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
i did bad things to you
and like a poor abused puppy
you keep trying to warm up to me
but I am the hand that hit you
that is trying to feed you again
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?
I cut your manicured lawn,
And fuck your mom.
I’m a suburban serial killer,
Empty and looking for filler.
I am perpetual depression,
And major in constant aggression.
I am obsessed,
I clean your shiny pool,
And play you like a fool.
A glimmer in my eye,
Watching your family die.
I make minimum wage,
Get high off rage.
I vacuum the pastel rug,
And sell your son drugs.
He can be just like me,
Trapped in suburbia eternity.
I wish I had giant eyes
The kind of eyes that are so glassy
And so glossy
that they cannot be real
I wish they would take over my sight
Allowing for hyper sight
Seeing who I am
I wish my eyelashes went further than my brow
Catching tears before they descend
Cupping the salty liquid
Carving raw designs into my forehead
Telling me who I am
I wish the crook of my neck
Was large enough to consume my family
Store them with me
Even when they are long dead
Their bones would become mine
Showing me who I am
I wish I had a buzz cut
You can see every mark
On my scalp
The kind of hair that makes you question gender
They can decide who I am
She has covered me in her sticky adhesive again,
It impedes my vision,
Tugging at my eyelids.
Forcing the tears,
I have held for so long.
There is nothing sterile about me.
No amount of latex free adhesive can glue me back together.
Glaring, I can see her smiling.
As if I wanted,
The sticky tentacles of her caring.
Hung on a Sunday,
Filing for a loan.
Sewing buttons back on pants,
Still afraid of the family dog.
Longing for ice cream on the steps of the general store.
Aesthetically pleasing 99 cent lollipops,
A lettuce eating competition,
And stakes are high.
Two ex-convicts walk into Homesense,
Soft towels and hardened criminals.
Convicts have to purchase reasonably priced homewares too.
Steps and Cement.
Do I even want this?
A soundtrack to angsty times.
The triple shadows call out,
Screaming with every step.
Thoughts are like a map.
The park is empty and we stand behind a moving truck.
Mumbled lyrics and paranoid stares.
A man name Isaiah.
overthinking the wasp in the corner of the room
please do not say anything until someone screams
how many shoes have you seen on the side walk?
long read stories about why they are there
we all have feelings we cannot explain
maybe someone understands the drywall dust/ice cream sandwich/newly renovated basement feeling?
sitting in the long grass with your favourite pair of blue eyes?