.

.

leave my babies

to bleed,

leave them to

drown in the

river without

me.

.

.

.

Stealing your Pencil

.

I stole your pencil,

haha, I laughed at you when

you kept persisting even

though you have a girlfriend,

I contemplated licking your

ear, and singing sweet

melodies about love, happiness,

and monogamy,

but then I stopped.

You fell out of lust long

before I did.

I refuse to sing alone.

.

.

.

An Epiphany of Revelations

.

1. The boy

.

I have lost you again-

wrinkled shirt/dirty blonde

with more luggage than

Liz Taylor,

more than Doris Duke

after leaving Hawaii,

leaving her dead baby out in the sea

to be water logged,

drowned,

water invading nostrils,

bedraggled and violently twisted

about in tangles of seaweed,

sauteed like salad in the waves

to never return.

.

.

2. The mother

.

She grins with green teeth

chattering it up, crunching to

bits like little tacks,

posting your worries,

posting your history

of tastes and smells

(his smells)

where you are afraid

you see the police tape:

"Do not cross this barrier."

So of course you do,

seeing dead bodies, tattered limbs strewn

across the lawn,

a head here and there,

but no tongues.

They are always silent.

.

.

3. The vision

.

You lie,

you lie more than the history books

and the infomercials,

selling their fictitious names

and fake cruises

.

so you start to believe them

over the pen

and the birthday present

.

until numbers consume you,

barrelling out of your mouth faster

than a chocolate bar goes in,

and decide,

for once, you will willingly be degraded,

bookmarks falling out of the pages

(attempting to escape reality)

and seeing rain,

for the first time

wondering what it's all about.

.

.

engulfing you

.

i need a new boy

a new flame

to run rampant

within me

ripping out of my body

with such force

only i can

blink

at the beauty i

have just witnessed

wanting to run

my hands up your back

engulfing you

testing you

seeing you with only

newness and joy

feeling your

touch like it’s the

only thing i’ll

ever need

and never

have to worry

about your passion

or you

walking away.

.

.

structured

silence