Her Musethese words are not poetryswimming liquid fire through ashesof dead phoenix veins.no, they are rough and callusedwith over use, their own faithless artistsspewing black tar from their lungsin the hopes to one day breathe again.nothing moves her.she would rather scribble her heart outon physical manifestations of her own reality-on skin and bones she worships like a temple. "Write of me," he says, "right here."- planting sun-stricken kisses along the hollow of her burning throat."I want to be where your heart sleeps."
She has the moon in her eyes.But, this body is a black hole,a hollowed out womb-and these palms are sandpaperthin and bleeding a silent stigmata."Not yet ripe to fall from her bed,too young to understand her own limbs-"She folds back July's origami skin,wishing for the warmth of winters kiss.She is a raven heart, thumping wildlyagainst the whispers of vintage lips.Her bed is empty,but the sheets are red.
RepossessionYour words tore into my abdomen like vultures feeding onthe raw emotion their filthy wings stirred up from the dust.My ribs cracked from the blow.But, I think sometimesof how these were the ribsthat should have chased you away from me,quietly wondering how you managed toslither past this cage of bone and fleshto engrave your fingerprints into my marrow.You were sweat & spice & scars-Your eyes,a thunderstorm of black and blue sexjarring and devouring my insides,shaped a faithless religionthrough the cracks & broken shardsof my hollowed out womb.(I want my insides back.)
Sometimes, you enjoyed being blind.Over 1,000 letters have found their wayto the pulsating heart of my wastebasket.Until you.You carried them away saying, "I'll use theseto fill the empty spaces of my universe."You proceeded to tape them to your eyelids,wear them like Augusts leaves along your limbs."I will be your voice and I will sing your words to the trees."Slender spider fingers prancing across my misspelled scrawl.
N o v ai.This distance between usis devouring my lungs.I'm left here gasping,trying to suture back togetherall the broken nights-the cigarette burns in my bedsheets.ii.I'm tracing maps on my limbs,and I'm painting black holes on my palms,pressing them into lettersleft on my nightstanduntouched and unread.iii.I keep telling myselfnone of this is about you.But I'm reaching for empty galaxiesas I try to remember what it felt liketo be one of a binary star.iv.Light-years away, and I'm here-just another nova on your ceiling,searching this vast universe for you.
No wander about it, just lust.You were a mid-morning train wreck,the embodiment of poetry.& my clavicles whispered too many nothingsabout your summer storm hands,folding like paper cranesto make wishes upon themselves.wishes are for the weak-stand up,do something about this quaking heart& freezing fingers.Anything.I think I found God then,lurking behind wanderlust eyes.
NaPoWriMo: Day 3Today,I wanted to pluck my ribsfrom out my chest &hang them about my houselike wind chimes-dangled brutality;a taunt for hungry wolves.I didn’t grab for sharp objects,I just wrote about it.I never knewI wanted to be a writeruntil I lost something.I still don’t know what that is-(my mind, maybe.)But words,they fill gapsthat had no storiesto keep themfrom hollowing outin the first place.
FrostI am devouring chaos,chasing it down with winter's chill.Spare me your fingerprints,summer's lovechild. Those knowing owl eyeshave me second guessing the wild churningin my bones. You are the sleep that sweepsmy eyelashes, drowning me in my own daydreams.When was it...that you plastered yourself to my ribcage?
Collection of poetic nothings.We were opal Tuesdays,mosaic butterfliestattooed into therose garden curveof my vertebrae,gliding me through this wild youth.But, like Icarus—I was a sky conqueror& these silk wingstouched the sun.-My inhalations are heavy,like the earth he bruisesbeneath his fingertipsas I chase silence."You've got a tonguemade for words." He saysagainst the arrogant thornsof my briar spine."Learn to love yourself."-How do I say I love youwithout saying I love you?"I want to replace my heart with you."-You are spider silk woveninto my harvest moonheartstrings, spiderlimbs traveling this road mapof songbird sin.You are not just in my head now,you are dancing in the lingering starsof my night-witch frame& setting me on fire.-You're not bruised enoughthey said,to write poetry.-Allow these bones to tell your story, Love.
NaPoWriMo: Day 8I was toldto slice through the thickestof scar tissue this evening.Let all my inner demonsfall to the floor& write them outin my own black blood.It’s not red anymore,even though needles& the bruiseslaid out like war-landson my armssay otherwise.I don’t think it ever was,honestly.Therapeutic,they said.My mind is a messof free versed insecurities,cat’s eye marbles,& untamed forest fires-but,I still don’t have the nerveto slice open my skin& bleed for her.
NecromancyShe thinks there are nebulaein the rough of my gutter bones,some stargazing sanctuaryfor lonely outcasts to lay their heads.I am but a car crash,spellboundinside eyelids,& red inked correctionson crosshatched skin.Made up of moans,the clutching of bedsheets;I am contemplatingripping my ribs apart& provingI never had a heart at all.But my moon shy love;she is determinedto try & wake the dead.
Lonely Gods"I wish my body to be a staircaseto heaven." She said, "A conduitof lonely Gods."Swayingpendulum hips, she, shewas made of stardust.- Scars sleepingabove a city of sweet bones, stirringlike sun-stricken scorpions duringhollow painkiller nights,mistaking her redred burnsfor Apollos kisses."Sadly, this body has whispered awaythe last of my secrets."
Sweat, Spice, and ScarsYour eyes,a thunderstorm of black and blue sexjarring and devouring my insides,shaped a faithless religionthrough the cracks & broken shardsof my hollowed out womb.I want my insides back.
Never trust ladies with scythes for smiles.i. these god-hands are barbwire's, snagging & scarring everything they touch.ii. black tongue bleeding sweet ichor along the guarded walls of skeletal frames.iii. 'i want to taste heaven. it rests there, just beneath your bones.'iv. he is a god dog made of scythes & scalpels, sewn together with weak thread.v. and she is a borrowed tree. lips that beg, & limbs that snare will carry him to his grave.vi. 'shh, my sweet- close your eyes, & i'll sacrifice you to the heavens.'<i>
MEi. I fell in love with a girl who catalogued darkness,sat in her room with the blinds closed and wrote down187 ways it feltin all of the different times she couldn't see.My name was one of them,#143, ash velvet, and I didn't know what she meant at the timebut the only description she wrote beneath itwas good night for stuffed animalsbad night for worn pillows.And I'm sorry I made you dream of the rivers.ii. I fell in love with a girl who never looked in the mirrorbut dressed to perfection, somehowin her blue skirt and black sockswhite tennis shoesand a smile crooked as the bottom side of Indiana yeah, I fell in love with a girlwho could never quite get it straight but hey,that's alright,I've never been 100% straight either,and the one corkscrew curl you haveopens me up like fine wineeach time I see you smile in that cracked bathroom mirror.Makes me half-drunk,near-giddy.iii. I fell in love with a girl who was depressed by Paris,but loved Italy beca
Ephemeral1.i wake up and tear the sunfrom the sky like this is agrade school art project and iam supposed to share somethingworthy of myself-- i thinkthere is a black hole nestledbetwixt my lonely ribs,devouring anything alive.on days like these, my greatest weaknessis weakness and i am my own fatal flaw.we live by mantras and my ears ring‘i hate every piece of me’(he put his head to my chestand heard me dying;call me beautiful now)2.we are the false ends of sunkenuniverses, we are pieces ofdead galaxies and you arestardust, god, you arebeautiful.i believe that this is all just a dreamby someone with an imaginationbigger than the word “no,” that weare pawns in a game not worthremembering, but when i’m with youi’m real.i never took kindly to thingsthat required codependency,the uncalloused portionof my frostbitten heartbut god, you arebeautiful.
sometimes i forget how to breatheAn overwhelming need to shut myselfunderwater and drink in my inevitabledeath. Crawl out to shore and gaspout apologies while tending to cut knees,but leave the internal damage. Find somethingto tether me to the ground, clutch itbetween pruned and shaking hands.Water drips off my nose, down my arms,plinks into the puddle in my lungs.I am drowning on dry land, chokingon the irresistible thought of you.
Hunger PainsIt begins with a bang.I forget to eat for a few months andI drown in cheap ideas with pretty names,the ones they fill books and barren wristsand stormy heads with, and soon,moonlight shines from insidemy ribs and I am a lighthouse.Thank you for the things you gave me,intrinsically, a knowledge ofhow to properly wearmyself. Thank youfor not fixing me.I used to write about the colorof your voice, always blue-- the skybefore I fell asleep and the morningdragging me back; I wonderthat you could’ve loved me betterif you explained who theSomething was that shared your bedat night, or why insincere wordswere your favorite.My poems still cling to my skineven when I sleep. even whenI wake, an anchor. even whenI boil myself alive and unfoldlike a pallid lily inside yourheavy hands;and after enough time,I forget to say goodbye.Today,I pick the scabs on my hips,kiss the sorry out of your smile,and breathe like this airisn’t already a million years old.
The Man Who BurnsI am too sterile and staticI can feel you walking awayInto the arms of the man who burnsBut then again why would you stayHe is so young and beautifulHe lives life while I rehearseActing upon his desiresWhile I write about mine in verseOur love was Russian rouletteWithout bullets in the chamberPassing the gun back and forthWithout any sense of dangerThe fire in your heart has gone nowThis cliché is not lost on meMetaphorically I'm the waterThat dampened our destinyYou said you would never leave meBut this contract was never bindingI want you to find your freedomIf there's a freedom worth findingBeyond the love that we haveThe excitement you used to feelBelieving that I was specialI was your sword, not your shieldIn that I'd not only defend youBut I would fight for your loveBut repetition led to tediumI can see you have had enoughYour bruises have faded quickerThan the cuts that sliced your skinBut beware that burns scar deeperIf you let that malign ma