LTD

its me

i’m really here

 

I am mouth-dripping

and

more bat-shit than you

 

she’s ashy grey split ends

bearing long acrylic fingernails

that slide and tick along the tampered glass

 

it’s bare flesh

and

it’s

really-really stimulating

 

 

all burnt up

your pieces too jagged

for mind spinning sobriety

the hard shards blooming with flame

 

gagged with

dripping

viscid

physicality

 

it’s your amputated leg

stitches

a terminal diagnosis

the medical nightmare

that perches on your chest

 

acrylic nails break the skin

with lock jaw force

heart spilling blood into your body

it’s fast-fast-fast

 

sucker

be madly in love with someone who drives you crazy

latenightscoveredinblood

graspingatthetoiletcrying

 not knowing what to do

the kind of crazy that just has to be accepted

ifyouleaveme

i’lldoit

i’llfucking

do it 

and just has to be followed

endlessly

handcuffed

until it’s just you two of you left

shelostthefuckingkeys

forever

 

pu$$y Power

I have dead and stale insides

liver rotting from

too much drink

my blood is black clotting

circulation has ceased

 

my lungs collapsed from the smoke

breath rings out in

broken gasps laughing at the

sick joke

 

 

my glorious pussy

it keeps me going

the lines of fertility and sex

my sparkling symbol of femininity

my pink palace of

life or death

 

the punch line got lost in

falsehoods and pride

I want to press my sticky fingers

consensually inside

 

until they stop laughing and

realize

the girls are getting sick

realize

there is no one to blame

if they keep passing left

it will eventually come back

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

fader 

Arteries and Vessels close

stopping the blood from running to my brain

crunching bones beneath my toes

sliding into frame

 

I stumble through the wood

hoping to go home

Branches cracking

Like sticks and stones
A moment of clarity

Shining through the thick

Hurtful and old

It’s short and sad and something I cannot face

Beautiful and bold

 

Crisp airy meringue

With red berries on a pastel plate

My heart icing over

Right back to being tight and cold

 
Together and alone

Clarity hiding

The moment is gone

Lost broken and disowned

 
To the blood racing

The crunching muddling my cold mind

Polar air in the warmth of night

left behind

 

feast

her heart wasn’t steady

a ship in a storm

your constant tugging of doubt

porcelain in versace heels

shining and talking politely

medication and daddy issues

is this what could have been?

 

dress never wrinkled

reasonably educated

a muse for your artistic endeavours

manic

pixie

dream

girl

 

shes falling and

grasping on bodies and trying to get back up

tripping and slipping and

holding onto the warmth of blood to blood

 

spaced out

close to death

close to pain

raw throat

wishing she could go back to those times

slamming on the cement

in the bathroom you are trying to stop her

knuckles bruised

bleeding and blacking out and bleeding

not back there

she cannot go back there

you wont have it

 

matters are tough

and feelings  are sharp

shallow pangs

you feel nothing

she is rotting

flies on the meat

swirling and feasting

 

 

 

winding 

Inflatable dreams at needle point aching to be popped

The angry pro stitchers fingers are getting sweaty grasping at the tiny needle

Their milk crates are dented from constant pressure and continued sitting

 

Thick dreams at night with orgies and oozing glitter

The stiff buttons are hard to press

Yet so satisfying to touch

And take-out fries are never the same as crisp virgin ones

Mouths salivating at the thought

Anxiety builds and the glitter orgy ends

 

Run your hands on the picnic tables getting as many slivers as you possibly can

Slur your words from the pain of the wood chips embedded in your skin

Wooden floors drip with blood

An endless search for the first aid kit

Iced hands that feel as heavy as blocks of wood

 

Those cigarettes are eaten for 20 dollar bills and the party begins to pick up

Grayscale nights with a bossy little personality to match

Crisp floating memories weighing heavy on your chest

your head

and your back

shards

I sit in the ladies changeroom again and again

cursing the broken glass in my fingers

when I grab something the wrong way

pain shoots through my hand

but I can’t find the shard or the invisible pain

 

I want blood

not this tiny sharp intruder that hurts when I twist

I have this glass in my finger

hiding me deep in the changeroom