heart felt blunt words
Feasting on the wind
Only to preserve a pile
Picturing what it would be like
to be preserved
We are choking
Intangible
picture that
thick spit cascading from my chin
trying to swallow
they won’t take that
I hate myself,
and you hate yourself.
mutually
marbled and cool to the touch
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.
The hungry bed waits for you,
with its sheets twisting and its pillows stiff.
Just take a bite of the apple,
let the juice run down,
dripping and sticky.
Warm milk in a plastic cup,
Just like grandma gave me.
The perfect temperature,
no bubbles or steam.
The bed is restless,
it wants to be full.
I cut the poached eggs
you watched the yolk spill out,
beading in small yellow drops.
Dribbling onto a spongy bed of rye.
Sleep my little angel,
tell your mom you are in good hands.
The bed has you now,
twisting its cotton sheets around you,
like little tricky snakes.
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.
I stare at you and light a cigarette,
Beginning our repetitive toxic duet.
Fully knowing I will never move on,
Rightfully hoping we could just get along.
Hot and wet are my streaming tears,
Paranoid and irrational are my fears.
We get past our problems with looming doubt,
We carve out our future with promised drought.
But who could I possibly destroy next,
Who could I torment to death?
This is negative and greyscale thinking.
Smoking, fighting, and sinking.
And my neigbours are old but they are up later than me.
My spelling is bad, yet I still write poetry.
Personality, personality, writing needs depth,
No rhyme scheme no syllable counts no breath.
My bare calloused hands killing flies,
With sheets of polyester, pizza boxes and zip ties.
That line was hard to swallow,
Like cum and medicine and pills and sorrow.
Stateless yet nuclear
The father is in full lux
Passive aggressive heat fights
Maybe I need eternal sleep,
Or, maybe I am just too weak.
I like to be alone.
Decomposing their bones.
Steel toed boots in November sun,
Fist fights, pity sex, and dad’s gun.
Hold your last breath,
Distracted death.
Staving and sick?
Take your pick.
I’m having a blast,
I’m too cool at last.
He told me I was beautiful.
We talked under a peter pan decal.
He took photos and everything was shiny,
We were young,
And we drank a lot.
I wish I could remember what we talked about.
He invited me into his cozy home,
And made me feel so welcome.
He was regrowing lettuce on the kitchen table,
He could hit a bong more elegantly than anyone I have ever seen.
He had cute dogs,
The room was hazy,
And we drank a lot.
I felt like it was the beginning of an exciting friendship.
But that was two years ago,
And I don’t know what to do with these feelings.
I saw him at work,
July,
I was buying Canada day stickers and glow sticks.
I got anxiety when I saw him at the cash.
He had his hair in a ponytail,
He had great eyebrows,
We made plans that didn’t happen.
But,
life has a great way of making plans for us.
I am so sorry this happened to him,
We all hurt for him,
He was too young.
The small amount of time we shared,
I knew he was special,
I hope he knew it too.
Starrfishing 