my shadow grabbed me by the feet and grew taller than i am

bought a mockingbird but the damn thing won’t sing
had a dream I was buried alive
with nothing but a broken jaw and a diamond ring.
you gave a new meaning to my whole ‘black hole head’
that leaves me shaking and burning
at the foot of my bed
and maybe you write songs to listen to while it rains-
and mimic a voice that whispers about
sewing machines and trains.
but you have empires to crush,
stars to cross out
souls to save with a single touch
i’m going to get the solution for fear tattooed ‘round my wrist
right over the skin
that sharp things once kissed
I told you that I refused to fall in love with fiction
and you laughed and asked
if I even knew the difference
anymore.

lately i've been drawing nothing but
pretty glass girls and small boyish kings.
been living awhile but haven’t learned
a single thing
except that cloudy weather keeps me in bed
and maybe I love this girl down in Missouri
and the deep south couldn’t be any deeper
or that my tongue guts and head
are sick of these fucking meds.
OK so maybe I lied -
about forgetting everything and that most people are good for nothing
I know I was selfish
but for now my hands are tied
knotted with misery and achy winter bones
my loves are always so far away
and they always pass through but never seem to stay
for long
a severe case of transatlanticism since the day I was born
remember when we were all caught up
over that boy with his thorn?
just a little kid but he’s all grown up now
in most ways at least
where the wild things are, the jungle book
that monstrous beast
with a tiny baby boy sittin at his feet.
long eyelashes and horseshoe crabs.
we were stupid kids, wasting years pretending to be sad.
“there’s not a hole in your head if you don’t want there to be”
well tell me if I smashed that pretty head open
what kind of secrets would pour out?

they said “stop thinking about just yourself”
which is funny because I can’t seem stop talking
about everybody else

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.

i erased my name for everything. wiped off fingerprints, dusted away footprints. like i was never even there.

you make me feel like singing,
to tip and pour out
all the little worlds
swirling in the back of my throat
and let all the little people
i've thought up
make new homes on my tongue
and teeth
so maybe the next time
you'll kiss me and
my mouth will taste sweet.

some desperate, chemical blood
i touch your mouth.
i touch your jaw.
i touch the shell of your ear, your shoulder blade,
the inside of your wrist.
you hum softly
the engine in your chest
hot and roaring
like a furnace
and when you exhale,
softly,
shakily,
smoke rises.
you compare yourself to a machine,
longingly tracing patterns on you skin
explaining the detailed webwork
of steel and wire that lies
beneath
that mighty engine sputters
and
groans.
you whimper into the sheets.
& yet i pluck you gently,
you pale delicate thing
and carry you into the garden
lay you down in the soft marrow of the earth
and let your bloom quietly in the
moonlight
(you pale delicate thing)
i touch your mouth.
i touch your jaw.
i touch the shell of your ear, your shoulder blade,
the inside of your wrist.
you hum softly,
bright petals shivering.


&& he was a poet's wet dream:
"every time I breathe in I smell and taste the cigarettes you stole from me. and under that bright sun you laid across the road so unafraid, thinking yourself invincible, & every time i breathe it feels like the broad expanse of those tired hands on my neck, your eyes are the stars dying and imploding and in all that heat and light and energy i am beyond insignificant, im that lighter you sparked next to my skin and then let me steal so i could throw it as far as i could into the sea."

you left without saying goodbye, its almost 2am. The heat collects behind eyelids, behind knees, along the shelf of your collarbone, & all I'm doing is wishing for snow. To turn our ordinary human silhouettes into something more, pressing angels into the ground. This is the opposite of a children's book; no monsters come out at night, only humans- we save our horns and sharp teeth for the sunlight.

"I burnt my tongue on you. Now I have no sense of taste. Or decency.'

sic transit gloria

she's an empty threat
sleeps in an empty bed
buries hope under the floorboards.
hears shaky breath, wills herself to forget.
no dreams, just numbers and figures, gotta pay the rent
every silent minute strung with malicious intent.
why do we wish upon dead things?
puppet hung on lonely strings, come to keep me company tonight
(fight off your demons, keep your skin under the light)
we talk about the way his ages is marked in the rings in the wood
become more honest than rings on fingers ever could.
and i, i look at you and feel like singing;
your kiss a question i want to spend my whole life answering.

and yet, i love so much it hurts my head
the heart, the horror, the touch, the dread.
(should have loved a thunderbird)
touch your skin, my throat, it sings.
(a thunderbird would come around again in spring)