Tagged: pain

ROSY

i don’t care
if you want to die now
die then,
so much less
sadistic then just
pretending to
live

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UNHINGED 

spit them out, these wasted days and wet-green nights rising up from your esophagus to greet against anyone’s will your
lovers and your sisters and your friends and your parents make them
worry for you but never too much just enough to catch a whiff of the smoldering
human brains on stone tiled floors where
the
cold gets in so easy feel it creeping up the carnage contaminated by the time
it grabs your feet and legs to drag you under
i’m okay, i’m okay — you’re shoveling shouting reaching out to grab hold of whatever’s in reach
creamy rose pink with green sparkles dribbles thick makes you feel
safe watching feel the grip slip this is how we
fight our wars with pink with glitter with ooze like
crying all that bile from your eyes the sticky
worms running playground drills up and down your throat
red rover, red rover, why don’t you come over?
red used to scare you always creeping in or up
more often out
that drip drip down your shaking knees that
seeping out the gashes in your stomach like a watermelon past its prime now just remember– don’t eat the seeds, you can’t afford for anything to grow inside you, and neither can the anything– that environment is uninhabitable
for living things

MISTS

you are
nobody
you are
nothing
you are the
absence
of bodies
and things

you are gone
from my skin
like a mist
or a phantom
you rose out
left some stains
nothing more

the clouds are red-black
and the wind
cools me down
i haven’t felt
the wind
in ages

(2/2)

I cried for you in the kitchen last night
before I remembered
I live alone,
just like I wanted.

SAYONARA YOU LITTLE BITCH (1/2)

in the summer you said you didn’t want to be
another one of my guys that I write about
so let me keep this brief:
you have a horse mouth (neigh!)
and horrendous taste in music
you are small
yet the biggest coward I have ever known.
I could mention your pecs (I admit
they were nice)
or the way your half-assed chimney beard just
didn’t sit right on that horsey face (though
sitting on it was just fine)
or that awful tattoo you got when you gave up
all your dignity as a person (I guess)
but all that just makes for shit poetry.

actually though
just in general
you as a man, you make for shit poetry
not because you’re short or weird-looking or because you think it’s hot to shave
your entire body
“para que se ven mejor los músculos”
but because you’re boring and you just kind of
suck ass

oh
speaking of sucking ass:
you fucking gave me hemorroids with your mouth before I left
(one last gift, he said —
enjoy)

I will remember you always

especially for that

WE STARTED AT DAYBREAK 

three girls who couldn’t be alone: some dirty seething tracks in our family line that crumpled us and hooked us on the backs of conquerers for survival. you say I am a free woman but you wonder when the husband’s coming (as we know those tend to wait just around the corner.) the free woman now in the family and finally I have eyes to see, a life spent hiding my head (despite its size) between the thighs of creature comforts to distract from the very illness of just waking. you say I’m independent but depending can keep a person breathing for a while longer if the tank’s still got juice and the tracks don’t run too deep. only me to rely on: a bottle of iodine and a whole lot of gauze to get me through another night as creature comforts just don’t cut it anymore. time better spent on a threadbare single mattress with a hand in your pants and a distant memory of central heating. look out there, see those mountains? men go trekking there alone and do it fine and well. I’d go but it’s too risky for a woman alone so I’ll just keep to this mattress and cooking for one and wearing my underwear inside out because laundry can’t be done for another two weeks (shower wash on a dime with your feet while standing and hang-dry on a flammable heater.) even the best of laundry machines don’t always get the job done, you can’t erase a bleach stain or pretend you weren’t bleeding. the iron stays with you and so do the scars.