Monday, October 28, 2013

and what if all the voices in your head were really just
ground angels and mother earth with her
crinkle eyes-
"I grow stretch marks on my sides for every Best Buy 
they scrape into me."
 

Wednesday, October 16, 2013


depression was the inside of a winter scarf, all hot with breathing
and uncomfortable as your fever bed, the tucked sheets strapping you down
like a straight jacket, a bike chain, i turned myself into a 
whipping post.

because cutting was the only thing i was ever really good at
everyone needs to feel good at something.
we were caverns, we were ravines
and for the first time in our lives we felt ageless and pointless and important.
the carriers, the guardians of the world's misery with secrets up our sleeves- we
felt important.
an armless statue, a vacant ear, they could have painted my scratched up body
hung it in the Met, called it a master piece.
the closer we got to death the more alive
we felt. 
so
we sleep for eons, we write our fingers raw, we
do anything to forget that when we were bleeding
we felt beautiful.

Monday, October 7, 2013

waiting for the coffee to cool.
waiting for the coffee to cool.

i have seen her crying in my bed, several times, different beds.
i am happy, i am sad, i am listening to tears
uncomfortably laying in my windpipe
snagged on wet leaves.
touching her shoulder like a damp washcloth, like an egg shell.
cautious and suspicious and gingerly, like something i don't know the 
consistency of.


now, here's the question-
what was real and what was just
a memory