ink all over

my mouth is all strained red
out of sweetness
head so full of winter
got the cold caught between my teeth and stuck in my eyelashes
everything flickers out of the
corners of my vision
im out of breath over this
you awful disease dream thing
green eyed devil summer boy
cardboard cutouts and bird silhouettes
detuned piano
dropped from the top floor
like sunday morning
untangle me and
used my body
as stitches
dear god
written letters and tucking them under the back pew
my first memory or you is
blood and sticky hands
and my body drowned in your sea
oh captain my captain


these are the things i throw out of windows except the snow is everywhere. so they'll be dead by morning.

athea

Tonight I spent 15 minutes sitting my bathtub clutching the phone. Not knowing who the call. My mother, brother, therapist, crisis center, God. Or you, my darling little bird. Even if I don't love you the way I used to, the way I should. The one you love and the one who loves you will never be the same person. Our hearts got the time to meet all mixed up.

My words slurred, eyes unfocused. The little shadow-things creeping up on me with sharp little teeth. Like they used to with my old ghost. The one who held my wrists and followed me everywhere. Now I've got a new ghost, and his hands are big enough to close over my fists and he sings so beautifully it cuts into me every time. But he can't fight the dark and I don't know why. Just as helpless as I am.

I know how lucky I am to always have something to smile about. I know how lucky I am that half my tears lately are out of this shining kind of happiness. The reasoning behind all this shortcircuiting and destructive madness is beyond me. I want blood tests, scans, IVs, anything to figure what is wrong. I don't even want to do anything about it (that is every word Bukowski and Salinger wrote rising to the surface). I just want to know. If maybe my blueprints were all wrong and I've been put together like some Frankenstein monster.

Lately it seems like my entire body is experiencing phantom limb.

It's amazing every time you save me from another day inside my head. I wish I could take every word and every note and wrap myself inside of it. Sick of sleeping with my head beside the speaker. I want to live inside of this.

Good night moon good night room good night you etc etc

we have come this far just crawling on our knees

i'm sure somewhere along the line, there was a point to this.

i don't feel the need for these words anymore. they're just pretty trinkets, shiny baubles. mostly disconnected from everyone now, really. especially myself.

i don't know. there just isn't anything to talk about anymore.

tired all the time.