     oh, please!
start my stilled heart before my brain fa
                                                                    lls apart.
i can’t help but think what a lovely night it is
to lay here inside a body just coffin-sized
to exhale eight beats before you’ve forgotten
what a beautiful time it is to be rotten.
      so please
take my brain ap
                             art before they start my heart.

Now I am in/tense -
hy-per-activ-e sand-pit of at/oms,
     Take these breath Flames,
   paint the wa-lls with them,
your rauCous redec-oration.

Now I am nebulous, standing fog, canines of ice, vacuum me up in one brush so I sleep, sleep, sleep

Now I     am iridescent
rainbow of     unnamed shade
ribcage glow     and  letters
that hum     along doorways
as though     injected neon

Now I am sog
gy
wet dog
cheek
to your wh
irl
pool of whis
pers
that salt smell
net
tle sting

Now I am drowsy,
arid mind makes tumbleweed night,
digestion dilution,
an absent something;
bathroom mirror memories,
green fraction of a voice,