beholden only unto thee who art thy;the throbbing quark of
sated lust and thusly spent
                                
              and


                           spl
deya-

                   the vassal of my notes and insert your nice pain
like melodically sugary lush ventricles. a cane bent. stocks bearing
the gossamer fruit of your surly vinegar pleats

replete i in sticky coughs of light glowing pertinently of the vehicle
of your hips. in which i ride unruly and cold killing ****** of
thighs all sweated and blithe and lithe. like a slick predator
pounce uneffortful sighs of dainty lace and so pink cotton

           what ami?if not thy's?then:nothing,mymoistsnappingprose

how you like to tie me up
in knots
{{not the way i want}}
you hold my hand
you hold the cards
& then you shut it off
you play it down
[if only you had kept your mouth]
[if only i hadn't had you]
on my tongue
your hands in my hair
i wouldn't care
i could shrug it off
but you dig in those nails
{{while i make you fl _o _ at}}
& it's not enough
your ups and downs
i can't keep up
i'm torn apart

it is with with opulence i glitter
in this shell
only for you to split open
)
swallow(
spl it me ()  in two
******* and hot sauce burning
i will slither down
your throat
glistening

slinky smiling
succulently  as you find my pearl
insides.

and your     electricity
will propel   through me
   jolt me     ALIVE
make my skin   tingle
                                    this and your fingers
twirling until midnight
   chilly   trail   along   my   back
bones  I own
     played as a     silver harp

kiss me (pink)
and I’ll   sip   your smell
   like white wine
slip it under
my sleeve
   breathe easy
if you have     stained     me
with a [quick] shock of lipstick
watermelon juice
as a burn on my     neck

kiss me (red)
and my veins will i g n i t e
     a sunrise
between-our-toes
cauldrons for mouths
   burbling bits     of us
fat   happy   glistening   bubbles
wrench me
from the river   you know how
    rinse me in lilacs

kiss me (black)
and I’ll   crackle
spl int er as glass
be swept            along in neither here
               or there
lose my   taste   to the wind
fill milk-bottles to the     brim
   with inane bOO-hOOs
those bluespinksreds in-betweens
     **** me gently
(with a smile)

I am from plaid couches and plastic covers
       that squeak and rip.
I am from ***** pool tiles and loud pool cleaners
       humming, humming.
I am from the back street littered with fallen leaves
       and cracked tar.

I’m from “the Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.”
I’m from “and also with you,” rattling around large stained glass,
        like coins in a jar.
  (loud rattling, coughing,
       crying children, flipping pages)

I’m from long car rides with music blasting,
       windows rolled down.
I’m from Tool, Wings, Metallica.
I’m from the Beatles, Foo Fighters,
       and that “obscure” Indie band
       that Walks the Moon.

I’m from sitting with my Dad,
       whistling the X-Files theme song
       the title sequence plays
I’m from totally shipping Mulder and Scully
       before it was cool.
       (actually it still isn’t cool)
I’m from “that’s my girl”, and “you’re my favorite”.

I’m from Joan and Beedee and tall,
       bright flowers
       and trees from a magic green thumb.
I’m from “Good Old Texas”
       and large Texan stars,
       and tall cowboy boots.

I’m from a ***** canvas, covered in thick paint
       it hangs so somberly.
As if as old as my great grandmother
      who placed it on the wall.
I’m from a family spl it in two.

I’m still from that large house down the street.
I’m still from that small apartment,
       with the map on the wall.
Bright red pins stuck in that wall,
       on cities with names I've memorized.

My family tree expands,
       a large oak with strong roots,
       and weak branches.
I am from a tree with two branches to fill.
It does not end with me.

I am from the cities far away from here,
       Art filled cities that my children will see.
I am from the murals
       written and drawn across the town.
These cities will be our newer,
       stronger branch upon the family tree.

For weeks, which felt like years, that small room was the whole World and every thing in it.
For days, which should have been their own, one linked and looped with the next and taught me to shame the sun.
After one week, I found out that a bed was like an aging body; the more it was used, the more I could feel its once-sturdy frame bend and sag, and the squeaking grew and the metal groaned below my sweating skin.
After two days, I found out that a bed was also the most dependable of life rafts, which safely kept me floating above the forever-blackening sea, where I’d once sworn I’d take my last wet and feeble breath.
While this one-room World swallowed fears and held trembling hands tight, it began to whisper in the night; one wall repeated rumors it heard from its opposite: warnings of the Outside and all the dangers it could bring.
“Those you pass on the road will stare with the knowledge that you are out-of-place, that you do not remember normal,” whispered the plaster on my right.
         "And the many men leaning in to corners of brick could yell or touch or chase, you don’t want that again, not again, right?” hissed the wall to the left.
        No, I do not want any of it, I replied through a hazy dream.
After their whisperings stuck, I discovered that the notion and act of sleep had the ability to slyly slip away, no matter how hard I tried to hold on.
         Sleep. Slep. Seep. Spl. Shut. Shh. Sleep? Silence. Close. Dark. Down…
When sleep became a habit of the past, anxiety became the habit of the present and the terror of the future.
For weeks, which were just one stretch of daylight, I did not know sleep, but I still knew the comforting space of World and the safety the floating bed wrapped around me.
For days, which were wholly lost and never found, alcohol seeped from my pores, while empty ***** fifths created new altitudes of the floor.
For months, which were truly months, I sat in the small World with depression’s darkness, and I found I could live with no real desire to see my toes touch the existent, dreadful ground.