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Literature Text
(twist my words
like they're broken ankles,
fill them up until they're
full of
lieslieslieslieslies
lieslieslieslieslies
lieslieslieslieslies)
I’ve got rebellion tattooed
on my forearms
and punk rock running
through my
smokey veins;
i’m chasing my
dreams with vodka
and drowning
my problems in
yesterday’s
tear-soaked liquor.
tear-soaked liquor.
It’s 3 am and
I’m d a n c i n g
in the streets
in the streets
of this midnight city,
caution is wandering
through the westerly winds
and i’ve got trouble
breathing
d
o
w
n
d
o
w
n
my neck
but I can’t seem
to find any
fucks
fucks
to give.
we’re laying around
with nothing better to do,
just a couple of kids
[ young & stupid ]caught up in the
here and now:
you’re already
slipping between my
sheets before
I can even write
my phone number
on your
wrist.
wrist.
//I’ve got p[r]etty boys to my left and damning dames on my right//
but
if you’d just take
the time to
hear.
me.
out.
hear.
me.
out.
instead of shooting
the messenger
maybe you’d
-s e e-
-s e e-
that I’m nothing
more than a homesick girl
with a pocket full of
pennies &&
a bad case of hand-eye
coordination when
it comes to video games.
Literature
because i'm like a relapse (of you or youth)
baby blues cannot cure suicide agendas.
all these poets do is wither, wither,
waste - decomposing bones just
enough to trade them in for
words & kill them
cell
by
cell
&
conversations bloom between my tongue &
teeth or two choice vertebrae; thoughts
burst like blood vessels,
like self disgust
(i am more catatonic
than i am catastrophic).
Literature
flowers grow back (and maybe my heart will too)
i have wandered these silent
halls since last year, searching
for ghosts and abandoned
hummingbird hearts flying
away just out of reach. i
always end up with handfuls
of mocking wind that screech
in my face and laugh.
yesterday,
i watched the flowers in your
garden take their final
breath and die, the weeds twisted
around their fragile little
necks. maybe i should have
torched them out of mercy
and spared them the pain.
(but you didn't get any of that
so why should they?)
my therapist tells me i should
cry a little more and hate a little
less but there's a drought
in my body and a dryness
in my throat that refuses to
shift. i told him he
Literature
Everything That I Learned From You
I. Care too much. That's what you're afraid of, right? That when he goes to sleep and all you want to do is touch his hand to remind yourself he's real (for the moment)—you're in too deep. You care too much. You are clinging too tightly and your concern will strangle him. You think that if you tell him how much you love his eyes or you stare too long at his mouth when he talks or fold yourself around him as he sleeps he will leave because the love you put on him is too heavy. But care about him anyway. Love and kindness are too far last in this world. If he pushes you away as you cradle his head in your arms then he does not un
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...i'm frustrated so have some crappy words.
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I love your style, it's so visual and lovely