"rabbithole" poems
Under bedsheets like rabbits do we crawl
with innocent eyes
far away from the words and shadows
of our illuminated world.
Under bedsheets like rabbits do we escape
from the blare and blur of suburban streets.
Streets with blinding light
in which the constellations suffocate
to shine.
The infinite possibilites
of the infinite universes
of the infinite this
and the infinite that.
So much to discover
and revel in,
the moon will never set
but will hover, golden
over the ripe horizon.
Under the rabbithole of bedsheets
do we find a world where the stars smile back.
Where a curleyheaded girl soaks her tired feet
in a slender river
for even just
a few moments of beauty
and passion
in our world composed so wholly
of streetlights and shadows.
Jan 22, 2011
Jan 22, 2011 at 4:47 PM UTC
We were holding hands in the summer
and the street was cracked
and the clouds were being greedy
even through their kindness
and their tears turned salty on my cheeks
when I looked at him
It became too much;
he slipped down the rabbithole and faded
like eighty year old newsprint
until there wasn’t much left but the tattered shoes
I told him to replace months ago
and the echo of his last breath
on a breeze that was
staler than the bread left out on the counter
this morning
I saw the things I didn’t want to see,
the things he didn’t want me to see,
and I wished at that moment
for a gallon of bleach to pour into my head
just burn it all away
but no one can fade like he can.
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 12:29 PM UTC
scrape me down
like ugly wallpaper in an outdated house
leave nothing but gray framework
until beginnings are easy.
make me stop
dragging my heart through a cactusfield of memories
the ****** have got this body numb
apathetic to the tearing of skin.
wake me up
from sweaty black rabbithole sleep
tumbling&trying; to grip anything real
hand hits smoke.
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 2:03 PM UTC
--------
I’m sick & tired of people/
I want the company of angels/
So I scribble over faces/
And they all think I’m crazy/
Story of my life/
This world could break anyone/
I need a brake... anyone?/
Not of the psychotic kind/
CRASH!/
Jump through a window like a flaming hoop/
A thousand dead mosquitoes on the floor/
I hate the smell of elephant/
Mousehowling at a painted moon/
And even if the grass were fluorescent green/
I’d still find a rabbithole to fester in/
Rat with wings perched on alligator head/
Tripwire heartstring crocodile tears/
The fabric of time is a rag with holes in it/
I wear it like a ghost, and see things/
I shouldn’t... but it’s never too late/
At least that’s what I say to myself every night/
Then can’t wake up in the mourning/
Sleep deprivation distorts my perception/
Black, cracked mirror image staring/
Back at me.../
And what does it mean/
When our movements are out of sync?/
And what does it mean/
When our movements are out of sync?/
And what does it mean/
When our movements are out of sync?/
Imperfect loopage/
Fluid karma in my cold veins.../
Replica still there in reflection/
Soaking wet, and talking backwards/
Hardly ever straightforward/
Mostly kinda roundabout/
Something about our cell?/
I’m hella lost in translation/
But something like.../
Never stop trying to detox/
And when you wanna punch a wall/
Beat dead horses to a ****** pulp./
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 2:39 AM UTC
I'm going down the rabbithole.
Gladly, I admit.
I've cooked up my madness,
and swallowed quite a bit.
I can't wait to be eaten alive
and greeted by it once more.
Reality is dead.
And society is beating on my front door.
But what do I care?
I cover myself in a blanket of insanity,
from my feet to my hair.
Oh heavens, this wonderful.
I don't have to think or believe anymore.
Trust in insanity.
I swallow the key and close the door.
Welcome to the Endland.
Jul 28, 2011
Jul 28, 2011 at 7:51 PM UTC
His hands are an artist's, —
There's power in them
To sculpt
To create
To demolish, —
And she's letting him
Make her his subject.
She looks up at his face
As he molds her like clay
Whispers to him:
"I don't like you
But I love you."
His eyes are like a hurricane, —
Wild and vicious
Ravaging everything
That he **** well pleases.
He tries knocking her down, —
Tearing her apart
Stripping her bare
So she'll have to rebuild, —
But she stands still.
Back straight against the wall
She tells him,
"I don't need you
But I want you."
His mouth is like a hot knife, —
His tongue gleams like silver
Beneath the light of a pretty lie
His words, serrated
Cutting deep enough
To make even the most obscure parts bleed.
She looks on as he takes a stab
Utterly unmoved, —
The wounds he leaves
Are never more than superficial.
She grins at him
And states:
"You are dangerous,
But you aren't frightening."
His heart is a rabbithole, —
It's a long way down that dark tunnel
But, if you're brave enough to take the tumble,
Once you finally land
You'll come face-to-face
With a mere little boy, —
Frail and trembling
Trapped for years.
Gracious and graceful,
She takes the boy's trembling hands
In her steadfast grip
And offers the truth, —
"You're a vampire, you see, —
A predator as old as time,
But once I stake you
You're done for."
His skin is like ice, —
Cold and thin
Melting away
Beneath her fingertips.
She looks at what she's done
And shakes her head
Before bursting into brilliant flame.
"You kept trying to **** me, —
And one day, you might have, —
But, love,
I am a phoenix.
I've burned and burned
A million times over
But you know
I'll always rise again."
Aug 10, 2020
Aug 10, 2020 at 11:32 PM UTC
You Made Me Go Through All These Experiences Just So I Could Write About It? (too long)
or
TISFU (that is so ****** up)
Or
Next!
Or
L’enfer c’est les autres
Or
I Hate Strangers!
Or
Street Corner Conundrum
or
Is that Approaching Drunken Psychotic ********** Yelling At Me?
Or
You say Zombie...I say Zombie Works
Or
I’m Happy **** It! 🤗
Or
You Sugared? The Peas?
Or
Does He Have Balance Problems or Has He Been Body-Snatched?
Or
Digital or Analog?
Or
Get Your **** Outta My Face
Or
A Rose By Any Other Name
Or
Extreme Peripheral
Or
Is That a Cowbell?
Or
You Said That The Lord, Jesus Christ Wants To Mug Me?
Or
Winter’s Coming
Or
Do It For Less
Or
Yes My Legs Are Great!
Or
My Friend Says That People ****
Or
******* Rabbithole
Or
RabbitAss Hole Hole
Or
Dingbat!
Or
God the Couture Warned Me!
Aug 6, 2020
Aug 6, 2020 at 1:25 PM UTC
i can see where this ends -
slamming doors and shouting matches
and nights spent alone
or the slow decline of a flame
love dying out to embers of resentment
on nights when i can’t be touched
without feeling ghosts in my sheets
i can see where this ends -
if you fall down deep enough
all you get is a broken arm
and dirt under your fingernails
the rabbithole doesn’t keep you warm or safe
only in the dark
staring up at a patch of sky small enough
to cover with your thumb
(your hand, on top of mine)
when was the last time i felt so helpless?
you came out of nowhere
dragged me into the light
kicking and screaming
and denying my heart
(did i need to, after all?)
to keep you away from me
to keep you from slipping off the cliff
when i was already at the bottom
without even knowing
i can see where this ends -
the cold caress of morning
between sheets and skin
coffee and tea in equal amounts
the haze of new england
or the pacific northwest
pencils and pens tapping on wood
distracted brush of lips on flyaway hair
tracing freckles like constellations
chasing the scent of leather and ink
(do i need to finish?)
do i need to tell you where we end
when we haven’t even begun
to map out the pages of each other’s skin
or thumb through the volumes of our past
stopping to pause and smile at a photograph
or a hastily scrawled note
in the margins
take a moment to wonder
if maybe this was meant to happen
(i never thought i could say it again)
if you want
i can tell you
where this begins
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 12:13 AM UTC