a venerated vehicle
between. this. (k)new
combination of reality.
someone hurt him.
this white trash baby
mamma drama. loose
pussy suburb trick.
i saw it in his face. not her.
to real women; she’s nothing.
sometimes i practice not
telling truth to what’s wounded.
my throat was slit before -
and i came back in this way
i never talk about with anyone.
but i saw him, and how he
moves. his hands create. quickly.
and he says little and i am
running again. after broken limb
past. he escaped from a lie
close to how i was once executed.
my words were abused previously.
my hips widen and thighs flex
in a tight lipped consciousness.
i bow into understanding.
back stretch agreement.
he never sees the ropes of my
locks thrashing side to side and
in circles. a keyless entry.
every time i burn down what
i could never save. i can’t help
wondering if one beat will
walk the same pace. true.
directions of destruction
i cut my wrist. vertical. crashing. slay.
horizontal. a lay down way to say
these are the ways that i hurt myself. pay.
choking descriptions of “it’s a bad day”.
i am telling you what i never speak.
step into an orb of utter. alone.
one impossible notion. being weak.
i’m trying to explain. i know no one.
i’d rather be written off. forgotten.
i was recalled once. result? abandon.
realize, i stopped imagining when.
i only ride in the wrong direction,
consciously willing a final demise.
tirelessly shielding my self-infliction.
i forgot my name first sight of your eyes .
forced to relearn. waxing moon. rising sun.
there is no compass for how i ruin,
i stopped looking for remotely. akin.
“… out of control on videotape”
The way she follows you is laughable.
She is a painter who is seven years younger, five pounds lighter and many lifetimes of practicality unborn – than me.
I have this odd way of stating things. Like how on the day we met I told you to move in with me. She doesn’t know me. But she follows me. She reads my blog. She masturbated to one of my photos. (more…)
affect (of affliction)
this morning. you will not. not ever
understand that. last night. when
you arrived i wanted to get better. even
though it was six weeks ago now. nearly (more…)
i wrote. poetry. for and about him.
too far to speak. i metered emotion.
off switch. flick. let’s live like there’s no within.
like my heart un-heavy, my song unsung;
desire to explain an… impossible. (more…)