Wednesday, September 30, 2009

i like warm beds and contaminated love

the night is windy and people won't shut up.
I hold your orb filled with illuminated love, till I 'accidentally' drop it and all the silvery liquid pours out and seeps into the earth.
I can't sleep, I am smoking and singing instead.

Monday, September 28, 2009

little girl, don't be sad.

she writes to him furiously, even though he is dead.


'The bedsheets refuse to smoothen the creases you've left in them. I sleep in the hollow of your wake. I'll try my best to not wash the sheets until your smell is stale and rotting and I just can't take it anymore, ok? I understand, you know. I get your weird hair and the fact that you have to bend down to listen to me speak. What I don't understand though, is the different ways in which we hold each others' hearts. I hold yours like a grenade, my soul is ready to throw it as far away from me as possible. And you hold mine, like one holds a newborn baby's head.
It's really stupid, you know. I've been making your shape out of the infinite pillows we have and sometimes I roll over to kiss you mid-dream, but all I end up with is feathers in my mouth and nose. Funny, right? I knew you'd find it funny. I don't know why I keep bringing up all this bed talk. I mean, really, it's silly. Mostly because you always wanted one, but then you left, and now I don't need one but I get up sometimes (mid-dream of course) and think about how right you were. This bed is too small for me alone.
You remember that one day you were pointing your finger at me? (Playfully of course). And you said you could never understand how quickly my facial expressions changed, how if someone didn't understand my words, they would understand the contorts of my face. Well, darling, now that you're gone, I'll tell you exactly what I was thinking. I was thinking 'well here's a good man who irons his own clothes and feeds the kittens and kisses my shoulder blades (mid-dream), and I've done nothing but hurt him. It made me sad for a day like this. When you'd be gone and I've have a plethora of honesty bundled up inside like knots and I'd write letters addressed to nowhere hoping they'd reach you. I waited for this day, darling, and here it is. Here I am, there you are, where are we?
I love you'


she writes to him furiously, even though he is dead.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

saturday nights

it is 2:51 am pouring rain outside, and i just don't know what the fuck i'm doing in life.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

in the morning and amazing

We take our crying eyeballs and let them afloat in the lily-ridden pond. The golden fish pick at them, their colors fiery in the bright moonlight. Now that we've lost our sight, maybe we can be happier people.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

no one ever said it would be this hard.

it is easy to fall asleep with him, it is easy to do almost anything with him.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

pleurosis/blue roses

She skips up the steps, her body is lithe. Her voice is that of someone who once understood love, and now understands its consequences. Like hot chocolate topped with marshmallows. She is ardently graceful and willing to learn your language. She speaks of you; with a calm, unwaveringly hushed tone. She speaks of you as if she has solved life's greatest trivia, like how deep is the ocean really, or how high does the sycamore grow. She cares for this careful behavior, you see. Her body language is controlled and practiced, but it's in the eyes that tell the tale of her journey. It is there where you understand why love fills in strange gaps like those between our toes, and those between oceans.


'I want your flowers
like babies want God's love'

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

i've done wrong-

i've been a bad, bad girl.
i've been careless with a delicate man.
and it's a sad, sad world.
when a girl will break a boy,
just because she can.

Monday, September 14, 2009

for lovers and jerks alike.

i am becoming what your silences and your words fail to say. semi-prose, dancing to comic relief background music, there are also things i will never say. i will fold into individual coils, pack myself in purple cellophane and sit on a shelf till some poor unfortunate soul picks me up to admire my manufactured beauty. my face contorts, my muscles pull themselves in pain, we listen to each other's melodies in different time zones. there is no way out of the messes we make, no matter how many escape routes you(yes, you) plan for yourself even before you walk in. if only the rubble and broken glass could keep nature from growing. with every new spring come a fresh wave of tears and remorse.
i want rainbows to sprout from our feet when we walk hand in hand through graveyards on rainy western winter days.
but alas.

Wednesday, September 09, 2009

be still, my beating heart.

Tomorrow I will leave you alone. Promise.

Tuesday, September 08, 2009

'say goodbye'

we share hearts and beds like kids share popsicles.
sans inhibitions.

Sunday, September 06, 2009

i stole this because it's true.

How do you explain to someone you think you love that they're just not enough?

Yeah, you don't. You say you’re sorry, instead. You hope that makes up for something, and you hope you two are strong enough to survive. But deep down, you know better. You know that once something’s broken, it doesn’t matter how much you try to fix it, how much you want to fix it, you can’t. Nothing is forever, and nothing changes. Either you live with what you’ve got, or you chase shadows.

i will stare at you till you pass out.

Between white cherry blossom trees and dead ones, we're careful acquaintances. Knee-deep emotionally attached. ( Your tiny hands, your crazy kitten smile).

Amber dexterity. 

We open up buttons that contain and restrict our passions. They make our blood-shot eyes explode. (Artists high on color. No fumar en esta area). We do not make eye contact with the lonely even though we're all afflicted with the same disease. (He has the answer. What was the question?). Blood bleeds out of cracks in sidewalks. She runs through the fields, her dress as green as June grass.

Friday, September 04, 2009

elena

'It's not the same, love. Bending may be better than breaking, but it still fucking hurts. Let me tell you something, you there, with your penis dangling sadly in front of you. You are one of many. There are many who dream and imagine and hope that this is it, their chase has ended, I am what they think they want for the rest of their lives. They look forward to waking up every morning so they can stare at my bare ass and praise the Lord as to how 'lucky' they think they are. They conjure healthy households with intelligent conversations and late nights with lots of fucking. They think this is it, because they've been programmed to think this is it. They're ready to yell at balconies to the pretty maiden occupying it, they're ready to cross the distance of 2 hours or a plane flight of 8, because everyone is so used to getting what they want. Their penis is so used to getting what it wants. Their heart is trapped inside that little one-eyed snake's head, and mine is strapped onto my sleeve, outside my body, bleeding but it never stops beating, the sonofabitch. You know, love, if the heart wasn't involved, for me at least, things would have been different. Maybe. Who knows. One can never preach or talk about things they don't know. I'm just really tired of this constant cuddling with insignificant strangers. In the end, it's pretty much all about how much I hate sleeping alone, and how much I love dancing, and how much I want to stop looking at myself from a third person's perspective and just accept the fact that I deserve to be happy. Hell, everyone deserves to be happy, even those penis-clad assholes. Contrary to popular belief, I'd just like to open my eyes one day and not spend 15 minutes of my life wondering... why.'

Tuesday, September 01, 2009

recycled

years from now, we will sit down together
and i'll tell you exactly how much i've loved you
and we'll join heads and cry-
in ode to memories we forgot to make.

Harmony

She opened one eye to look at him in the dewy morning sun. He was staring at the ceiling.
'You make me happy from a distance'
He looked over to glance at her.
' We can be each others' temporary distractions till we find permanent ones'
He blinked.
' I know what you're thinking, and who about. And I'm ok with that'
He went back to staring at the ceiling, and she to sleep.