heart felt blunt words
I have a war inside my eye that
feeds my mind and the drops I cry while
I’m hiding wasted and
fighting
the drip in my brain that’s roasting the veins in
my legs while I’m starving tasteless and
hearing
these chimes in my ears that
have been ringing for years I’ve
been pumping the white noise through
to make it clear
still
I’m hiding wasted starving tasteless and
fading
I hate humming houses with quiet families
I prefer the throaty chords pushing up vomit
while I am serenaded by
smooth hits of shattering splinters smashing
I prefer
my ear to the floor
where sounds are muffled and
they dress in itty bitty flowers
to watch snakes whipping dishes and
applaud the waves of broken shards
her face felt like silk
on the real housewives of slab city
carrying a mouth full of dimes
in a plastic bag
and a blocked airway
her face felt like ecstasy
a handful of mouth dripping
grey wool suits counting
posters falling off the wall
when the clock strikes midnight
her face gave me energy
choking
mouth swollen
arms woollen
perfect timing
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
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
in the garden of eden,
adam just is not right for eve.
adam is drinking bleach;
the forbidden fruit is premature suicide.
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
I burn a deep rich green
Peeling into 21
I wear black
I want to feel it all
I bloom pink and soft
Later flowers are the most driven and solid
Thick hearty petals and stacked plant flesh
Afraid to be sexual?
“I think I’ve faked more orgasms than I have had”
I burn a dark luxurious red
Let the flowers open
Ask Or demand
Burn the colours you need to be
he smells like he’s homeless but he lives in Beaches
he’s eating a sushi burrito.
he’s all about pretend panic attacks and shiny excuses.
daddy’s money, daddy’s boy.
living on the 56 floor and doesn’t know how too cook
city living metro man
If you get what you are given,
Do you ever really get what you are given?
If you take what is there,
you take it for granted.
And without a word they touched their bare bellies together,
Making slurping sounds.
Anna, with a drink in her hand said,
“It just made sense”.
“It just did” she repeated.
A ritual? A greeting?
Who knows.
Starrfishing 