resonanceidoes she know the astrological significanceof the bruises starring alongyour wrists? if I could, I’drun away somewhere wherethe sky is silent and the peoplehate honest eyes. here’s my problem,I’ve wasted all my time daydreamingin the universe of your scars. I wonderif substantiality is lethal.ii[when will you move onlike you know whatyou’re doing with your life,like this tiny existentialfailure is only a hazard signon the roadmap of your journey,like the world weighing downupon your shoulders is anexercise in vanity and quietudeinstead of someoneelse’s burden?]iiilists of necessities: methods ofstarvation, hours to fall asleep by, sharpobjects, words that mean nothing.I’m sorry this isn’t better. I’m sorryI’m not better and I’m sorrynothing is bright anymore.things you remind me of:the november skyright before it rains.
existentialism and shoddy metaphorsI was violet-cheeked anddiamond-hearted; a workof art in reverse,tearing between my ribsand calling it beautiful,and I wonder now why theynever taught me this in school;the sepia-saturated glow lifegives out some point afteryou’ve realized wishes arefor those who’ve not yetwoken more alone than whenthey went to sleep,they never taught me allthe reasons why or thatsin tastes sweet. I metmy maker once in a backalleybar, stormy eyes and peppermintbreath, charming off a hangover;he sighed, “I know how manydays it’ll take you to give upcompletely. I know how manydreams you’ve sold away andhow many lies you need toswallow before you can fall asleep.I know that you’ve never quitegrown up and I know thatyou’re afraid of me” hesmiled silent and downedanother drink, losing himselfin the ramblings of a solipsisticexistence where “I” am finally allthat matters (and sometimesI believe I was built hollowlik
Injectedmy midnight thoughts are scratchy like old recordspauses, cracks, holes - rips in sanityjumping to conclusions that have no reasonhow could i blame the needle? how dare ipin a fault on the syringe that keeps me alive(although they say it dulls your eyes, kills my spark)disjointed, unconnected, an unfinished puzzleemotionally blank and missing seventeen pieces.and don't lie to me; love can't completea broken toy like me. but don't worry, love -i always carry my own little repair kit(but sometimes my hands are too shaky to inject)i've forgotten what it was to fear god and deathor to wish for better things; shooting starsalways seem to ignore me, anyhow.they leave me wondering what i ever said,what i did to lead myself down this kind of road.(mother told me i only have myself to blame)if it's my fault, then i only have one personthat i can apologize to; myself, and i try -but i'm sorry, i think you've gone too farto ask for redemption of any sort now.how can i ever a
shoot me upshoot me up, take me back down, leave me here a while and i'm sure i will feel loved again; sometime in the next five hours i'll wake up and remember you and everything might be okay.until then hang out the washing and take care of my daughter, pretend like i'm sleeping because i'm tired and look in on me every five minutes just to make sure, because you can't be anymore. it's deathday my love, and i thought when i'd die it would be on an elegant bed with velvet covers and my family gathered all around me but that's not what it is, it's me lying on the sofa because i can't walk anymore and you can't carry me up two flights of stairs; it's me unconscious because it's too painful for me to be awake; it's me too scared to tell my family and in the end they'll find out after i'm gone already; it's me not ready, oh god i'm not ready to die i'm not.memories pierce through my dreams but not where i can see them. my eyesight left me a while ago, i can't remember when exactly beca
breaking bonescreak, heave:my body can do nothingbut prepare for collapse(youth is often mistaken for health)my blood is too water,my flesh too softmy ribs too cage.what are strong are my bones—calcium-grown, all marrow and solid(though i have known girlswho, wanting to be like the birds,have scraped theirs out)there is nothing like beingthis upstanding buildingthere is nothing like being pale bloodand ugly fleshand solid steel.(anyway, that was what i thought until i met you.)i started to feel the cracks on a wednesdayafter i’d smiled one too many times,when one too many drops of acidmade my steel frame gauze.like a great tall tower in a stormmy structures falter,and then suddenly i am breaking bones.now i have nothing:i am the bone fragments and thin bloodand formless skinat your feet.