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Literature Text
this god made skeletons, dear, & this god
made deathbeds. here's our hospice:
hypoxic migraine mirrors on the inside
of our skulls. oh, ghosted, i am semi-parasitic
& esotropic - the fevered phantom of
a boy too young to wither this way.
made deathbeds. here's our hospice:
hypoxic migraine mirrors on the inside
of our skulls. oh, ghosted, i am semi-parasitic
& esotropic - the fevered phantom of
a boy too young to wither this way.
Literature
pseudonym.
i was hit
until my
identity c r a c k e d [admit it],
i leapt out
of my depths into
those pools of darkness
that crept under my eyes:
i kept terror's disguise.
it needs dismantling
to see beneath the lies
i tell with whispered breath.
i once feared death
but now it reminds me
i'm alive.
Literature
I.
peel apart my insides
reveal the insides
petal by petal
I fall apart in your hands
Literature
Catatonia
She scrawls life line tallies on her wrists in scars
to mark each year passed
and haunts bars looking for the love of strangers.
she finds malt whiskey and vermouth; strange mouths to kiss
she tips them back the way a lover might tip her chinny chin
chin
She whispers slurs and looks into the abyss of gin.
He inhales death with the smoky kisses of cigarettes
injects life paraphrasing echoes of love with hypodermics to keep
the hypothermia of loneliness back
but it creeps and creeps
a slow paralysis
under the windowsill, rain falling bleak on the pane to drip
drip
into her veins
soft dark over the threshold of the doorway to her soul
writi
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full title: my earl of slander cries blue murder (break all my bones)
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i'm afraid i'll never get to be young because i'm wasting all my days wishing i were six feet under already.
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i'm afraid i'll never get to be young because i'm wasting all my days wishing i were six feet under already.
Comments7
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Your vocabulary is simply stunning....
