Smiley ManThere are those stories in the papers where a person has died and their pets have eaten their faces off, and everyone's always so disgusted by the dear trusted pet eating their owner, (how can you blame the animal? It's efficient.) Sometimes the owner isn't actually dead, they've just passed out, so they wake up and have no lips, and they look like they're grinning. Like a skull.
My childhood Smiley Man was like that, but no eyelids either. He looked like a skull, in that way, except he had eyes and there was skin on his face, just not over his teeth. And all he ever did, really, was chase. So I'd run, and I'd think I'd have got away, but he had long fingernails, so he could just scratch me, rip my clothes. Seemed perfectly natural, then.
I'd go to the closet to get my coat and stand on a box, because I wasn't tall enough, and I'd think I see him, but he was just something out of my dreams, my own, slightly sicker Bogey Man. The Smiley Man. Sounds like a clown. It's always the childish
Farcical"What if I told them my life is just a thirty volume suicide note?"More Like This
"'How dreadfully tedious,' they would say."
Bang BangI broke bottles andMore Like This
discussed history and sex with spirits
(of the whisky variety),
all in your name.
you decided before seeing me
clothed you would never
give me your last name, so I gave you
hell and a coffin of torrential drink--
walked on the wrong side of the road,
cracked open new loves and poured them on
the ground so I can watch as the better opportunities
slipped into the gutter. I'll never forget
you saying you'd never forgive
if I ever slipped a happy future between us,
but baby I'm not chasing a pretty rock and
a sperm donator, and you're only here
because of some Jack and a bad night.
all the things you taught me (what
kush means, how to punch, how to love blind),
I'll remember past the next shot.
PaydayI pick up my skirt and slip off my shoesMore Like This
so I can dance on the dusty
line between abject poverty and hope
because the kids in the broken cement homes know this paycheck
won't cover bread and I gotta distract them somehow.
I prayed my
whole life for my A's and gold stars to mean
something, but God doesn't check
report cards when he's giving out miracles,
and I'm done pretending being good will
pay the electric bill.
Be StillSome small curl of smoke,More Like This
across a mess of sheets;
a tilted query masked in breath...
...perhaps someone just spoke.
Cold fingers against moist skin,
blinking at those floating protein strands,
back and forth into breathless silence...
as they say..."better out than in."
Rolling that curl around your tongue,
while my mouth goes numb with cotton;
because that ceiling is falling...
...with a twilight that just won't come.
And the onyx is as sweet,
as the darkness beneath
laughter dances....finality drenches the tips
of weary wandering feet.
Labyrinth of BeastBeast, beast where are you?More Like This
Are you hungry?
Come and eat me!
They threw me into the dark
to die in prayer
to die in vain
to die in pain
and bloody fear
by bite and tear
by fang and claw
And they never said why
and I never dared to ask
I am a tribute
sacrifice and offering
for some foreign king and queen
and their beastly changeling
locked in empty labyrinth
waiting for us in maze
us, for fourteen lost souls
misrable and scared
there´s no hope left
we know with certainty
we won´t be spared
this death in perversity
I hide and run
through pitch-black maze
without a sun
afraid to stay
afraid to walk
echo of my steps is my only guide
Where are you, beasty child
where lies the sanctuary of your bide?
pitch-black air surrounds me
in this bloodthirty sea
Where to go?
Where to go?
I cannot see
tired to flee
and light is just forbidden memory
Carving Treesonce i spoke to the balding forest,More Like This
hushhushhush cried the wind and he
knifed through my jacket
like flames lick ice like
lovers find reasons to peel off clothes,
i stroked the branches
of the sycamore and
felt its long, smooth trunk and the letters
scraped dreamily in the bark, and
let someone else grow up with our regrets,
let our names stretch and bend
and remind us
that once upon a time we didn't cringe at
warm wet breath on the
backs of necks,
at least i was innocent as i
lumbered back and forth over frozen ground
like some lost and lonely stormcloud,
like some flame guttering before dying out,
at least i was as many cupfuls of insanity as i could swallow
before my stomach
tricked my brain tricked my heart into thinking
"this is all okay,
(and at least my name is not expanding
somewhere in a forest,
carved lazily into trees that
grow and grow in spite of
all their broken love.)
palsied branches and the forest and the moon
TemporaryFor the second time in my life.More Like This
Blades and knives are my best friends.
Whispered secrets in the dead of night.
No one else knows.
No one else breathes.
Not like me.
Dancing in my head.
The voices keep reassuring.
Its not a phase its not a phase its not-
Lines on paper.
Rungs on a ladder.
Ring around the rosies.
They are absolutely right,
Its just a trend just a trend just a-
But I’ve never been one for attention.
Long sleeved shirts.
Empty medicine bottles.
Where did I put that-
At least let me shave my legs!
This old enemy
This old friend
Its not leaving its not leaving its not-
Shooting StarsYou great painter,More Like This
The one they call Michael and Gogh.
You great painter with the little brush.
The one who paints angels on empty hearts.
O wonder, how are you confused thus?
To see a star has fallen for you?
I have fallen, dazed, by your bright lights.
You little poet, what with your great words.
You seemed surprised to see me laying there.
A dreamer, I closed my eyes and dreampt.
Perhaps a fool, with a large painted heart.
A fool who can be told, speak slowly and quietly.
And you covered me, O painter, with your black paint.
But what good is a lamp with no light?
Was it me that scared you thus,
When I tried to shine like you?
For what good is an angel with no wing?
But you've broken mine.
Be gentle on me, Old Soldier.
When you kill me.
Soldier. Soldier, with the big sword.
Who is brave, but speaks with a soft voice.
You brave thing who fears stars.
Hang me back up there then, O Divine.
So I may become a painter like you,
And paint my trails in the sky.
So that I may fall for a
Fine WinePink Lover, covered in flesh of gold,More Like This
Of pure and untainted mind.
Soulful wanderer, set on hasty paths,
Who are you to give your youth to me?
I am as a dull ship,
Lost in the veils of mist that is eternity.
Tossed about the spinning waves.
You stand on the docks and call out to me
But you are just a distant noise
Among the other voices in my head.
I may have you aboard
But you would surely sink with me.
And yet you keep calling?
Transfixed with my bloodlust.
Are you a butterfly?
Trapped in my endless twisting web?
Just flesh to feed my hourglass hunger.
The red sands are slipping.
You will be buried before long,
My golden treasure.
Soon to be forgotten in time.
What wild blood my ancient tongue should taste.
Take flight, butterfly
Before I take your wings from you.
Free yourself from my pale drug.
Flutter into another net to be ensnared.
For who are we, us creatures of earth,
To say that the predator loves their meal?
Or a king fancy his wine
Over the women of his court?
Save your swee
Candy Wrappers part 1 December 22, 2006More Like This
To begin, I am Detective Liam Angus Roy. Upon being assigned this case, my supervisor suggested I write about my experiences and what I find.(not sure why though) I am currently beginning an investigation on an old case, lovingly named "The Candy Killer Disappearances". Apparently, many kids have gone missing and after words the parents would receive candy wrappers with what was thought to be clues to the children's whereabouts. Messages scrawled in messy handwriting would appear in strange places. The children's parents would find them on nightstands, kitchen counters, at their work place, and even laying on the child's pillow. Even after being examined by many, known for their skill in cracking codes, the clues were never deciphered and the children never found
a Physicist's diary[April 17] Maria is getting sicker; tuberculosis is washing her life away day after day, but all the beauty of this World still shines in the depths those tormented eyes. I'm not as strong as she is, I can't bear my impotence. As a scientist once I used to think that the matter had no secrets I couldn't unveil: "Oh, how fool I was... miserable small ant!".More Like This
[May 10] The physician has suggested a period of rest on the mountain. Two or three months should be enough, then we will back home and he will visit her again. While telling this, he has looked me shaking his head almost imperceptibly. I hate him with all my heart, for that motion and for he can't save her; I hate God, in which in the past I didn't believe at all and now I need so much to have a guilty... and I hate myself.
[May 22] We took a nice Chalet in Courmayeur with a marvelous view of the landscape and the night sky for me and rarefied air so precious for my bride. There's something no honest man can deny about Italy: this c
ScaredShe extended her hand and reached for the door. Her body trembled violently in fear.More Like This
Gently, she wrapped her fingers around the brass knob.
It was time to face the day.
CostlyI walked into the small tea shop, out of the rain and shook myself off. I left my umbrella by the door and wandered slowly up to the counter to order some chamomile. After paying for it, I turned to seat myself in one of the booths, but found that each of them were already occupied. Mustering my courage, I walked toward one of them, who had only one person sitting at it. He was enjoying an omelet and biscuit by himself.More Like This
“Do you mind it very much if I could share your table?” I asked hesitantly.
“Not at all.”
I sat down clumsily and fumbled with my phone, feeling awkward for not engaging in small talk. After a while I glance up at him for a second. He was dressed warmly with new-ish clothes. His hair was disheveled, as though he hadn’t showered, and he hadn’t shaved in a while.
The waitress arrived with my tea and I was forced away from my phone to pour myself some.
“Penny for your thoughts.
Peace of MindI will say this: the definition of success is the most corrupted idea of mankind.More Like This
Teachers say good grades, parents say good jobs, teenagers say a nice body. “Money, business, sex,” they spit. Because what are you, but a pretty face and a name?
“Where are you going to school?” “Have you a degree?” “Why don’t you get a job.” “Get a car.” “Make a name for yourself.” “Leave a mark on the world.”
What about the marks on my skin, where I stretched myself too far? Make a name for myself? Names are knives in your back. “Katie, that girl from the back of the class?” “Oh yeah, Sarah from church, right? Don‘t know her well.” No you don’t know me. You can have your names and I’ll stay myself. If I want to leave my name behind when I’m gone, then I will call myself Reason a
I Am Someone To HateDo you know who I am? Do you think that my soul is calm as you say? A tame mare you can bridle. A sight for eyes that searched too long? Another pretty face, to recall at the late hours of the night?More Like This
No. I am no princess from your fairy tales. I am no damsel in your accursed, grey, towers.
No. I am nothing like it.
I am the chill down your spine, colder than the winter months. I am the monster under your bed, naught but pale bones and empty eyes. I am the ghost that haunts you, dead and hungry for more death. I am all the things you hide from. I am something to fear. Something to hate.
I am the force behind the dark that keeps you awake. The one that keeps you still as you pray to god that it passes and doesn’t see you. The next time you call me beautiful think of every shadow that has touched you in your dreams.
Run from me, boy. Forget you ever saw me. Lie down and hate the day you heard my name.
I am no calmer than the height of the storm. The raging winds have
The DancerHear me read itMore Like This
The night I met Jessie she was beautiful. She swayed to the almost intolerably loud music as if her bones were made of it. She was something unknown. I remember the sharp cut of her hair had run across her cheek, parallel to her carved-out cheekbone. It looked like a wig, I wanted to touch it. I wanted to touch her, and see if she felt like plastic. Who could ever believe that someone so perfect could be so real. I regret that. I regret doubting her reality.
Eventually she bought me a drink; she called it an Appleté but trapped in the pulsating fuchsia lights of the club it looked purple. It tasted like jealousy; sour and eye watering. When I told her this she laughed a little, apparently she'd heard that one before. I drank it anyway. I wanted to slot into my assigned role in her fantastical world.
We talked a little. She served other men drinks. The ones in the shadows could have been my reflection. It was confusing. The
Get upHear me read itMore Like This
She sat on the edge of her bed staring at the floor. Within her scope of vision there were many things she could look at. Many things to think about and process. There was a slate blouse that had wilted at the bottom of her bed, or her pale foot placed beside it. The foot looked unnatural there, with no pressure to grip it to the ground it looked unbelonging, like a cast aside prop. Yet she did not look, or think, or notice.
She just stared, blindly, for an hour, her thoughts were obnoxious and churned the paltry paste of self-disgust in her heart muscle, but they were relatively quiet as she repeated over and over in the forefront of her subconscious "Time to get up."
Time to get up. It was time to get up. It was time to get up and get on with her life. It was time to get a life. It was time. It was time to get up.
Unprovoked tears swelled and scattered loosely amid this trail of thought. She kept going, over and over, It
But desolateI took a telescope to the skyMore Like This
and saw no life.
I saw stars and planets,
And our own isolation
Our view bright