cadavershe was born with arctic lipsand overcast skin.her hair fell like fresh snowand she was far too thin.her bones in locked closets,joints creaked and shriekedlike a rotten floorboardunder gossamer feet.
unlovenot all self harm comes in the obvious form of lines up arms or down thighsof throwing up insides and self worthinto toilet bowls with the soundsthat make you wonder how you're not dead.she picked at her lips constantly cracking and splittingpeeling and bleedingit stungmore than expectedand it bledmore than ever anticipatedeven after she's been doing it all dayshe drank her tea that was still steamingstill made her hands flinch from the far too hot porceline but she parted lipsand felt it force it way downburning and splittingher lips and throatbefore settlinglike molten in herash filled stomachtiny fingers pinching, squeezingpulling on skinmaking underneath itburstand bloomher blood like water colourexploding and spreadingand mixing overthighs and stomachsno-one thinks to noticethe bruisesthey're accidentalright?
on loving writerstalk to me like a childbut love me like a writer,love me unabridged,love me with all my footnotes,postscripts and appendixes.love me when i am alive at night,tangled thoughts keeping you awake,the sounds of my scribblingscratching in your ears.love me with all my imperfections,the ones that allow me to run awaywith my imaginationand the ones that franklyyou just can't stand.love me when i interrupt youto write something down,or when i stop listeningbecause my brain is running onmetaphors, not oxygen.i am sorry ornot sorry to tell you this,but i will keep writinguntil i run out of words(and then some)
Sky EyesDesert hands tell talesof a hundred arid summers, butyou are no longer as cloudless as they(there is a stormcreeping through blue, blue veins).But tell the sky to keep her sorrow,that grey cascade blurring againsteyelids and horizons;and suppress her misbegottendroplets, seeping into the soddenground underfootfor there is still sun in your sky eyes.
traffic lights and busy intersectionsi want youto get lost in your own forestof desires and fearsandtrip over hugetree roots, kicking up dirt andyour knees will get all scratched upand you will stumble into clearingsthat you're positive you've seen before,taking detours and u-turns and stopdead in a cul-de-sac.i would highly discourage addressingthe folks you'll see peeking out from behindtowering, skyscraper trees;when asking for directions, themost common answer you willreceive is a blank stare ormad gibbering, lost bodiesturned wild by the sightof leafless treetops obscuring the sky.
earthboundthe stars don't like me these days.they give me a serving of cold shoulders and tell me to sit in the corner,think about what you've done.as long as i get to watch them,swirling and whirling around each other in a dance of small infinities,i don't really mind.even if i'll never be able to join them.