Bright lights put me in a trance,
but it ain't house music
that makes me wanna dance.
Scorpio | Lesbian | Poet | Colorado | 20
i say nigga too much
If only you could feel
the aching of my stomach
each morning when the
acidic bile waits idly
for its release.
I feel like dying just the same.
Acid erosion, esophagus bare
I pray the people who don’t
know their names,
barefoot in heaven.
Turns out hell is just the same.
Walking on ledges
waiting to fall.
You wanted to save me
but the tree’s leaves
are ment to fall.
Summer tides for the
rest of our lives.
The evenings always come
but say that again
and morning arrives
and we wail til the bile arrives.
Yet I have yet to finish one thought
with corrected punctuation.
What am I feeling?
Only craving stale cigarettes.
I’ll write a letter and send it to no one,
relieving myself of all regrets.
My bones feel so tight
like they’ve been wrapped in a bind
Controlled by how often
my teeth clench.
I wish the wind would make some noise
and circulate this air
as stale as my cigarette.
I bleed from my ears
but only when I sleep.
I told you I wouldn’t
listen to anything.
Must we retire and rest
such sore eyes
only if my
Speckled with insanity
My feet still feel the gravity
Have I lost
yet there was never
much to be won.
I hate to admit
you’ve always had
on up on me.
The sun sets behind my street
it rises beyond the platelets
of earth reaching up to the sky.
I think that’s west
but I prefer everything
to go my way.
And the sunset makes
the water shimmer
like no diamond
emerald or crystal.
I look into your eyes and
expect pale green.
I open the mailbox but its
nothing is ever delivered.
I taste of last night
on the back left side of my tongue.
I want you to confuse my face
for the lines in a poem.
But I know you don’t read poetry
and neither do I.
I’m getting so warm
can we open a window?
Maybe we should just step outside.
I can hardly find a thing
but you’re steady on the change
and I find soon we might
be growing too old.
The minutes pass by just a second at a time.
And then your whole life is gone.
your weakness is your perfection
though you try so often to hide
were watching you from the shadows
but I hope you aren’t afraid
you must have traveled long and far
through all kinds of weather
were inviting you in
but you mustn’t be afraid
your beauty is your weakness
but you often confuse it for strength
through the wind tunnels
were only bound to vanish
My windows are barely more than
angular spaces in the walls.
Much like my eyes to my soul.
My emotions used to pour like rivers
now I must coax even the tiniest trickle.
I let the mess run down the drain,
I’d rather you didn’t find out ‘til later.
The sooner the sun sets
the sooner we’ll all become invisible.
And soon we’ll all feel able to
live life with no safety cable
as soon as the chemicals soak in.
My blood pulses furiously
as my brain calms the effects.
Why has a doctor never helped me like this?
Has the tide already fallen
I can’t seem to get a good look
in your eyes.
The sun makes our skin yellow
as we drift through the breeze
the mountain water has not
lost faith in our bones.
Wash until you dry up.
Swim until you are covered in mud.
The breeze is a-blowin’ but
I’m not sensing the change.
The clouds are drooping
like water serpents.
A perfect backdrop to scare
all the angels away.
I ask for your guidance
but I walk the other way.
The pollution is washing up to shore.
We starve for the wastelands refuse to cease.
I cry out only because I know no one will hear.
the water leaks as if it were hell sent.
i laugh, no wonder I was born to worship demons.
christ himself rose like a zombie from the grave,
false vibrations my way.
The skin whithers but the bones are still there,
as skeletons we make love for years and years.
You saved me, you should remember me.
The spring of the year; young men buying tickets for ferry boats.
Laughter, because the air is full of apple blossoms.
When I woke up, I realized I was capable of the same feeling.
I remember sounds like that from my childhood,
laughter for no cause, simply because the world is beautiful,
something like that.
Lugano. Tables under the apple trees.
Deckhands raising and lowering the colored flags.
And by the lake’s edge, a young man throws his hat into the water;
perhaps his sweethear has excepted him.
sounds or gestures like
a track laid down before the larger themes
and then unused, buried.
Island in the distance. My mother
holding out a plate of little cakes-
as far as I remembered, I changed
in no detail, the moment
vivid, intact, having never been
exposed to the light, so that I woke elated, at my age,
hungry for life, utterly confident-
By the tables, patches of new grass, the pale green
pierced into the dark existing ground.
Surely spring has returned to me, this time
not as a lover but messenger of death, yet
it is still spring, it is still ment tenderly.