Reservations8:13 in the morning: hung over with a fire in your heart, native peoples caressing bone white feathers as they stomp earthen circles around your lungs and your head vibrates with their vocal chords— you can’t stop thinking of the neo-nazi you met last night.Reservations
His teeth were giant porcelain knives as he toasted to keeping
“those fucking immigrants” out of the country and the living
room murmured uncomfortably; you remember hearing him slug
half his booze back and laugh—you remember thinking: If we’re talking technicalities, I have more of a right to be
AlkalineYour tongue tastes like a warm battery,Alkaline
reminding me of when my brother double dog dared me to lick a 9-volt—
That tiny shock, just like the shivers that race up my legs to crown me in stars as I breathe against you in bed—
How have I ever looked at you and told myself,
“You’re not what I wanted.
You don’t write poetry, play an instrument,
WindowOne window, lines and slats, square corners arching out against a vastly white wall; watching a stubborn horsefly beat itselfWindow
against the pane and I wonder as it
gathers feet beneath persistent wings—
The world outside, wet and each moment wetter, stares in at me with dark, inquisitive eyes,
wondering to itself with horizon cocked
as I beat my head against this flesh.
The Wild ForestYou on a tricycle, photograph dated 1988, July—two months into this world while I just began to wake fitfully from theThe Wild Forest
dream of a warm, everlasting womb.
Miniature cowboy hat cocked while you watched five stuttering candles drip bright colors and I, little girl’s black dress shoes scuffing together as they led me up to my mother’s casket.
At seven, you watched your parents tear one another
apart, knowing already what it meant to be the oldest son; I, watching cartoons and talking to my radio, learned the fine art of being my own best friend.
I'm So SorryIf you're not a child and you're not an adult, what are you? Everybody loves a child and everyone respects an adult So if nobody loves you and noone respects you, what are you? Are you real?I'm So Sorry
I've never seen a pretty girl before in my life Just empty faces in tight clothes and knee high boots Nobody places value in life Noone places value in love
If you're not poor and you're not rich, what are you? Everybody brags about how they help the poor and everyone admires the rich So if nobody gets anything out of helping you and noone admires you, what are you? Are you re
FragileThe bulletproof glass is full of holes from a shotgun bearing your name You expose me as being fragile A fact that I was never afraid of admitting on my ownFragile
I have become a railing that I myself would never lean on And a bridge that I’d be terrified to cross If not for the fear of it breaking under my feat, then for the fear of what’s on the other side
Curiosity imposes itself upon many travelers who walk by the window of an old warehouse To look through the broken glass at the old portraits and broken pianos But I have learned that not a soul will step inside
| “Sometimes I am two people: Johnny is the nice one, Cash causes all the trouble. They fight.” |
Curiouser and Curiouser
Content
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Lazy signature is lazy D:
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Most women look for a knight in shining armor, I'm looking for a werewolf.
The last flicker of daylight calls to me, but yet into the darkness I walk.
.K.
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Nuno
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main ::: gallery
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"For only in the grip of darkness will we shine amidst the brightest stars." - Cradle of Filth
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EtsySellers
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"For only in the grip of darkness will we shine amidst the brightest stars." - Cradle of Filth
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