ParalyticProcess

I love you in your inexistence   rabbit’s ear   baby’s breath               you are dust               but you are                       mine. Misadventures and      dew drop mornings                small curls                large eyes      my bones cannot knit your future. Sunsets and moonbeams               sleep burdens our eyes               your soft lips sigh                         there is a better world for you                                    than this. -D.E.M

You dreamed me. A breath in crescent pulses    suddenly I am    existing in your pillowed fantasies                   tucked beneath heavy eyelids. Soft, willing            moon flesh            there is magic in your bones. Vulnerable, we                      remained entwined                      carried by the night tide                      imperfect                               I am yours. -D.E.M

You were born in thought,        a fragment of a dream        but even then                I loved you. Knit from bone        you became whole                a sweet revelation                in my own rebirth. You opened        as I closed             my breath cast into the quiet             burning bush. -D.E.M

I always remember, always something was wrong. In my unhappy and pain, Faith hit me and didn't care. Very fast I stopped be child, but I don't know if I ever was childish. And really, every part of human nature is close to me. It is funny how strange thing was in my head. But I see too much and hear more. Jo, I am Jo. Maybe something change if you know. Strange and shame Jo. What she think now? I know only I. In school, they asked to if I was normal. If they had know, maybe they would have understood me. I believe that what I do is right, Because better be mad than normal. Jo, I am Jo. Maybe something change if you know. Strange and

You would kill them, slowly.        Every slug on the wet sidewalk, a silent victim                   to your salt revolver                   and I would say nothing. I would never stand up to you,   my voice cowering in its box. Maybe I was terrified, a slug myself              or maybe I liked to watch things die as well. But that would make me a murderer        and I don’t think I am ready. Not yet.                 No

Did you wake up one morning and decide your name was Monday? Did you lay out slip and stockings and decide that pretty was really underneath, and that your face alone would buy you nothing? Did you think of the men staring on the bus and in the elevators as the car moved up the girders so high your skirt was a balloon? And did the brush of his sleeve against your breast as the crowd moved forward stop your boots from crossing the street and send you into traffic wanting to feel his name?

he says it isn't work if you enjoy it and you think i enjoy this, blue? i'm no writer, no goddess, i am no savior for your flaws my only art is decay (but what a fine art it is-)