and we'll rotoh, poet boy,you are notthumbed bruisesor honey bones& you have onlyever been a godinside of your own head
Vertebraewe dressed oursalt burns;purloined ribbons& bone crownsspitting static throughour buzzing t.v. teethyou're a silent migraine:blue-blooded, honey-soaked[& i want to be somethingtoo pristine totouch]
demigodsi set myred skull ablaze,detached from mymercury headlike a kingof blue smoke &stelliform girlswith shudderingshoreline ribs
lattice bonesseafarer, you arevorticose & valeric;you are an odyssey & iam always sinking(oh, dearest,i've found the goldin alchemy)
Celestewe'll kiss hell's palms likewretched ministersbefore we give sermons tonight;yellowed wayfarerspacing scaffolds, we longto wake immaculate -deceased
Astrali'm the seraphicromanticist,a hallowed bodyswallowing galaxieslike i am hellbent onself-deterioration
Rottelluric vapor settlesbetween spidered ribsdysphoric--rotting lace &smoke spiralsdearest,we'll decaylike the red-eyed girlsbehind bronze mirrors
Woadwaxenhoney-heat boilsunder the blued skinof the daydreamer;sun-soft metaphors hangingfrom seraph wings & in betweenyellowed nerve cells
Saltwater Burnsmend your brittlepoet fingers &nurse your static headsunwashed--cherry lips &blue, blue fingernails[girls like you areselenium-sweet &withering]
i am not a supernova boylike a specterspeaking in blue x-rays& writing invisible verses -love, i am the patron saintof thieves & mediocrities
tar-sweetwe're rotting lace & lovingcigarette burnssugarcane black birds,purloined anthems &selenide spinessalt-water wounds;silver cicadas rattling inblue skulls
(Un)windi could drink youlike heavy sipsfrom glass bottles(hesitant,shifting lips)you flicker likewax light,jackal-eyed girlbut youwill notbloomgolden-plated
i can't keep walking on these dry-rot bonesoh, i am not a poet;like the ink scratchesof plath, i ama diamond-dreamerstraw-stitchedspecter boy: decay,dispose, & disappointbecause this is the waythat writers wane -(this hangman head is nosurvivor story, & godsdo not burn outin supernovas)
mescalinewe raise bygone czarsto walk amongst the livinglike travelers in blue skulls,& i am a preachermade of offhand remarks &long-healed headaches -oh, the whole world is catatonic.
blowing my teeth out the back of my skullI.we are hynagogic wasteland words, unravelingcorpses clutching at bruised throats - white gasolineII.and when your skin heals, i hope i've permeated your bones( i will never be rid of you ).
Vitiatei am a phantom,smoking hallowed satyrsinto my helium head;you're plucking amber teethfrom between the jaws of eden
last love (wanderlust was your home).kites flew in his mind& kept his head in the clouds,forcing me to send messages to the skyin hope he doesn't take flightwith my world on his shoulders.he was a travelerintent on conquering every mountainhe could lay his hands on,& leaving every atlasto burn beneath his fingers;like pain searing on a map of hurton his lover's skin -directionless but in motion.cigarettes were his staple dietwith beer to wash outthe bitter taste of a quick fix.his smoke & ashes injected adrenalineinto my wasted body& set my vision straightwhen i was getting drunk off of himon a monday, or tuesday(or any day mid-week).intoxication was a breath of fresh airon nights when he wasn't -the nights that i had promised myselfi wouldn't cave in to mydrunken desires.spirits gave me spirit& silenced my thoughtsto allow my body to speak for mein a language i knewhe would understand.he kept me close by his sideas he slept through the nightsthat the weather shared our bodies' passion,h
Wasteautumn was rock candy,lingering heat &headachesplucked feathers,bird skeletons on yourback porchyou can wear your fingersdown to needle-points, love(but it won't make you a writer)
all we ever wanted was the world.it still feels like summer.the rain tastes like late nights and cigarettes,sliding through the back door,still damp with the could-have-beens,our past loverstugging at our lips. we sit in downpourand watch the trains roll past,metallic stardust spilling from our mouthswhile we talk about how we could get on one of those trainsand just get off at the last stop."and we'd never come home."
life lessons.laugh a little,love a lot.you'll get your heart brokenso maybe not,but who am ito call the shots?sadness will consume youif you allow it to.happiness is a few steps away,but it's up to you to find its path& don't forget,nothing will last.take what you get& work for what you want.know that something will setbut waiting will get you nowhere.be kind to those you loveso they'll know that you're there.play the hand you're dealt& gamble what you want.learn to dealbecause all of it is real.learn your lessonsbefore you play them out.know them thoroughlybefore you get out.
Ephemeral1.i wake up and tear the sunfrom the sky like this is agrade school art project and iam supposed to share somethingworthy of myself-- i thinkthere is a black hole nestledbetwixt my lonely ribs,devouring anything alive.on days like these, my greatest weaknessis weakness and i am my own fatal flaw.we live by mantras and my ears ring‘i hate every piece of me’(he put his head to my chestand heard me dying;call me beautiful now)2.we are the false ends of sunkenuniverses, we are pieces ofdead galaxies and you arestardust, god, you arebeautiful.i believe that this is all just a dreamby someone with an imaginationbigger than the word “no,” that weare pawns in a game not worthremembering, but when i’m with youi’m real.i never took kindly to thingsthat required codependency,the uncalloused portionof my frostbitten heartbut god, you arebeautiful.
we're all drunk and always have beennoi haven't felt smaller than this beforeand it could bebecause i don't breathe poetry inand out -inand out,inand out -i write it under my eyebrowswith the precisionof a drunk snipertoasted into admissionwith irony s-st-tutter-eringdown his throat.you wouldn't take a damned bullet for me.beautiful is a word keptfor the riseand fallof her tidal chest,not my shallow breath,not my sunset, heartfelt,hollow silhouette.i would have disappearedbetween your accusing index andneglected thumb -rub me,rub me?rub herrub herdon't you feel calmer?noi haven't felt smaller than thisbefore.i haven't felt smaller than this beforeand it could bebecause you found a home betweenher stroking index andcomforting thumb -i haven't forgotten,no, i still remembernow twenty two penumbrae in the pastdidn't stop mefrom settlingin one of several crevassesat the bottom of your oceanic mind;you may have forgotten,and slept inon the details,but i haven't,not yet,not ye
CapriciousWords have becometasteless to me,I'm afraid—like rotten applesfit for the worms.Quite frankly,it feels asthough I amdancing withoutglass slippers;pirouetting my way througha ballroom full oftongues made for poetry.Where's awicked witch whenyou need one?All I seem to do isdream while I'm awake and,if we're being honest,I was never much of an alluring talein the first place.
broken.my parents took me to the hospital because i never ateand so the doctors fitted me in a baggy mint green dining gownand wrapped my fingertips in band-aids('cause all i ever nibbled were my nails).they prepared a pharmaceutical feastwith non-breakable plates and plastic knives.calories gave way to milligrams,but xanax and prozac don't mix wellwith apple juice.
.when her love left, it leftthe house emptyand she saysi hope one day it'llcome back to me,cos i don't keep this shotgunon my front porch for nothin'
I wish...I’ve been sitting on your doorstep for three days.Here are the nothings I left under the mat:i.I do not feel like a lion anymore,an alpha wolf, a hyena orany other strong-willed beast.ii. Today,I want to take my scarsout to lunch,feed them your eyes,& your tongueuntil it bleeds sorrow,and “please forgive me’s”.iii. You wish I never existedas you grind those wordsinto my wrists like they arered hibiscus blossoms.& I’ll have you knowI am a flower, bloomed,rooted deep into the soil.You are just a combinationof 26 letters-an “I wish…”
.i rememberedthe conversation with the anesthetist,he said place your thumbs over your eyesand press gently, and i replied isn't thatlizards?and no i can't feel my hands but i'mnot really bothered, i will sleepsleep and sleep, i won't need them,and please keep an eye on the sea til iwake, it might pack up its fish andgo travelling, it might leak throughthe holes in the earth like a sieve,all the shipwrecks and sharks willbe homeless(i don't believe in anything, and that makes me a liar because i believe in that)
Abidethi will not write youinto a seraph,nor mend yourheadaches,nor nurse yourraw pock-pitted tonguebecause youdo not wear yoursins likeebbed moonson your wrists& youhave never beenone of the damned