i asked what it was
that he meant by what he meant
tears scattering the scarlet of the blood drops
he held his hued arm parallel to me
you are my universe
there was a dying light in his eyes
i wondered if he would fall
and i would have to hold him up
with my weak arms

Monday: this is the day i do it,
when i feel the cold steel,
trace down my vein,
for my last embrace,
Tuesday: if only i had a gun,
i'd have my brains sliding down,
the yellow walls of my room.
or maybe i'd go out,
in a blaze like budd dwyer,
or maybe that,
would be seeking attention.
Wednesday: no one really cares,
until you try,
so maybe i should try and they'll care after i die,
all big and public with my face smashed in,
when i fall face-first off a building.
Thursday: i've decided to stop being a *****.
i've decided to stop seeking validation,
and just have my body hang in private,
all dignified with my **** and **** leaking out.
Friday: i'm cold and the scars are growing.
i'm running out of places to hide them.
there are only so many places,
i can carve insults and see them when i'm naked.
i guess that's how i'll go.
a toaster in my bath,
all pretty and naked for the world that never wanted me.
Saturday: all i want is someone to touch me,
to hold me, to be there,
when i roll over in my bed under my fur blankets,
and smile and love me being there,
because my being here is important;
barring that, i want someone to break in,
a ****** or a ******,
and bury my head into my pillow;
smother me until i like it,
until the time comes when i accept,
the peace washing over me.
Sunday: all i want is to sleep and never wake back up.

Marie, Marie, I love my phillumeny,
I want to burn my ******* house down,
I want to burn my white picket fence,
I want to burn all the stupid people in this town,
I want to fight like Joan,
And know like Curie,
I want to love like Aphrodite.
Now, with my two-year husband,
I’ve been ****** hard like some heavenly ****.
How I relish his **** inside me,
How I love thinking his seed’s spreading in me,
How I despise him googly-eyeing Hayworth,
How I hate him ******* to Lake,
Don’t talk back, don’t, don’t,
He’ll hitya, ya know,
I know, I know,
Don’t cheat when he’s cheating,
Really? But I love a good rendez-vous,
With a crush-boy from my kindergarten days.
I love him taking me rough to anomia.
Oh, I’m so afraid.
I’m afraid,
I hate every made-up person around me,
I’m afraid,
Those sniggering socialites’ll figure me out,
I’m afraid,
There are those who want my daughter,
For the future,
There are those who want my daughter,
Right now,
Now without the hairs of the elderly,
Now with all her pretty white-blond hair,
On her pretty white head,
Just like all the pretty white heads,
Of the dukes and barons and lords,
Of my family,
Who go to marvellous get-togethers,
With exquisite wine,
Who bootleg their lipsticked smiles,
With social emotion,
Who eat the flesh of their younglings,
With plastic sauce,
So they will continue themselves,
So they can be accepted,
As all must be,
Giggling softly at no joke.
I’m afraid,
I’m a little bit crazy,
But I think everyone’s crazy,
But they just don’t show it.
Marie, Marie, how do I die?
How do I make myself,
Immolate myself?
How do I illuminate my entourage?
Face it,
Your primal soul cannot be overridden,
And perhaps that’s what is most terrifying.