she is a lion
with the stars
sewn to her cloak
and i am a wolf
with a mind
tattooed in charcoal.
they will always see the stars
Saviori used to
the same broken
highway, behind a
until he came
a galaxy across
and pasted stars
Coffeeguts pile over white
sheets and blankets.
i spilled them to you
and you still said
i looked lovely
a black sticky stain.
how many chemicals
can your stomach handle
before you have to drown me?
how much bitterness
can you swallow?
you are my
cream and sugar, darling.
and it tears me in half
when you split your skin.
if you aren't careful
i might not be able to
sip you up again.
i am a powdery shadow
cold autumn breezes
and breathless clouds
but if i could keep you
breathing, my world might be
a little more alive
i nearly disposed of
and i still have to wake
up, caked in a layer of
unfeeling burn marks, just
to be swallowed by crowds
of ignorance again.
just because i'm not
coughing up a lung
doesn't mean i'm not
sick, and if you won't
help me slay this monster
by giving me over to a
hospital for souls, it's your
own damn fault i'm never
Fatefate is the slut
we take out for
dinner in the Las
Vegas of life.
She fucks us and
then leaves us in
a dusty hotel
room, with only our
empty pockets and
the sun bleaching
our eyes dry
Endlessi could talk to you
until my throat bled
from all the sharp corners
of every word
and i'd listen to your voice
until the sun
circles the moon.
and then some
Still Oxidizinglast night
i read the
and when i saw
your name wasn't dead
decaying or rusting
rotting in a forest
mingling with a pile of
ashes, i realized
you really could
live without me
11:47roses are red
violets are blue
compliments mean nothing
when coming from you.
don't tell me i'm skinny
don't call me fat
just acknowledge i'm human
and leave it at that.
The PlaylistA group of us lying on the floor
in a too-small apartment
that can’t hold a fraction of our disorders
syndromes and symptoms
tucked under the kitchen sink
and in between self help books
and in the pages of love poetry
only half meant.
A group of us lying on the floor
wishing we could see the stars.
but thats not how the architecture
has been set up for us
we have to live our lives blinkered
from the celestial
but at least we have each other.
A group of us lying on the floor
letting music replace our immune systems
not caring if a misspent lyric saves us,
not caring if a dropped note kills us
we don’t care about anything but the floor,
these walls, these chains,
that sound so familiar in an acoustic’s voice.
A group of us lying on the floor
caring about nothing but the ceiling
thats blocking out the light.
the way you speak through incisionsoh, disaster dweller, you were
bone-ache blue & cyanotic.
we wore lonely luminescence
'round the wrists that held
our god-hands, but you were
livid skin & anesthetic to the
touch. a river of pitted veins,
you said: we'll all grow weary of
the rising of our ribs someday.
i can't keep walking on these dry-rot bonesoh, i am not a poet;
like the ink scratches
of plath, i am
specter boy: decay,
dispose, & disappoint
because this is the way
that writers wane -
(this hangman head is no
survivor story, & gods
do not burn out
you should be home by nowlast tuesday the house took my hand & said,
it's more of a hurricane than a fire
since he broke in & burned
but sometimes I see her with a lighter
& she finishes what he didn't do
(I think she's afraid
of settling in,
but last tuesday I realized that she kept the lights on
to frighten away the bridges & the people
so no one will come inside
& smash the teacups, steal the pipes
because since he burnt her beds out
no one lives there anymore
i am no god-made manoh, you're so pathetic,
with your parasitic nervousness;
you're an anxious fever-boned boy
& you've got manic headaches
scrawled into gasoline anthems
like you don't know love's
only parasympathetic &
we're all romanticists
(you may have smoke-spiral fingertips, but
we've all got a knack for burning ourselves out).
like catching supernovas in a plastic cupdelirium boy, you're
no cavalry drum-beat
heart; disjointed, but
no lady lazarus,
no gold tongue &
you've never been
Suicidal Tendenciescourage doesn't come
from the fibers you're
born with. You aren't
brave when you decide
when you wake
up in the bed
smeared with your
own self destruction
and you act as though
you aren't crumbling
into the carpet.
or when you hold
a piece of shrapnel
to your veins and
want to sever every last
one, but you throw it
out the window.
or when you stand
on the sunset
with clouds straddling
your mind and your
whole existence ready
to hurl itself over the
railing, but you limp
home and through the screen
door and pretend to walk
on air again.
That is bravery.
To See the Stars...
New worlds are on the horizon,
new places, new wonders to see!
I long for celestial treasures,
I ponder: Is this future for me?
Humans are such beautiful dreamers,
yet prone to such terrible deeds.
Justice and peace are elusive,
my heart for the downtrodden bleeds.
My faith keeps me sane and secure.
Still, I'm human and struggle with doubt.
Will I see the change in my lifetime?
Or will I die before 'comes about?
Once cosmic issues are settled,
and all is then right with the world,
I'll fly to the moon and beyond,
and search for His new hidden pearls.
Guitar ManHe played the music of a young Apollo,
a red pick in his hand.
And the ladies fawned over the fellow,
his attention high in demand.
With a voice so gentle, yet a voice so strong;
He played all day, he played all night long.
Guitar Man, Guitar Man,
they called him, he wooed.
Guitar Man, Guitar Man,
they called him and swooned.
Battle ScarsBattle Scars
Once a young boy asked me
Why do I have those marks on my wrist?
I told him it was because of depression
He asked, “What was that?” and what I said went something like this…
You feel nothing at all
No pain, no pleasure, no life, no death
Nothing, like a doll
It’s a fire burning in your soul
Consuming every inch of flesh and bone
Like you are nothing but a lump of coal
Your mind drowning in it’s own pool of tears
You see nothing but the blue
Feel nothing but the fears
Like a ton of bricks upon your shoulders
Pressing down, crushing you under
Each day another boulder
Tearing up your thoughts and dreams
The feeling eating away at your mind
Splitting you at the seams
A way to control your emotions
A blade to cause the sensation
As you make the slicing motions
Emerging from cuts in red
Reminding you that you’re alive
the back side of a sharpie cigaretteoh, i've got thorns & fruit flies
rotting out the flesh between
my ribs. they fester in these
rabbit lungs until i cough them
up as mechanical mockingbirds;
like nightwalkers, they peck my
throat into a crumpled napkin verse.
the suicidal king of heartsthe truth is i haven’t gone to church
in years and the town i was born in is one
half train tracks, one half hotels and one half
fast food restaurants.
i guess i was always going to be good at running away.
it’s in my blood.
i’m getting too old to still want to turn
into a mermaid on my sixteenth birthday
so i do not have to worry about taxes
and income and the difference between mols
and moles and the difference between
wearing your heart on your sleeve
and giving it to someone you trust.
it would be nice to not have to worry.
but if this poem is about honesty,
i have to tell you i still dream about that
the thing i’ve noticed about growing up,
is that you’ll think you’re old and you’ll think you’re old
but you’re never really grown up until
you walk past dandelions without picking them
or step on one two three cracks in the sidewalk,
without remembering there is something you should be
some days, i’ll
we have always been matchmakers (rigor-mortis)a twenty-seventh nightmare
is swelling up in my lungs -
oh, plath & i are pecking
at sarcophagi; we're burning
crematory skeletons & making
matches from the voices that
used to be our madness.
like demigod preachers for the already damnedthese scapegallow cynics &
stygian sermon speakers -
they're all histrionics & sinners,
they're all purgatory dwellers
oh, hades, are you supernova dreamers?
'cause the poets are all dead-end kids.
genomei took my tuberculosis pills,
assembled my blue body to
i, the manic-depressive,
i cracked the metacarpals,
spat in river styx just the way
humani(ties) me to the
fractured knee cap, the
Somewhere in Jotunheim... The harsh winter wind cut through everything in it's path chilling to the bone all it encountered. Far from any civilisation Thor and Loki sat together. Their backs were to a rocky crag that was the closest thing to shelter for miles.
The fire in front of them could never have been lit without Loki's magic and even fed by the fire Jotun it still flickered in the roaring winds and gave little warmth. Much to their discomfort the two new friends were forced to huddle together for warmth. It was one of their first journeys together and neither entirely trusted the other yet.
Thor was staring into the fire an uncharacteristically thoughtful look creased his heavy brow. “If this Blizzard doesn't pass we will never find our way. We might well freeze to death.” He muttered. Loki gave him a disparaging look. “Really, that only just occurred to you?” He commented scathingly through chattering teeth.