Saturday, July 14, 2012
neat
Um, what now? I'm not a lesbian because I don't look like you? You don't get out of Nebraska then? Heard of this thing called the interwebz? You can, like, see and sometimes meet people of other colors and creeds and even non-flannel-wearing-Lesbians. Try it. Hoe Bag.
damage
Was it necessary to bang my head on your head
board when you came? What's the point of this
medieval circus of bodies, tragedy and pain? No
wonder the martyrs lashed their shoulders
in repentence covering up the blows from
yesterday's folly.
Each harbinger swears on a new message
the one that will save my life. Hollering
redemption from every corner cornering
the market of lies. My concussion's one more
reminder of the pallbearers swaying my demise.
shine
When my mother sees a paring
knife she thinks, "vegetables". I
see a quill. My father has carried
a pocket knife ever since I can
remember. Splinter removal and
clean fingernails. I see pain relief,
medication for my aching head.
Dribbling or splashing on
the ground, those livid emotions
waken me, startle me to life. In
its shine, my upside down reflection,
smiles. My breathing returns, dark
clouds part in the sunshine glinting
off the perfect, sticky blade.
Mobile
Lying in bed, the ceiling swims
above me, a mobile of stains
and stardust. It's a worm's eye
view like an infant in a crib.
Shake out my pockets;
everything's gone. The tooth-
fairy's a hood ornament, Santa
Claus is dead, childhood's a
brass coin, Batman; a canvas
character. Holden Caufield is
the hero of my time,
my broken alarm clock.
Skeletons rattle my cage sick
of the closet. The black hand
of the Sabbath is at my door,
"Come out, come out whoever
you are". My mommy dresses
me just like daddy-
a study in tyranny.
My waking dream never ends.
I see fireflies now, they hover
over my dinner. This is where my
story ends on the dotted line
with a broken quill.
A mobile of stains and stardust.
ah youth-ish
Remember those fun mind games and emotional hostage-taking techniques you learned at home in your youth? Yeah, keep that shit to yourself. It is not attractive. And it's stupid. Oh, and super immature. Ok? Thanks.
Friday, July 13, 2012
rosebud
You were awfully quick with
the shears. I saw her, you know,
as I hovered there.
Perfectly pink, perfectly formed.
Perfectly flawed. A miracle,
really. Remember you said
so, you said in a
whisper, "Miracle".
Now.
Look what you've done.
Her sunken eyes tell me the
story I need to know. Perfect
petals dry in the trash. Tears
or blood drain unnoticed
collecting in your jar of shame.
Her smile resembles the gory
wound you left. Open. Festering.
Hidden. Try as she might joy
escapes her. I wish I could hold
her but I know, you're watching.
You prune with impudence.
She lies quietly trembling
as I cower overhead.
Affront
I know when I see you
I'll be reminded of the relationship
we once had. Sunlight off your
face catches my attention
every time I pass your window.
Your ember eyes twinkle at mine
letting me know you love me too.
(secretly) I wish for your demise as I jab
my hand into my pocket fingering
the blade I replace you with. Wincing
I stride past the smeared glass even as
my neck cranes to see. I know you're
a two-timing harlot, a lethal injection, a
mistress I love to hate. Your seductive
voice tickles my spine as I round the corner,
grimacing. I grasp the razor-
a solid pop rings in my ears-
the vein breaks, releasing your grip.
I breathe once more
as the sun reflects off
my tortured face.
Armed
I sleep with a gun
under my pillow
it leaves a bruise
at my temple.
Am I drunk again or only
afraid of the dark. Am I
really here or dreaming in
the darkness of my mind.
Will the devil inside me find
the trigger once again,
glancing with glee as I
pull the trigger within.
I'll still be wrestling with him
in the dawn of the morn
staring at him over the steam
from my coffee mug
with the gun
pressed at my temple.
whisper
Her mound is cold. Dirty
fingernails stark against the
white flesh of her belly. A
flutter of steam exhales from
blood-red lips. An eternity has
passed, or so it seems, since
a twinkle of light fell across
her prone body. Suddenly
like a thousand butterfly wings
warm tendrils caress her hair,
spikey eyelashes flutter under
the weight. Hot breath from
an unexpected kiss stirs her
flesh-white hot points rise
in recognition. A solid form
takes shape abover her
shivering skin, feminine
in nature, Love come home.
A flutter of eyelids and she's
face to face with all she has
dreamed, hope renewed, and
a saving warmth from within.
 | |
|
 |
| When I find a mate like this, I will marry her. In a secret ceremony since, you know, I have rights in only a few states. Fuckers |
 |
| Me and my Sharpie |
 |
| I look just like this chick. Two arms, two legs, Batman chones all day long. |
 |
| I heart Tank Girl |
apocalypse
I remember when
I trusted you.
I remember when
you said you wouldn't
lie to me, remember
you laughed when I
suggested you might leave.
I believed everything
you said. Remember
when you told me you
loved me best and I
loved you too. I remember
the exhilaration of knowing
the exhilaration of knowing
joy like that, the realization
your love erased old wounds,
made me forget; smoothed
my scarred flesh.
I guess she brought her great big
dick. I guess she makes you feel
like a woman, makes YOU forget.
I guess she kisses you with the
tenderness you promised me. I
guess you forgot who loved you
first. I guess I don't have what
it takes; the love to make.
I guess I'm not who you said I am.
I guess I'm the loser
I always believed in.
carnivore
I can feel my heart bleeding
out with each ragged breath.
There wasn't much left but
I gave it all, trusted a
liar and a whore .She
wore her disguise better
than the others; those baring
their fangs, showing me
they were monsters. Silently
and stealthily she chewed
through my chest, leaving
bloody, rotten flesh for
me to clean up.
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