it's 4amand my heart's still beating.}we paused;tying heart-strings with our scores set at zero.folding our glove of black inked hearts;we stopped lusting for kicks.at 2.23 am, reality wasn't all it was made out to be.}bottle-green thistlesthorned through your pupils;dropping seconds of olive breathas i sacrificed my lungs to feedour envy--hexing the charmed airand bleaching the sky; a whitewashdeluge, with ivory petticoatstranslucent amidst the haze;my smoky half-moon crescents obscuredfrom your sight. blurring with spitsof earl-grey rubble dropping from ourforgotten eyes-- i stepaway; lost into the distance.at 3.45 am, reality ceased to exist.}and now,it's 4amand the clouds don't fly like they used to.the kites have fallen;fallen, fallenand sparrows are grounded. their wingscaught in limbo; multiple choice with all thewrong answers, coaxed to fight or flight.yet,it's 4amand i'm still alive.
peeling bandages, platonic skyThere were no stars in Vegasuntil I found you.Alas, there are other starsin the sky. Brighter stars,maybe. But I like my star,what used to be my starbefore we both burned out
VespertineIf I start flossing with violin strings so that my words will be musical, will Mother drive me to the asylum? And when she drives me to the asylum, will you come with me? And as I pull out my nails and smear the blood on my eyelids, will you listen to my despair, the rantings of pathetic poetic me?Sometimes I punch myself in the eyes so that I can see the stars on city nights, and use their wishes to bring you here. Sometimes I open my mouth on rainy days to catch Mother Nature's tears. Even if it melts my mask away and taints my virgin tongue, will you love me? Its all I don't have and all I need, and quite frankly, I think it just may drive me mad.Wrap your arms around me because you can. Hold me tight, I feel no shame so never let me go
even when I bite and kick and scream, never let me go. Love me, love me when I'm savage.
dear you, i've lost my minddear youi'm sorry if my writing is illegible and it hurtsyour perfect autumn-leaf eyes to decipher, butmy mind explodes across my page when ithink of you just for one second. if you love meyou can read past the smudges and blemishes,like you do the battlefield of scars and imperfectionstraced onto my icy skin. i love you more.from medear youwhen i saw the news this morning, i'd belying if i said i didn't think about you. hypnotisedby famine, tragedy and war, my ears were lostwhilst i dwelled over my burnt toast and lukewarmcoffee. i don't care what you say, but the weathermanlooks just like you. but he reads from auto cues, andi'm lead to believe the poems in your trash that areleft for me aren't from google. somehow, i love youand your cheap excuses.from medear youi saw you in the street today. at least, i think i did. irang your phone but you declined my call. and don't saythat you didn't, i saw you make the conscious effort tounchain your hand from that whore
the cruelty of your smilesit's six-thirty a.m.and my ribcage isspas-spas-s p a smingwith every thought of you.i can see it clearly:the turned-up corners of a smiletrying to take control of your face,the wild wind-intensityof your sea-green pebble-eyesraking my hands as if you're dissecting me,the way your palm-lines molded to my spineas you pressed me close one last time...i can still feel your lipswhispering seductions,whispering me closer to you,drawing me out and down,and in the still of almost-sunrise,the backs of your hands look like clawsscrambling for purchase on my skin.but mostly,i can hear you.it's six-forty a.m.and i've got the radio blaring,but your halting breathstrokeshave me paralyzed,your heartbeatthe wings of a hummingbirdpulsing the air into mini-whirlwindsof your peaches-n-cream locks,the lotion on your legs.it's six-fifty a.m.and i'm lying half-awake in my bed.the pillow that used to be
how many broken notesshe lost her place in the middle of broken melodies,your fingers twisted on flattened notes andshe tripped over tritones on your fingerboard when she left.she was A minor, you were A major,and her tongue was always [too sharp]and your palms together were [too flat] and they always slipped.you couldn't listen,it hurt your ears when she cried"l#ve me,l#ve mel#ve me"and you said"oh please, shush"and plugged your earsher feet stumbled on cracked bridges,snarled tangling strings, andyou said she sang the devil's choruswhen she meant to sing youa l u l l a b yshe was a dissonance, so restless,his lullabies had too manyharmoniesand they clashed,they crashedhow many broken notescan a bar hold?