screaming at low volumes
What shall become of the empty seconds of waiting? Those moments your name sits foolishly on my lips, when forests turn to desert, and spring finds the Tundra waiting for the moment to spill secrets into eternity, what shall become? How shall we see in the hours between the fantasies? Those moments the visions dance … Read morein between them
she wore panties that pretended disinterest, while i just pretended disinterest. we sat across from each other as I undressed her: your shoes, please, if you will. and now socks, tiny as they are. the pants, the shirt, the bra; but I couldn’t take the panties off. My imagination was not built for such delicate … Read morePretending Disinterest
The innocence of life is stained grey it’s painted over with putrid green Dark … from 3rd grade in wooden chairs where your back hurts hurts bad, and you’re kind of hungry there when the sun comes up to display just how little has changed you can see boys become tyrants but those tyrants who’ve … Read morelittle tyrants
I’ll probably never be just the thing you need as has been told to me on numerous occasions. Two joints of escape and a white collar rape make a practical day in a life of abrasions L’enfant Plaza @ Six is an unhealthy mix of the raped needing a fix of love’s persuasions
The wretched filth of loneliness legs elongated into desire Every toe is perfectly painted, Monet, Picasso, so blue in pink the defenses so trifling Just don’t speak Please, don’t open your mouth Rhinestone hearts, plastic souls, A tongue so foul fermented in comparisons.
What I learned about love from my dog was simple. Just love, and if it stops, cower in the corner until the door opens.
That fucked up smileis the same asMarnie’sat the 8th gradeend-of-the-yearschool dance.I fell in lovewith her courage -in a short skirton my lap,she was genius.
if I could,i’d join throngsof Little Hitlersdiscussing thepossibilitiesof a pointlessbut still meaningfulexistence.
should i not live the resistance of prose or believe in the salvation of Parisian Orgies? Shall we not mute our minds’ deafening shrieking drilling into the hearts of men lost to the teeth of hell hounds, with all things that can mute such treasures? should i not rejoice in the rejection of sanity that … Read morehow shall
fuck. shit. fuck shit. it’s come again. nagging voices, uncertainty, doubt masquerading as sadness. it comes in rays of sunshine through slatted blinds and soft tendrils of hair left on my pillows to be stared at like a 2 headed cat. You can’t keep everyone from knowing just how much you can’t hide from yourself … Read morefuck shit