SELFISH!
SELFISH!
SELFISH!

My love,
what is your schedule like tomorrow?
do you have time to say "i love you"?
do you have time to get my birthday presents?
to remember it's our anniversary?

My love,
is it too much trouble
to step away from the television?
I know you love your re-runs,
but I can be entertaining too

My love,
did you forget?
when you thought I was beautiful?
when you appreciated me?
when you wanted to make me smile?

My love,
wouldn't you agree?
that no one has ever given you as much as me?
that my happiness is just as important as yours?
that I at least deserve your honesty?

My love,
I'm sure you're right
facebook, sportscenter, warcraft, television
they deserve your time and attention
after all, I am only comfortable and convenient

My love,
Don't worry
I understand
we all need a warm body
to use when we need a hand.

I am a teenage girl
I don't go outside much
But I workout
I teach myself in online courses
I spend a lot of time on World of Warcraft
I'm in love with someone much older than me
I feel like I've known him for a 3 lifetimes, not just 3 years
I believe the human spirit is a powerful thing made of light and darkness
I'm a submissive at heart
And I believe in true love

So that's me.

The trolls are funny and have secrets untold
The blood elves well they just get trolled
The taurens are peaceful and kind
The goblins are quite hard to find
The orcs have a mighty roar
The undeads of a thirst for war

These are the Horde we all know and love
The next ones you see beat the ones above

The dwarves are are born to be hunters
The gnomes are sick of the punters
The humans build great cities of gold
The night elf leaders are kind of old
The draenei come from far away
I guess the worgen have to stay

My writing is done and I bid you good day
The end is done I have nothing left to say

I wanted to sign up for the game after hearing enough
but there were some questions you had to ask first:
Am I human or horde?
Do I want to fight the environment or other players?
I said I'd rather go against the other players
before all the peacebloom and nightshade is farmed
and everyone has to download the cataclysm expansion
your jubilant response to the macabre alerted cautious receptors
asking me to join your alliance to fight the horde
because if I'm not on your side I'm undead or a troll
some bloated tauren or greedy goblin
even though there are plenty of healers on that side
you're more concerned with damage per second
because you're consumed by World of Warcraft
so I said I was more interested in Plants vs. Zombies
which I mistook for Call of Duty
you said you don't play mobile games
and the best games end in yelling at your computer
because you don't need to know where a pixel comes from
in order to **** the bad guys.

Annapolis (DDH 265)

decommissioned warcraft
clean severed lines
steam gusts belt
from a cavernous shell
the ghost ship settles
on a drift ridge
perfect tide rhythm
on a salt washed shore

calming nuance
in passive time
weaving through
channels and crest waves
white sands warming
at a high point
beyond the breakers
and porteau pins

gazers and dreamers
(and sleepy fiords)
rest softly up the straight
froth folds skim and linger
on the wide eyed
wanderers of the sound
cove seals settle
at the inlet
their symphonies
backing on the
bowen brigade

ripples and
patch makers
hold sheets to the wind
markgraf lines
find electric blue sky
stealth shadows
haunt the seascape
the dragon fly hovers
in fits and starts

There you are, just minding your own business.
Looking through the different comic books neatly placed in the corner of our favorite bookstore.
You pick one up and I see a faint smile painted over your lips.
Hay, what a sight.
You look engrossed by the Warcraft comic book you found.
It was as if you were in another dimension.

Admiring and just looking at you in a distance, I am engulfed by a weird feeling.
Weird - since it was a new one but at the same time familiar.
It was a recognition of something I missed feeling;
Something I thought I convinced myself I would no longer feel;
It was happiness.

I swear, I can just look at you like this for hours.
I wouldn't mind the days and nights passing by.
But seeing how perfect you are just scanning over the pages of the book you found, I couldn't resist taking a picture - the only thing I can ever do to preserve the moment.

God, you are beautiful.

My suitemate Sunny is from Nebraska. She’s 5’9,” and has cinnamon brown hair that’s half messy-bob, just long enough that she can twist it up with a pearl-studded comb, and half mohawk. She has the long, slanky elegance of someone who’s spent most of her 18 years outdoors.

She’s a cowgirl. There’s a well-worn sage-nova cowgirl hat hanging on her dorm wall and she has her own horse - a red-roan quarter-horse named Valentine - at home, of course. Her best friend growing up was a Sioux girl named Wachiwi who shared her love of barrel racing and lived on a nearby reservation.

Wachiwi was the first person Sunny came out to, at 10. Sunny was 13 when she came out to her family. “I like girls,” Sunny declared defiantly, out of the blue, one night after dinner, “not boys.” Her younger brother had snickered, her older brother rolled his head and said, “Oh, lord.” Her two little sisters seemed unconcerned. Her dad, after a moment’s thought, responded by asking her if she had taken the kitchen scraps out to the chickens yet.

Sunny grew up on a ranch and there was a rigid structure to her days. She would get up early and do ranch chores (muck out horse stalls, feed the chickens, gather eggs and set out hay) then study - but her first love was World of Warcraft.

Sunny was homeschooled and her stories of how that was accomplished are epic. For instance, they had three satellite internet services which she would have to switch between, throughout the day, like a gambler hoping to get lucky and every other Saturday they drove three hours to exchange books at the library. Whatever they did though, it worked. She’s unholy smart - like someone made a deal with the devil smart.

Sunny describes Nebraska as “basic, cliche and poor.”
“Wow,” Leong says, “you really paint a picture.”
“We all inhabited different worlds,” Sunny says, shruggingly, “Lisa’s from skyscraper clouds, Anais a palace, Leong a dystopian communist hellscape..”
“I wouldn’t say a palace,” I demur. “WHAT,” Leong screeches, throwing popcorn at Sunny.
“Stop!” Sunny says, raising both hands to ward-off further snack assaults.
“I just mean, if you were to go live in Nebraska - you’d have to go in on those terms - expecting something basic, unimaginative and poor, periodt.
“I couldn’t wait to excape.” she says, definitively, “I was thirsty.”

Everything about Sunny is deliberate, she looks you in the eye. Like a madwoman let out of the attic, she takes perverse joy in being fiercely blunt, raw and outspoken. She has a drive that can’t be mollified - she’s making her life over and you better not get in her way. The girl cracks me up - I could stand to be more like her.

Sunny’s joining my world this June for most of summer vacation. “Maybe you could show me Nebraska one day.” I say. “Maybe.. someday..” she says trailing off with a far off look, “but I wouldn’t do that to you, you’d go CrAzY in three days.”

“I’ll own that,” I say, wiping away fake tears.
.

Today, I want to sink my chest into yours.
Your heart pumping blood through my veins for a bit, mine doesn't want to anymore.
Let's trade.
I'll put my brain on ice.
Wash this skull cavity with some minty fresh chemical while my wrinkled pink mother board discovers cryogenics.
When I place it back Into my tingly, almost numb now, chemical washed head
I will still feel heavy.
I want to turn to a whisp.
Like the Night Elves in World of Warcraft.
A floating blue orb of energy
Just a spirit, weightless.
Let me live as electricity, like that spark you felt .
Like that spark they all felt.
Place me in the power lines so I can power houselights and televisions.
Let me be usefull for something again.
Don't convert my head though.
Keep that on Ice.
Better still, creamate
everything but my heart.
Let the ashes get caught
in carpets and drain pipes
Kept in little ziplock baggies,
Tucked in a wooden box,
Kept back seat of my mothers car,
So she can hold it once in awhile.
Until she parks her car in a bad part of town
And a homeless man breaks in
Doesn't steal the gps, or her wallet on the front seat,
But snorts me three hours later
Thinking he just hit the jack ***.
That's where I want to be.

In the lungs of some car burglar
Where his addiction should have been,
coughing on my ashes.

He won't get my heart though.
Keep that frozen in a white room.
Smelling of copper, by a tray of tools,
Latex gloves and paper masks.

One day, thaw it out
bring life to someone.

Please come over. I’ll have a tea set, my clavinova dusted off, Apples to Apples, Bananagrams and a fireplace for philosophical talk. You can keep telling me how the regions of the body have different tones and pitch different notes, and how the ridges of your bones show like ripples in a desert. I’ll wallow in your catalogues: all the warcraft of WWII, the chemicals that preserved the cats we dissected, and the steps to dissolving the puzzle of calculus. You will master the Rubik’s cube over and over again just to amuse me. And deep inside, I hope your poetry isn’t as good as mine. But I’ll still dance better and I’ll still cuddle with you in our home theatre, and I’ll pay you a piece of my mind once I’ve made it up.

Embodied in a perpetual persona of shitheaded seventeen
(Before you snuck out on a cold silver sheet)

You could measure your lifespan (or is it your wingspan, now? did you know it's the same as your height?)  in late-night shenanigans topped with bacon-guaca-holy-moly burgers, tumbling in neon spandex and the raising of general hell, which you probably can't reach right now,

(And how many flaming bags of feces on why-not doorsteps, for me?)

Speaking of me,
Do you remember when I kissed your head beside a broken down photo machine? Do you remember when we ran away from your first girlfriend (her first kiss) and laughed because you had a current girlfriend? Do you remember when we tried out clouds in department store floor levels, like you were planning on getting one all along? Like you were my (first) and now my (late) husband? Three years doesn't seem very long ago, when placed in proportion with - what was that word again - eternity?

You were but a fleeting presence not only in my life, (in her life, his life, their lives now broken from a trio into a typical twosome) but in your very own - one blonde beach-bunny darting from top-hat to top-shelf

(Could you give up World of Warcraft for a World of pearly White?)
(Would you take me to my Senior Prom?)

We will float yellow rubber ducks down the water at your wake (one by one) and eat food-court teriyaki because no one is allowed to be sad (says you)

(Jesus, baby, what's your dang address?!)

In the end, you ride off into the sunset on your unicycle, like the bad movie that this is
(Screaming, "this thing's killer on the *****!")

studying the a.i. concept of / via the internet...

i talked to siri once... she didn't reply,
instead she sent a message to all these people
that only said: slow down...
   yeah, messaged her... she wasn't the blonde
turned super-redhead i was led to imagine,
but at least she reacted in an unexpected way...

siri? oh, that microsoft a.i. project?
     i play word games, not world of warcraft...
luckily we can be said to be architect of some kind,
   or at least that's how keep a sane head when using
the internet... or simply bypassing all major
outlets that encourage certain messaging services,
like the telephone, the media... the pope...
  i'll write my little ******* verse
         for someone who doesn't implement
censors... not unless it's wattpad, that has
a genius code that doesn't allow you to ctrl + c
and then ctrl + p...
           that's probably the only good thing about
that website...
   if all website had the secret to not allowing
a ctrl + c, that would really be basis for
intellectual property, and what's otherwise the basis
for jurisprudence in the ultra-modern era...
        the fact that most websites don't use
a sentence of code that implements a ban on
ctrl + c says a lot... i mean: a grand canyon's worth
of meaning about theft and plagiarism and what not...

yeah, but you see... given the + of wattpad,
it's hard to understand why someone, a really ******
poet can complain to the authority of the website
for having a conversation with them
on the basis that you simply do the 20th century thing
of a hotmail chat room within the frame of
the acronym a.s.l. -
          but merely concentrating on the l -
so you... well, imagine where they're writing from...
i suppose there wouldn't be a problem asking
them if they have pets...

yet how this thing behaves on a musical level...
you start listening to a macbeth soundtrack,
you switch to listening to the exmachina sountrack,   <-- p.s. ref.
and you want to listen to a particular song,                      to unnecessary
in this case: #6 -                                                                       italics
    so a bit like writing a symphony and calling                    thus
it: in #A or... that's A-major, isn't it?

   and to the sound of wasps' in a flurry...

    it's about how the algorithm behaves when you
take that one song out from a link to the entire
sountrack, and what other suggestions come along,
the immediate sense of archeology of past choices /
preferences... e.g. robert plant's darkness darkness...
hedningarna's räven, ghost b.c.'s year zero...

the only thing that's artificial is the fact that someone
smart enough to code wrote the program,
           on the basis that i didn't have the capacity to write it
in order to not muse about it's behaviour...
  
i have keep making these repetitive interactions with
the internet, it's this thing completely devoid of
any sublayers this world might have -
  well... if we didn't have internet banking i'd
clearly say: life on the internet, and real life...
    there's bound to be a "    "         in that sentence,
i'm just not sure where to put it...
      i stopped believing there was a distinction,
given how huge the human population is
and the needs to travel... for what? coffee and cookies?

for those of us who still remember life in the 20th
century...
                         what was i, in 2000? 14?
   i was a kid back then, and i'm sure people much
older than me think fondly of it...
         there was so many things to touch, to feel,
to smell...
                       i don't have this classical 20th century
or beginning with nietzsche *nostalgia*
for ancient greece... my nostalgia is subtle because
it revolves around an organic structure of
my own memory, nostalgia for ancient greece
is quiet frankly, *inorganic*, that gets passed down
via philosophy books... my nostalgia is for the
end of the 20th century... not so much being a child
or anything as crass as that...
                    but that there was this fluidity in the world....
hanging out with people in car parks,
               going to the high street...
                  agoraphobia took over from that...
and that's the best thing the greeks ever gave us:
a list of phobias...
  but then why would i be right about that?
given that polite society doesn't engage with
dialectics... with **** schizoi A bashing this opinion
and **** schizoi B blasting that opinion...

recent videos i watched? a funny compilation...
     i have to admit that *sia's* early output is
staggering... she's like this matured version of
*katy b*...
                     can you imagine that some of us coming
from the 20th century had the sole ambition
to work in a music shop?
                          oh look.... that's flushed down the toilet...

god... i hate sarcasm, it's such a dry comedy,
i might as well walk into a desert and pretend i'm
a cactus.

oh right... youtube videos...
   that rare combination of
*the amazing atheist* and transgender dating and
if that's bigotry...
      i already stated the "video" i'm watching now
exmachina #6... no, nothing robotic imagining the music...
more like wasps... or termites... evidently something
sinister... but then again gradual,
nothing like an avalanche... and there is a part
of me that would like to usher in some purposive
imagery... but then i'm being fed imagery
and i'm trying to refine what it could be by that track...

oh right... and the last video...
   this is such a francis bacon moment, how he
found beauty in violence...
    me... i'm more into seeing a brotherhood of some sort,
something that can be shared, moulded,
     something elemental, and vaguely orientated
around western values of free speech...
             anything but a vague humanity,
this constant need to individualise...
     to speak about things where the only taboo left
standing is violence...
                    there are age restrictions, of course (oddly
enough, missing in galleries...
but you know: if you ever masturbated over
an Agnolo Bronzino painting... you might talk
something as refined as the link i'm about to post)...

       youtube - Russian streetfights
                                         Russians VS Muslims...

what's amazing is this sense of togetherness....
              i can't call it anything but baconesque
after watching the david jacoby adaptation of
the artist's life and work (daniel craig being the muse
and tragic suicide)... it's almost as soothing as sitting
on a beach and watching the sea...
                                       being an only child
gives me this precursor of opinion... to think of a large
family, moving synchro like a wave.....
           it is the sea, truly... it swells and absorbs
                            the earth, teasing, gently nibbling
on it...
                      well... at least that's how i use the internet;
and so much more gratifying is the case
where i make the conscious effort that
  is in equilibirum to the made effort,
                        rather than just a passive care for
number, and a video; unless of course i'm fooling myself
on that *** note...

to finally see violence as the last standing taboo
                            and all others so openly disclosed.

p.s. what's with this website's * / _   ?

I'm a docder, pretty wizard, how d'ya like that?
I prescribe drugs, you just wear a pointy hat!
I ain't no Dr. Phil BS or Dr. Dre crap,
While you're busy casting spells, I'm savin' some poor old chap
Against me, you wouldn't stand a chance
I'm smarterer than you, and you just have a fancy stance
I'm a real life livin' docder
And you need me as a proctor
Just to drink some vodkar
And by now I bet you're wonderin' what ya just got in yer
Ya can't even rhyme
So why should I waste a single bit of my time
Fightin' with ma docder powers which are all so sublime
And here's a little gift
Before I shift
Back ta destroyin' all ya lyin'
Without even tryin'
It's a free little lesson
Better count it as a blessin'
Crap, wizard, that, warcraft and path
Don't rhyme, just do the math
And also by the way, you misspelled "WRATH!!!!!"
I can wear whatever I want, from my boots up to my hat
So, my little wizard, what d'ya think of that?
I can use anything, from a .50 cal to a bat
You just get a stick, and a stupid purple hat
I can eat 416 billion grams of fat
And cuz I'm a docder, I'd burn it off in nothin' flat
By just using a little brainpower to focus
All of my smartererness, against your hocus pocus  
You could never mess with me
Or either docder buddy,
Jedingaling and Murly
You'd leave so freakin early
If we started a beef
So just can it, and save yourself the grief
Against Walsh, you would flee
And as of now, he hasn't even got his docder PhD!
Unlike me!
Yeah, try every fancy trick
And poke me with a stick
A docder can take any pain,
From a puny little stick to a saw with a chain!
And then the docder'd turn around and use an attack
And your whole puny world would fade into black
You are done
I have just won
CUZ I'M A DOCDER, SON!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And I know the outcome of this,
I know how much it will hurt when I land,
Bruised and bleeding,

But I want to wrap my love around you,
Warm you up,
From the mind
down
And Iwant to get dressed in your insides,
The things you ve learned to hide,

Will you let me crawl inside your head space,
And hallow out a place so we me meet beside,
Your ribs to my chest ,

I dance for you my love,
Longing to do more then entertain,
Allow me to wake the dormant feelings
You promised once you'd never feel again.

Because you carve at my insides,
You cause world of warcraft to begin in my stomach,
While mere heart mumurs increase too a caterwaling of my senses till
I am bankrupt of all sound, left with mountains heaving to breathe

And Ido learn to breathe,
Longing to inhale the poetry you produce
In the wake of trails tattoed by spidery fingers,
That prove to be more poisonous then 1st thought,
Leaving me captured,

And I'm sorry but we haven't yet met,
I really wish we had met,

But lover to love
here is the reciepe for my disaster.

Is the pain in your eyes
Why is that ?            
When you smile, your smile not flashing in eyes
Why your smile wrapped me in pain
What are you sad
If ever you meet me
So i want to ask you
Your sorrow
Your pain
Your painful tears
I want ask about them all
You seem to be alone in the Warcraft
You'll dwell alone
I feel your pain myself
My desire is that to remove your suffering
I hold your and want to take off your all distress in my own
I want to winding your tears to my eyelashes
I want to change your sad smile in happiness
I hold your hand i'll visit you the world of the lights and brights
Where you'll forget the darkness of sorrow
I just wanted
You always happy in all circumstances
You to be happy every second, every minute, every time
Doesn't pass any sorrow to touch you
I am praying to God
God bless you every joy of your life
And fill your heart with joy

I keep waking up to sunsets
Affinity for the moon I suppose.
the fireflies, cold air.

I've felt happier at night my whole life
Sitting in elementery school
popcorn reading
Headphones plugged into a PSP
Blaring mindless self iindulgence
Putting me to sleep through the day
So I could level up my nightelf hunter in World of Warcraft until 5am
And sleep through social anxiety.

For awhile I woke up at 4am to serve you coffee.
Seven years addicted
I loved that too.
Traded coca-cola for drinking it black
My coffees color is the smog in Chicago
This nightlife is my real addiction.
That's why I love the graveyard shift.
Devouring untold stories
assisted living facilities.
This Goldmine of consentrated Wisdom
Parkinsons Orchestra Doctorates.
Politicians prepared for Death

Rabbis still flirting with nurses
remembering the whole torah service by heart
forgetting their wives name.

For my sunset
I like to imagine a big desk
A wall of glass
The top of a grey tower.
I want to Birth a skyscraper.
I want to stand staring out my wall of window back turned to my coffee cup
watch how beautiful stasis can be when you shatter through it.

I like to pretend each sunset
Is a death that wasn't mine.
I like to count the deaths in assisted living
As sunsets.
I like to read obituaries like sunsets.
I keep waking up
To sunsets

Today, we have surgery
I sink my chest into yours.
Your blood pumping through my veins for a bit,
I feel heavy.

I want to turn to a whisp.
Like the Night Elves in World of Warcraft.
A floating blue orb of energy
weightless electricity,
Spirit in the power lines, like that spark we felt.
Tealight in a gas stove, left on for 6 months

When I am cremated
My ashes will be Kept in little ziplock baggies,
Filed away in the back seat of my mothers car,
Until she parks in a bad part of town
You break in
Leave the quarters for the tolls
Leave the GPS cupped to the windshield.
Then snort me, in my mothers backseat.
Thinking you just hit the jack ***.
That's where I will be.
Charcoal cave painting your nasal cavity
coating the inside of your lungs like a cigarette.
Replacing your addiction.

This surgery
The Aorta of copper perfume,
Scalpels summoning blood,
I, scavenged from the wreckage

my heart inside you,
the rest scrapped in a kiln.

If they botch the surgery
cold Iron will be the last thing you smell.

I, a spark
grounding from your chest.

Heart still beating.

like byrd said
life's nothin' but a wind parade
tryna serenade
the streets of the ghetto
pack a pistol
everywhere i go i show
up ******* ready for war
true soldier made for the scold
once i sense fear
Ya know they gone fold bold
game is to be told not sold
groupies ******* get old
brothers hate when they see ya on a cash roll it written on scrolls
hands all.over me like im a celebrity
im feelin' hell death around the corner
soon to be a gonna
pictures of me and a closed caskets
those heartless *******
dont know i mastered
the game  warcraft its a crime shame
ill be dead in the flesh and alive in spirit
coming back reincarnated
then my enemies get cremated
from.my fire and brimstones
enticin fright in the late night!

in the sixth grade
i asked my parents
to buy me World of Warcraft for christmas
to impress a boy that i liked
i never even downloaded it

i pretended fictional characters in young adult novels
were my boyfriend
i wanted so badly
to feel teeth

i imagine
she had already felt them
her blood isn't as clean
as the day it left her legs
she's never changed her sheets
since the day he left her bed
praying for a miracle
but God and Mother Nature
are two different people
that never got along very well

i imagine
she was spending her saturday nights
in the ditch by the creek
lying on her back
counting how many days left
counting how many days late
counting the stars

adolescent alone
abandoned baby daddy
already has a kid of his own
my friends joked,
"better call mtv"
what a nightmare,
we used to crush rolls and roll around
pop bottles not baby formula
it scares me
how quickly things can change
just by living how you live
like any other day

i wonder what her mom will say
i wonder if we aren't friends anymore
because we never see each other
or if I'm worried what my mom will say
scared of perpetuating
living how we lived
like hooligans
too much of an influence
that was the summer
she was always breaking things
she was such a clumsy lover

she is with child
she is child
one more statistic
according to the state
and groups of friend only last
as long as fate lets us
because now,
he is in the navy,
they moved away,
he is selling drugs again,
knocked up,
i found a new boyfriend

i didn't know so much could change
just by living how we live
like any other day
one too many things broken,
that's all it takes.

Which is better

To feel nothing
But a halcyon calm
Like a fine summer morning,
Or to be ****** to and fro
By the ice, spray, and lightning
Of the tempest?

To stroll the meadow,
Or to climb the mountain?

I've gone through both
Yet the answer still eludes me
I remain as ignorant as I was
In the days of my youth

But what I do know
Is how my chest tightened
How my breath caught
When you sent me a message
(Your very first)
And how my lips impulsively purse
As I peek at yours
And at the speck of a mole
Resting right below

What I do know
Is how I couldn't keep my eyes
From straying towards your corner
(Still can't)
And how my hand trembled
Just as I squeezed your shoulder
Bidding you farewell

Or how I've worn out my iPod
Replaying Jay Chou's ballads
As I sang my heart out to my steering wheel
Numbly crawling through
The maddening, seething traffic

And how the breeze eats my cigarette
Down to its filter
As I stare up
Dumbfounded
Mapping out
Tracing your face among the stars

How my neurotransmitters **** me
Closer and closer to a heart attack
And how my soul weeps and bemoans
The yawning chasm betwixt us
While you sit there infuriatingly oblivious
Chattering away about Warcraft and barley tea

All these things are
The few of what I do know
The last of which
Is how I'll never have you.

Affinity for the moon I suppose.
the fireflies
cold air.

I've felt happier at night my whole life
Sitting in elementery popcorn reading

Headphones plugged into a PSP
Blaring mindless self iindulgence
Putting me to sleep
So I could level up my nightelf hunter in World of Warcraft
watch Naruto until 5am
And sleep through social anxiety.

For awhile I woke up at 4am to serve you coffee.
Seven years addicted

I loved that too.
Traded coca cola for bkack coffee
And an eating disorder

Now Im a graveyard shift worker.
Manjc smirking at untold stories in assisted living
Goldmine of consentrated Wisdom
Parkinsons orchestra Doctorates
Politicians preparing for death

Rabbis still flirting with nurses and remembering the whoke torah service by heart
When they cant remember their wives name.
Wives of Men that played god until they met him.
Breifly
Before the trap door unlatched

For my death.
I like to imagine a big desk
A wall of glass
The top of a grey tower.

I want to Birth a skyscraper.
I want to stand staring out my wall of window back turned to my desk.
And
watch how beautiful stasis can be
As the trap door caves beneath me for my sins.
I want to leave someone behind to tell my story.
My journal is someone.

I'm a night owl
I am alive most when the world is either sinning or silent

And I refuse to die quietly.
Or before I get my Desk.
Or my window.

To watch the sun rise and fall
But never stay.

I am not meant to watch things last forever.
I am a night owl.

I enjoy this world for all the endings.
This is my favorite part.

I make you pancakes in the morning
Strawberries and whip cream
Just like my grandmother used to make
They call me the trash monster

Those tattoos of wings on your shoulders?
Those were the first two tattoos I ever stabbed into a person.
You were my first.

Remember I was the one who told you to pluck your eyebrows
How you cringed and refused.
plucked them the same direction
they were growing.
One by one.
So you wouldn't feel pain
I made you beautiful

They call me the trash monster

I paid for your world of Warcraft subscription.
I was at every birthday
your second mother

They call me the trash monster

My face is on national Televsion
Photographs of my living room.
The same one you woke up in every Saturday morning.

You wouldn't even recognise it.
Hidden beneath all of this spilt hourglass sand

So much between us now.
Prison bars
fast food shrapnel.

They call me the trash monster

A baby boy.
His little sister
Swimming in this filth
My depression hording

Their father left us for a 19 year old who lusted after his motor cycle
joined a gang
sells heroine

Left his autistic son and daughter
Taken now, my everything
From the nest

I was left to clean

They call me the trash monster

This filth
The broken wooden horse
The wax paper backs of sticker sheets.
The McDonald's bags n' grease
Scrapbooking strip cutters.

They call me the trash monster

Did you hear yet?
Do you remember me?
Did you throw me out?