.when her love left, it leftthe house emptyand she saysi hope one day it'llcome back to me,cos i don't keep this shotgunon my front porch for nothin'
.all we are is cheapmetaphorsgoldfish drowning inthe ocean, birds that forget how toflap their wings, mid-flight
nakedness and heavy lungsand now, I’m defined by theconfines of my body, the faultsI carry like misdemeanors againstthe ones who translate me inlines and curves and scars that readlook, but don’t touch. now, I’mbusy catching up in revolutionsaround the sun and laps withinthe indignity of my own mind;swallowing travesties and memories alike—the sun in your voice, brighteningme inside as I wake up and breathelike an eclipsing star, my bones clankingtogether like wind-chimes, my legsgiving out like ghost peoplewho’ve given up. this is beautiful, thisstripping of layers upon layersof reality and pretendingI’m not ashamed to stand naked andquivering before those who judge mein impersonal numbers and figuresas though I were irrelevant, that I’m notholding my breath in hopes I willfloat away like a balloon, beyondhuman comprehension, light and fadinglike the handwritten notes and promisesscrawled across every inch of me,just so I could be forgotten
.i want to sink intothe earthand rise up againblooming
denial and uglier aftermathi drink to you, raising my glass andchoking down the things you left,ignoring my gag reflex and waitingon the buzzing in my head, white cottonlullabies for the weak of heart.it kills me that we are just acollection of vignettes, that sooni might see your blossom fingersand bleeding sunset smile butonly as a memory gone static with neglect;this summer, i became a rebel. amartyr in a child’s game, a vagrantwith boxes of dead poetry to calla home, and when i asked you to want me,it’s only so you’d take the sanity and consciousnesswith you when you left. i missthe days when personality disorderswere not graceful.do you even remember taking me to the moon?you were so fucking tripped out on acidand weed and love and other drugsthat you thought we were a portrait.midnight blues and sober graysbreaking even for a story,but every planet we landed onwas already dead.and trust me, i know you wish life wasa one night stand, because youcan’t keep
wallflower clippingsthere's scar tissue in her throat,swollen around the words she never said;dark rings around her eyeslike planets unremembered, anda staleness to her touch,the crystalline Dead Sea.she's living like a storythat's already been told"if no one loved youwould you mean anything at all?"in that moment,we forget to exist.
Be gentle, love.Be gentle,please.Some daysmy body is too heavyto inhabit,hollowed out andfilled back upwith empty;empty sadness,empty anger,empty fear.Be gentle, love.Be gentle andlet me lay here,still and silent,until my emptinessempties out.
WhenIate mybreakfast andstopped to ponderwhen aspirations had stilled to daydreams.
Starving sleep and apologies.My sleep is starving.It is shivering sweat like snowacross my shoulders as I sob screamafter scream against your skin;"sorry, I'm so sorry,go back to sleep."I am sadand struggling to staytogether but you slumpagainst my sicknessand hold meanyway.
ps: i love youautumn is near and youare falling, fallen you are blowing away from me like dusti have shaken myselfout of your barbed wire gripand oh,i am cut to piecesmemories sing like sirensas you pour from my pores,and i will not cry,i will not let you change mei'm ripping you from my skinlike hot wax and plastersand you do not even hurtnot anymore
midnights always last longer than they should.i spend sleepless nights in my roomstaring at your picture on my mirrorand wondering why on earth someone as beautiful as youwould ever love someone like me,but then i rememberyou don't.
forest firesmy signature scrawled across allof your sentences like a stain of apologies:i'm sorry for anchoring you to my hiplike a one-sided promise, like a flood of insincerity.i'm sorry for collecting you like a well of wishes,for whispering you into every crack in these walls.i do not have the depth to tether our limbswith the tautness of our smiles, but i willbalance you on the edges of my knees untilyou slip away.i have been kneeling with my arms outstretchedwaiting,but the divinity of your touchnever graced my expectant stance.our bones built forest fires together,but it was always my tears putting them out.
Loving a WriterWhen you read their work –and it is work,and you will often come second to the job –it’s best to know which pieces are fictions,which ones are wishes,and which parts are for you.
.i would shed my skinwith autumn, but my veins wouldcrack like the dry leaves
Broken BoyMy broken boywith the button eyes and puppet strings -I clasp you to my heartbeat.
david and ruth laskini have to be honest;seeing you has always felt likelooking inside a cityscape, nightlight kaleidoscopeand i've grown accustomedto fragility and our literal,nanosecond dalliances.we flicker on and off at the speedof improbable, dysfunctionallight. i have to be honest;i am honestly afraidof your sorrowful sighs, and eclecticgaze, though eerie and off in itslissome niche, still crawls under my skinand plants little foxgloveswhere i can never find them.you worry after events so impossiblethat your aura of floral huesgiggles and reminds youthat kept-secret cardamom leaves have stayedfor as long as you askedand let you sleep soundlessly withmidnight traffic lullabies. morning,we both know, is tainted with the dull mauveof my departure and now that it's timefor yours, i have to be honest;you mustn'tgrieve.you are more than a secretthat will be forgotten with the creakof a silent grandfather clock, and yourpetals, my sweet, your beautiful petals,still grace me in
orange and goldfire is crackling up my spinethe brilliant stars are pushing at us, the narrow confinesof my dusty room are shoving us into one anotherbody and soula halting, skipping song is playing out in thetiny, tiny spaces between us, jumping and spittingjoyfully like a faulty record; sudden sparks of staticburning our heated skin with thesun-spotted fever-rash of desirei feel so young, so old, so human - my fingersflex, strange things moving in my bloodif i pull away, you'll follow, a fumbling hunger inyour mouth - there is a dreadful magnetism here andit frightens me; if i push you down and pretend there is strengthin the thighs that straddle yours, maybe theni won't drown
Constructionand the sweetest silencewas the loudestdissonancethe bones of Babylonhave crumbled insidethese limbsand my tonguedisintegrates wordsrather than lettingtheir sound hissthroughmy teeth-now black with sootand ash.my body was never a temple-it's a construction sitewhere the frameworkclings onto sunlightand shivers in the rain,leaving me paleand fragile,cracked on every keratinsurface;despite the amber skiesin these eyes,there are ghost imprintsin these lashes.
lovei fell in love with youthe day i realizedyou were human too.
i fell in love with youthe day i realized you were human too.