maybe that's what love isthere are empty sheetssprawled like a linen corpsewho's been given an autopsy--and it's sprawled across the floor,arms and legs bent and askew acrossthe hardwood floor.i'm thinking of you as the spiderwebsin the living room are glistening withfresh dew from the remaining days ofchristmas.but no one inhabits them anymore, they'vebeen left alone and deserted like you left me(once.)but;the flies are gasping and buzzing with ecstasy,they have been spared.he's got memissing his dark eyes and the feel of his unshavenface against my cheek and the rattling of my boneswhen he speaks.tonight instead i'll be lain across the bed like thoseempty sheets you forgot to wash beforeyou left--i'll be tossing and turning, rethinking and my brain willbe pulsing and i'll be uttering under my warm breath that i'm just a girl who trembles under the chillynight sky and has the ambition of anewborn baby,do i really deserve to beloved? and i still can't stoploving you.i can
I Am Forever.Love me.My feet, broken, bruised, bleeding for I have trekked, forever, forever to be with youMy lungs, worn, weak, withering for I have held my breath, forever, forever to see your face a masterpiece painting on a canvas of white but you fall apart at the seams because seconds, minutes, hours, days, months
we lost some things along the wayYou started using,shooting me (the gleam of my eyes;the flush of my cheeks;the uneven beating of my heart...)straight into your veins. Now - strung out and reeling -I dare you to try quitting this love cold-turkey.
i'm not going to lie and say she was perfect.her skin was spotted with what she passed off as freckles,but what were really scars from a thousand summer sunsas she ran about outside,climbing trees and treading rivers,pretending to be an american bomberin the midst of WWII.she kept crimson stains on pearl pink lips,which always had the habit of getting on her teethbecause she put on make-up after dressing in her carand ordering coffee in every way she hated itas she drove to the record store three times a day,ignoring her job downtown.she owned four and a half hairbrushes exactly,i took count on the first night i stepped into that whirl-wind room,though her lopsided up-dos of messy blonde hair revealed just how much her fingersnever broke the dust.she had these lovely fragile handsthat showed each and every vein and bone,the type of hands made for tearing boys like me apart.how could i have even expected to survive,a paper poetheld against a reckless flame?
I Want to Love LikeI want to love like the Apocalypse or a Ginsberg poem screaming, raving madly in the streetsover some little nothing.Like a .45, safety off nothing holding back combustion but will and luck which are two things that have only ever come my way in spurts.I'd decided to love you like this No veil, no wall, nothing but a prayer and a little bit of distance, But I'm not sure that's so feasible.
funny how a corpse is still wasting oxygen.i killed myself when i was six-years-oldone stormy night in a bathtubfilled with too much water.i didn't know that at that same momentmy cat had gotten ran overin the streetand my favorite treehadn't survived the storm.i wonder why my parents are so contentliving with a ghost.
honey, please don't pull that triggerI'm always taking bullets for you.
brokenyou're a green-eyedblack cat with galactic firein your devouring heart,(consuming me like lappingwaves)and your claws are drawn likelast night's curtains after youcouldn't sleep.detroit was welcoming but notlike your veiny spiderwebhands,but i still didn't hear the three-letterphrase that i wanted from you. that stupid, fucking phrase was all i wanted tohear and you could've uttered it,you could've uttered it. the moon was full tonight and i liketo think it waned just for me,and i also like to think that your paleeyes are counting the trillions of starswaiting to wrap me in yourarms again.