make me blue foreverwe had sex between empty boxes on the floormake me blue forever in Letters More Like This
and the scent of vanilla and dragon's blood incense
made everything seem more vacant than it had to be.
the room was cool but too warm beneath his skin,
between his and mine. the ashtray was half-full,
i noticed, as we moved across the floor,
and the smell of summer dying
was coasting through an open window. i became
infatuated with the knowledge that fall was coming.
soon it would be cold. i could smoke,stare at the sky
and maybe i'd stop purging. maybe
i'd commit to health, stop cutting and anxiety.
maybe i would change.
or maybe i'd keep promising myself that until next fall.
all the while, i am changing, just not in ways i want.
i corrode internally. i turn so blue that i begin to
fade into the sky.
he grabs my hips and moves me, tipping me up
and steadying me to ride him, the phosphorescence
of the quiet bright room seemingly ingested by me.
graceI unfold my paper skin with the magic indentations pulling along my spine. the veins free themselves like small moths finally meeting light. I am dripping the sour mold of my insides all over the carpet, and I don't feel anything, least of all do I feel you. for falling from grace is like an act in the theatre: everyone is watching, and wondering what will happen, but at the same time, no one sees it the way you do. no one sees you when you sit huddled beneath curtains, whispering and crossing your fingers behind your back. they will watch you smile at girls who pass by and imagine that you are as strong as you look. they imagine you as something cold and hard, something alcoholic, brittle and seething. you have a face. they cannot see you when you crumple in the bathroom stall at work, fanning out your hands to cover your face as tears become mirrored objects, strangely multiplying as your fagrace in Letters More Like This
and it might be heardi have been wondering whatand it might be heard in Free Verse More Like This
makes us so lucky
i feel good to have someone
who makes me feel so alive
in every way--
but maybe you feel lucky too
though you would pick another word
that i cannot think of now
it feels like the tables have turned
and dinner hasn't even gotten cold,
the way i was never exactly
poised for greatness but suddenly
am saved from the graceful boredom
of heaven and death and all of its
advocates. there is no home for me
amongst riddles and eyeless ghosts.
here i spend my nights flying
beneath your white wings,
letting you feed on the
tar that sits in my ugly soul
while i get drunk and high and
sleep in the warm glow
of your skin, lantern soft.
the word i should
use here is, "devoured."
pretend you don't know me,
your princess in the sky drinking
herself half awake with tears in
her eyes. wet eyes, she pretends
none of it matters.
you make me dizzy with bliss,
whispering supplication. something
cold is breathing in on my windows,
and it's so close that sometimes
pain can give you sight or make you blindleaning into me, he tells me how i am like a bead on a necklace. this is all he says. the air feels light, somehow not feeding my lungs in any sort of way that makes me feel good. nothing fills me properly, and before he gets closer i stare in a wasted, dejected sort of way at the scattered moonlight that comes in through his bedroom window, the way it is blueish and cold and touches my arms sweetly.pain can give you sight or make you blind in Letters More Like This
we move again. we feed on each other, our skin abnormally alive in the way it only can be when we are touching this way. i am a love poem, because my eyes are closed. when i open them, i am a love song, and the rhyming becomes apparent. when his mouth opens in-between kisses, or maybe in the midst of their ends and beginnings, i can see his teeth. i wonder what he sees, sees as i stare into the dark thin brown line of his eyelashes, closed gentle, brushing cheeks and noses and lips.
when he touches me, it make
a universe full of maybei want to be real,a universe full of maybe in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
tangible, somehow human
enough to be loved
i was number sevencan i crawli was number seven in Free Verse More Like This
through the lapse
in your bones,
settle as a heavy weight
in your lungs,
so you feel me when you breathe,
breathlessi am standingbreathless in Free Verse More Like This
next to you
in a voluminous crowd.
you are talking
with your mouth
and your hands
to someone nearby,
and i am watching your hands.
your hands are beautiful,
i want to touch them,
in my long fingers,
put your trigger finger
in my mouth
and graze your fingertip
with my teeth.
i would taste salt
and angel skin.
when i wake up in the morning,
i have broken bones,
or i am paralysed.
you wake up
and kiss me goodmorning
and i hear
your feet touch the floor.
i do not mind
that i can not so much
i have you,
and that is
death postponedsuck me up into your bloodstream,death postponed in Letters More Like This
snort me, lines of oxy,
the blood dries on our wrists and
we start looking like real people again.
hospitals taste like ice without you.
mist, fog, stuffed down my throat.
do i really have to live without you?
will pills really be enough?
but we face time and shine, born together
like twin water angels, huffing and puffing
our mermaid smoke. the hookah billowing
pink from our dragon wings. baby, you're the
fire in my life. angel boy, i think you are a god.
spill in me, across me, you're no accident. you
are here for a fucking reason, you're here in me,
with me, in my heart always. in me allways.
stop forgetting about me. remember the taste
that keeps you awake at night. how we're always
high and horny and hip to hip, loving me is
hope for something else,
with wings outstretchednineteen years ago iwith wings outstretched in Letters More Like This
from a warm dream about
being loved for real. then
air touched my lungs
and it was all over.
you were alive, somewhere
in time before that
your first synapses formed,
we were running
through the trees, branches
tangling their brittle fingers
in our best clothes. your
name is everywhere i
look and it is really
such a beautiful name.
it hides in clouds and cubes
of ice and golden
verandas, blue scarves
that still smell like desert,
long porches where we'd
swing for a few hours
and smoke. that rasp
is in your voice, it
tastes like purple honey. and
when i talk about your
eyes, there's always murmurs
of crystalline ships that are
veiled with ice storms,
pale veins wired through satiny
corpse flesh, the
of a fish, cut op