My skin started to bleed
on your birthday & to
this date & beyond
no one will ever be able
to unravel our codex,
our spiritual DNA,
the knotted red string
that so delicately holds
our hearts together,
beating in time to a
lost reincarnation.
& you visit me in my
dreams with clear eyes
& hands that can hold
no matter how jagged
I am.
& I have been broken
so much love, I no longer
know where I end or begin
but just the sight of you,
the energetic frequence
of you, puts me back
together.
My heart.
My soul.
Complete.
I wanted for the
world to just
stop there
& then.
I wanted to break
the glass, in case
of emergency,
(this was an
emergency) & jump
out onto the
asphalt - my knees
skinned & bloody
from the impact of
gravel on
something so soft
I still...
Hear your voices
when I should be
thinking of better
things like the fact
that his arms
cradle hard when I
need it, barely there
like a whisper, a sigh,
when we move into
the places where
I cannot stand
to be touched.
Forceful & yet
relenting he does
not judge these
awkward angles that
are hard to fit into,
hard to hold.
He enourages me in
my howling, my pain,
my exorcisims all
brought t
Inspiration comes
sporadically & as
children we collect
fingerprints -
the fractured identity
of our parents. We
inherit pain, loss,
bitterness all through
our DNA.
(I just wanted you to
see me).
& I'm trapped in the
fear now, in the walls
we build to keep us
saftely separate from
those who would
hold us when
we shake.
(Can you see me?)
It's hard trying to
erase so much of yourself,
parts of you that aren't
even you to begin with.
Nail marks on a closed
casket lid.
A yawn that turns into
a perpetual scream.
You can't hold
that which does not
wish to be held.
You can't see
that which does not
wish to be seen.
The winter solstice comes
at twelve degrees & my eyes
dazzle with bright lights lost
in the darkness of night.
With an itch like this you’re
driven to distraction &
prince charming doesn’t come
riding in on a white horse.
Prince charming tastes like
death & he brings the
lightning with him. The kind
that breaks you open &
causes you to scramble around
constantly searching for the
broken parts of yourself that
were scattered to the wind
in the ensuing melee.
A fog settles on the horizon
& the last gasp is sweet & full
of pain & joy all muddled
together in a
masochistic
crescendo.
The oracle talks about death
The itch came and settled under my skin two weeks ago. It arrived like a whisper – no discernable evidence that it was there, aside from a quiet, low feeling of unease. I felt rattled for a few days as I walked the house, remembering each room as I went; Laurie’s bedroom: pink walls, white carpet, family living room: cracked leather sofa, broken vase, kitchen: happy, yellow walls, smell of sour milk from the bowl of cereal that was still sitting on the table. It had been there for two weeks and despite the smell, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out or tidy it up.
The itch set my teeth on edge. The advice for an itch is
Bloody smile,
grinning deep as
I crack open his
rib cage & cradle
that beating heart
in my hands like a
bright red scream.
Relax precious, this
won't hurt as badly
as the others would
have you believe.
It all boils down
to this, love is -
An act of butchery
& a real-life game
of operation.
Who can secure the
vital organ first
before total body
failure sets in?