lunar cords

I feel so small, especially
when the Moon shines down
too many lines
too many sharps and flats
on my night
The problem with trying to
tie a string to someone is
when they leave you,
there is always either too much cords
or not enough, and
the emptiness is not puddles
but oceanic and
unrelenting.
The strands are thin tonight.
rejection
stings like the shallow cuts
in the strands that connects back to
my heart.
I keep giving pieces of myself
away and foolishly still
think I can stay whole.

Staring into the Sun

Her stare was hard.
Like a rock type hard
that was thrown from her hand
and caught
by my face.

I can taste blood

from where I accidentally bit
the insides of my cheek
to keep from crying.

And fuck did it hurt
the stare I mean.
Not the rock metaphor
used to describe the stare.

That was all figurative

But then if the stare was like a rock
then the 5 words that followed was
the pull of the trigger

to the gun
that released the metal bullet
which pierced my heart
and literally killed me.
---













Sun.

I sat on the top of the Sequoia tree
blinding myself by watching the sun in the sky.
Watched him be foolishly swallow by the horizon
Knowing he will be just be puke out by tomorrow.
I guess he likes the ride.

Moon.

When it nightfalls I turned my eyes to look at the moody moon
playing hide and seek behind dark travelers called Clouds.
When I stretched my fingertips towards her,
She turns savage and I get frostbite.

by your side

It isnt all about your apitite. Dont speak I cant hear you with my ears still hungry for more silence. I will give you big smiles and always be by your side, while wearing invisible black eyes and bruised housewife thighs.

Cocorosie
Swiming stillborns girls and fem love story blues.

The Aneresick Pianoist

Such lovely piano hands. Smooth ridged bones key the soothing melody of my starving desire. Bathing me in pure thinspiration. I am your biggest fan, oh lovely piano hands.

Dont tap on the glass please and dont Cut my heart open

Her tongue was such a sharp knife. She loved running the dull side of the blade down her pane. All the while tapping the clit clack of her moans in sync to her pouring rain.

Razor blade shouldn't be played with, especially near such one with such an unknown glass. She may get the urge to draw heart on the skin with her warm breath. Though its starting to crack.

Grey tape can fix anything because she knew she will never learns to stop tapping on the past.

self hatred

Closing eyes to stare at her insides. Searching for the happiness life decides not to bring. Too sober to look in the mirror and see herself as pretty. Definitely not drunk enough to believe that lie. Not yet at least.

3 bottles later.

She wrote sins all across her face until it was unrecognizable. Easier to disguise gazes of pity for envy. Such a fucking mess. And yet so very beautiful.

Blackness crowds around the edges of her sight and she is anxious by the display. A few more sips and slurs and staying conscience getting harder to fight.

Maybe tomorrow will be different than today....
Always were her last thoughts before she passed out into the night.

Arms and Walls

He painted his thoughts on the wall. Hoping if the words were elsewhere, the urges would decrease. For he was bored with seeing the same blood and scars.

Sadly, the words looked even more empty on the white walls then when they were written on the inside of his arm.

He sighed in heavy defeat.

Drunken vices and virtues

Her vices has a vice-script hold on her drunken soul. She loved lowering her inhibitions so when she was high enough, she could wave as they fly over her head. Thinking of lies yet to be told she kissed her, him, she and her again.

Always fun to herself...but not so much to others. Especially when runing low on rum and coke. Never a quiter just more resigned. She is her mothers cookie cutter daughter. A budding grape compared to fine wine.

Taking all her follies to bed with her and making sweet lust in a wakeful dream. All temperance getting lost in between clean sheets. Pretending to be the fool can only last for so long before guilt gets thrown up. Prayers to the lush Gods in sexy moans, painful screams and torn hurls.

Deep in her toxic vacation from the sober real world. Slipping slowly and diving further into the Brandy. Quickly finding the familiar fading pain. And spending the night on isolation's lonely shores.

Forgive me?
She asks yet again.

As unconsciousness floats her out to sea.

Gambling

Throbs of pain pulse under the sweat. Finding her muse in little bottle of white unmarked tablets. Lost were the thoughts of only a vaccine not a cure. But it was too late for numbness has already started to take a slow delicious affect.

Tears were unaware, the bastards they always were. Until the face feels the fall of something slippery and wet. Who would give in and wipe them off? The mind and the heart were taking bets never will they be able to get along.

And the winner is-

A bottle of vodka.
The failing liver claps the loudest and sings the victory song.

And the winner is

Then room becomes silent
Screams tasted like deaf
His hands slices her pain
She wipes the tears from the eyes
As she continues to fight
The knifes says to the pistol
I wonder who the winner will be
Just as the bullet takes flight