poem: i broke the skin but it didn’t hurt (everything is a disappointment)

she was in her room and the moon was hung capriciously outside and she was sitting on the heater, her legs curled inside herself; she was crying and she wanted to pull her veins out of her too-thin wrists and eat them, letting the wires tangle in her throat—like her emotions used to tangle in… Continue reading poem: i broke the skin but it didn’t hurt (everything is a disappointment)

poem: suicide is metaphor

she is leaning out the window, considering— the view. she cannot hang here forever, she will either step away and keep the sky a separate god or she will lean into the inevitable, her fingers splitting in the air her head smashing into damp pieces. her skull is a throbbing lump hanging on a broken… Continue reading poem: suicide is metaphor

poem: even the angels are damned

it is four o'clock: we are fucking in my head. it is eleven-thirty: you have left the room, the lights are off. you did not talk to me, you smiled with an odd, dripping darkness; I am ripped down my inner thigh the pooling coming faster, I put my hand inside myself and I become… Continue reading poem: even the angels are damned

poem: girls alone go mad

keep him as an unknown, do not soil him: he is nothing yet, he is just shy; the infinity of possibility in glass lights, in small smiles. do not drain him out, or make him (yet another) overly-constructed fiction living in the city of the dead, whores cheering for rat fights and love sold like… Continue reading poem: girls alone go mad