Tuesday, December 30, 2008
i forgot for a moment that we are no longer the same people.
to you i am everything you find unattractive, to me you are a nervous twitch, black coffee at noon, bruised legs.
well HA HA i am the horrible one for losing a sense of self, and needing to find it
in all of this, where the fuck did YOU go?
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
art imitates life imitates art imitates life imitates what the fuck am i even talking about? teeth, nose, face? My mind is in that hazy state between sleep and conciousness, writing gives my unsteady hands purpose, a reason to shake while smoothing the curve of a g and spraying the rest across walls or paper or limbs or lids. Jump up on my lap, curl into me and sleep forever, crawl inside my womb.be my first kiss, sloppy and sweet, pulsating with anticipation, or a hand in my shirt. oh, i have become completely innapropriate. all i want is to sparkle and drink and moan and when i watch the street lights go out on my way in, think of nothing but the few slow seconds i will spend infront of my door, counting to eight, remembering what it was like to have someone to thank for the night, say that first goodbye, and endup fucking and scratching,and praying for no end, but never calling back. i miss waking up to dirt under my nails, gluing twigs to my fingers incase i broke them, burning incense and hair, draping my legs over the side of the bed and singing to the world moving past my windows. Be me, not mine, but me, a verb, live and do. love me more passionately than we can understand, larger than i care to know.
THATS IT this is it, ive over romanticised everything as an attempt to validate the fact that i no longer care enough to differentiate my personal concept of right, from wrong. i've given up trying to not drink before three, i want to be distant, vague, make a million men fall in love with one smile, take the train for free, win goldfish for batting my lashes. i want to taste a thousand sunsets, to feel summer in my mouth, to explore thailand in shapes and colors, i want to function without a heavy mind. function. i want to function. i am scared of the moons raping glow. even more terrified of feeling something real for anyone. i make eye contact with passing men, try to see how long until they look away. i've fallen for winter and nativity scenes. i decorated my living room with golden calves, golden calves,you were my golden calf that i rode away from this whole fucking gypsy city filled with empty circles of sallow girls blowing kisses into closed fists waiting for a camera to catch them in the act.
fishbowl eyes, cheeks sinking, lungs filling,everything pouring into me, filling myself with everything around me, safely living inside everyone i meet. destroying them in such a timely manner, because being a part of my life has been described as the act of swallowing a diamond ring. all i want is to go to sleep at 8 and stop scrathcing at these phantom limbs that kick and beg for a second chance at living outside of myself. outside of this mythologized world, where chainsmoking and bad credit are glamorous. where i wear fur coats in the summer and cry over how beautiful my hands look underwater. i want to know what i'm told to know and never wonder if there is something more, or if god is the homeless man on the corner. i want to be detetched, get my way without the lovelines that rum in bed brings. i want so much less than what i have created, because no one wants a girl that pukes on your sheets and laughs during sex.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
yes, please, run, if not, in the end i will abuse you. i'll introduce you to heroin then take it away, simply to watch muscles tense while your body shakes.
victimize me before i do something worse to you my golden calf.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
You have to know that River can smell all the states we have been though on my jeans. He was none too pleased that we slept through Massachusetts with no intent to ever actually make it to Boston. Lowell was a nice substitute, but the city was too small and filled with tiny girls dancing at street corners. Feathers, missing teeth, a parade of first place ribbons, and a funeral procession of losers.
I have since washed away any scent of unknown highways, but River sits at my feet and whines about never seeing the place he was born, but I have to wonder, were any of us ever born? What is our connection to life? Certainly it is not a puppy that is wiser than his helpless disposition lets on.
Darling, please hang your clothes to dry outside, i think we both need a scent of familiarity.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
my thought process has become sloppy and vague. i've been stealing pieces of strangers conversations and making them my own, yet as fragmented as i am everything always comes back to one plot. the same story line plays out day after day without interruption. same characters executing each mark perfectly;
Thursday, November 6, 2008
" you dont sleep"
"you dont eat"
"oh god, i'm in a blackout arent i?"
romeo tried to pull apart every beauty mark or shifted glance, his smooth face holding back a gin mouth from calling out every over exaggerated feature i used to get where i wanted to be: drunk on the E train at 2am, making eye contact with foreign men, trying to make it to a bed that would only get me naked and fucked up.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
well i didnt eat it, i fed it to the fucking cat, threw the lentils to the pigeons. i dont want to eat your overcooked shit, it tastes almost as bad as your come in my mouth.
this is it, our terrible drunken goodbye sex, only instead of standing over you, naked as winter, scared of being seen at a bad angle, i'm laughing at how mad you get every time i interrupt to ask for another glass of vodka
what? you dont like a drunk easy girl, laid out across the boulevard? oh i think you do.
NOW... about that scarf, are you planning on getting it back? i never wanted this shitty dinner anyway, just like i never wanted to wakeup in the same bed as you for more than one night, or how i never wanted to watch your mouth form the lines and spaces that you forgot to fill with anything but p's and q's and fuck you's. No, i'm not saying this out of jealousy, i'm just reassuring myself that seeing your lips move in an empty fashion is just as bad as feeling them brush against my legs. Clumsy, Clumsy, wheres my shirt? how do i know which girl i am? Monday, Tuesday? Oh where the fuck is that calendar, you know..that calendar? I need to know which day is best for making up better reasons why i should control all of my judgments, and watch you pull my hair across your eyes when the lights come on. How long have i been in this same room? Three four five months?
i shouldn't complain, i mean the sex was always good, mostly..sometimes..well, whatever
Can you remember when i was plowing through streets, a quarter of the bottled down, half naked barefoot and drunk, wild and dangerous. I never caught up with whatever i was chasing, so like a dog in heat i ran circles around you instead. You took me home and undressed me, i never felt as cheap as i did when you didn't even touch me, just put me to bed, wokeup the next morning and smiled. " I'll see you later this week."
you are a lazy liar. you wont. you'll be seeing some other girl spread her legs while you ready your lips to fuck with her expectations.
"Theres alot of dead birds around your place this time of year."
" You are one interesting girl, an exotic bird."
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
remembered someone new
filtered my spit and drank the rest
oh what a battered city i've ridden into the mountains,where no one croons like the homeless do
settled in nicely to an anonymous life where i went to government parties dressed as a scarecrow, where i danced in circles around the politicians wives , drunk off every slack jawed male. i met you there, you, with your leather coat and nine-to-five complexion.
i gave you all my devils, took on a new vice, held hands with city hall, and fell into you harder than my mind wanted to allow
you there, my wild face, all framed with unclear intentions
fingers all painted black drifting over our clean sheets, patterned domino's drawing the curve of your face on my pillowcase
i fell asleep with my lips pressed to your ink outline
closed my eyes, tiny broken bulbs,because every time i opened them i saw everyone inside out, there was a woman with a doll house for a heart standing in place of my reflection
i woke up inside out and read in the news that you fell five stories without bending your smile, took a cab home and got stabbed over five bucks and an expired train ticket
i missed you last night at the governors ball, turned my eyelids out and faked a frown, because since you first wrapped that leather coat around me , i've been known as the prettiest girl in town.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Monday, October 6, 2008
a pale decay at the corner of our bed, three broken ribs under my pillow
your breathing sounds like dragging feet across the brooklyn bridge
wishbone lockets thrown ontop of the radiator, the burning marrow soaked in cat piss
flecks of your curiousity trapped inside of me, a snowglobe of unconcieved children
still i'm here, spread out across the floor, a bear skin rug, too bare to trap the mud from your shoes, parchment fingers too curled to pick the secrets from your laundry.
that snowglobe turned to a woodenstove, sorting through each object you left behind. burnt hair and candle wax. you cant have the part of us that grows on the walls of my chimney stack. theres no us, only me, scraping away at my internal tombs tangled corridors. how are innocent people formed from the vile acts of spite and liquor soaked nights at such young moments? apple cores got planted instead of seeds, and this whole rotten city was birthed in return, is it the same with dogs or birds or children?
on the count of three darling we fall out of this together, both waiting on the terrible anomie we'll slide into, only i've never been good with numbers, and i can't say things once over, so lets try six, or twelve or whatever it takes for us to dismantel our rare bodies that hold together in such odd forms.
i'll see you next september, lets make it a regular thing: me forgetting my shoes, you forgetting to pullout.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
i can be the state line ( and i can move it 62 miles north)
i can be your whisky face
i can be your winter sleep
i can be your america
i can be your one drink too many
i can be your morning wood
i can be your 7:39
i can be your broken lense
i can be your painted walls
i can be your columbia
i can be your hollow words
i can be your teeth
i can be your lost keys
i can be your high tide
i can be your tired eyes
i can be your train home
i can be your hide-away
i can be your frostbite
i can be your broken fingers
i can be our new york.
i can hate you for it all, cant i?
Monday, September 22, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
Monday, September 8, 2008
Sunday, September 7, 2008
its little sloppy bones clicking down the stairs
tiny arms pulling closer to his bed
black birds on a broken sill, screaming open up
open your mouth wider so i can crawl out
i cant be your teeth, your jaw, your tongue
this old hole, you call it home
its a snake den collecting dead skin
i've got alot to lose, and a tight face of young flesh
one eyed cat, licking spit from my chest
whiskers dipped in come trailing the length of my side
whisky tits held with inserted finger tips
your a raw saint when i'm on my knees
spilling prayers into my mouth and on the sheets
only theres no god to hear us while we are tasting tongues and teeth
just the children with their mothers in the street staring at every decision i forgot to make
i've got a brain full of liquor and i'm moving slow
theres no god, only a one eyed cats tiny paws tangled in my hair
i'm wearing his calico tail like a halo tonight.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
her mother would have the once winter white carpet of her 8th floor apartment on the south side of the trump towers repaired by a man that didnt know how to properly use tenses.
Past is present and present is past to him
Which is funny because isnt that how it is for the dead?
the little girls fingers would remain dirty, and stray hairs from her deceased dog would stick to her lollipop stained palms. a shrine to her missing friend.
she would grow up and fall in love with a massochist
they would fuck and scream and she would gag him and smile at the sound of him losing consciousness as she wraps her scarf tighter around his neck
he would beg for her to stop, but she would touch herself as he clawed for air
when she finished she would unwarp the scarf, while making him lick her raisined fingers
freudian doctors would love her
in fact, her masochist would be one
i looked at the little girl on the street harder as she twirled her balloon sring around her fingers until the tips turned blue
and thought to myself
maybe its better for children to not have pets
they wont have to learn about loss so early in life
in that case
we would all be so normal
and these days
who doesnt want to be sodomized by a girl that killed her dog?