flowers
Flowers
In my head
Filling me, meekly
Like sweet milk and
Warm honey, choking me
It's slow and heavy, your breath
Dizzy kisses, your nails across my skin
You pull me closer, and will you bruise me?
Violets on my shoulders and little rosebuds, breaking
Droplets of blood to stain your shirt
My scent, like a ghost
Haunting you -
leftovers
Tonight is thick and still,
Both sour and sweet,
Reminiscent of rotten milk
Sitting on the bottom of your glass.
It's the best for last, and wasted,
Untouched - but violated -
What's the best excuse that I have?
All the reasons come bubbling up,
But none of that really matters,
In the wake of memories
That now slip away from me,
Inbetween all of the things that I used to be,
There's a clear calmness to all of it
And I don't feel the least bit resentful.
Leave me to my peace and leave me be.
Your leftovers will feed the animals.
fault
What is there left to talk about?
I gave you all my stories when I could,
Put them in small bottles, easy to swallow,
And you never drank a single drop -
The ink dried up, inside those little bottles,
And when I open them,
All that escapes is
A foul stench -
I threw all of them out, out of the window,
Heard them shatter twenty feet below and wondered
About a lot of things.
But I kept quiet.
Twenty small bottles, stained glass and
They all shattered, twenty feet below,
Like small bells in the wind - and I wondered,
Would you have tried to stop me?
Probably not.
It's raining now. It smells like my ink and
Is this all I'm good for?
Like small bells in the wind, all you will hear is
A small chime - and a twinkling, shimmering -
Is this all I amount to? (No, I'm not sad.)
Fuck you for hurting me. Thank you for hurting me.
I should have listened to her! You should have
Listened to me (for once)! It doesn't matter.
The dark sky is pretty, a tragic sort of kind,
Where it doesn't really matter who you are -
All the things you've been through, are going through,
It doesn't matter - because it isn't you -
All those little bottles, littering my bedroom floor -
You never drank a single drop, you just left,
Not saying a word, not touching a thing, you
Just left me sobbing, in the little green room,
And you didn't really care - so it's alright,
You'll forget about me soon, very soon,
With old fires burning the frays of who I am to you -
Ancient burning, an everlasting kind,
Eating holes into your mind -
The spot, where I was -
And you will regret - you will.
What is there left to talk about?
It' s your fault that you are all alone.
lost and found
Pure red mornings
Tight chests and gasps
Old songs blaring from
Broken speakers hanging
From creaking windows
Truths I wanted to hear
Faces I would like to see
In fact, to put it short,
Honey sweet words -
Sweet, sweet, sweet,
Like pure red mornings,
Laced with occasional
Chrysaora achlyos showers
That is, spring summer rain
With legs dangling from
Brick red rooftops and
Rose red apparatus
Old faces and familiar words
Sweet tightness and the
Faint smell of tobacco, I mean
Cigarettes, "I miss you"
That's what she wants to say
I miss you I miss you imissyou
But she doesn't, only
Pure red mornings and a
Slight attack of anxiety
That, and the feeling of being
Forgotten, altogether forgotten,
And still...
checklist
There's many things I want to do,
She said with a smile
When I was younger I made a list
And I drew tiny boxes next to them,
Waiting to be filled with a hastily scribbled checkmark
Smoke wafted from between her lips with each garbled word
And her hair frizzed up just ever so slightly as the cigarette
Marked a trail from here to there, a small coiling snake,
A shed of innocence that somehow caught fire
I still have that list, in my notebook,
The paper is all crumbled and yellowed and the edges
They're slowly fraying, like fabric, and sometimes I think
I can pull out threads of my dreams from that page - - -
She flicks the cigarette away from her,
Beautifully painted red nails clicking
Stuffing her coat pockets with her tired hands
Slowly letting her head dip into the skies
It's been years
None of the boxes have been checked
I'm still here
But I'm also tired
She laughs quietly,
I'm really tired
And, abruptly, tries to push at her left eye -
Trying to hold back more smoke,
Or maybe steam,
Evaporated stench of childhood,
I'm so tired.
garbage love
Standing still in tides and torrents
Rushing sounds, blistering whispers
Hands around my throat and
A wonderful smile I detest
Longest hair I've ever seen
Prickled skin and rotting gums
"I don’t even know anymore"
Sinking, sinking, powder and
Perfume making their ways down
Into my throat, slit throat blood gushing,
Tapping fingers,
Tapping,
The black cables entangling around that
Intimate little wound on your neck
Dribbling, drooling blood,
Sinking,
Sinking,
Sinking —
It’s just
My headless soul
My restless heart
Hollow mind, thumping dry
Fingertips reaching out for
Cracking skies
Stained eyes, rotting teeth
Fermenting thoughts and
Garbage love
Fermenting love
