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King of Pentacles
You judge yourself by the weight
Of failures you’re still trying to fix,
Like rebuilding bridges from ash
And trying to walk across;
You wonder why you fall.
You want to be Midas,
Reminding me how little you know
About real wants, real desires.
Coins rain down on you like hail
And I marvel at your two sides:
You live in a castle in the sky,
With a crown of thorns
You won’t remove.
The wicked bits of us— the warped, the wrong—
we wish to feel her break. Lord, how we long
to help her harvest all the lust she’s sown;
to crush her bird-bone frame beneath our own;
To pound her pretty pelvic bones to dust
and hear her scream hitch at each reaming thrust;
to force our straining mass deep to her core
and hear her hoarsely begging us for more.
We pity her naïveté; her lot,
so willingly cast down with us to rot,
to writhe forever, wrapped in daemon fire
for no less great an evil than desire.
Still yet, our pity wanes as she begins to weep,
For Hell hath ne’er housed such company to keep.
it’s been 2 years
and 13 hours since you died.
i would like to believe i’m okay without you.
but then i stop caring about school randomly,
giving up without looking back.
i fuck the guys who are not you,
and give them your features even though
they wear them like baggy jeans, sagging too low.
i desperately want to move on,
and i can sometimes fake it,
almost as well as i can fake ecstasy.
i have started to fuck the guys and see them for them,
not who i want them to be.
but i’m still sleeping without emotion,
pretending to be in love.
maybe we only get one love per life.
maybe when death hits our life,
it steals a part of us to get a taste
until it can take us away for good, too.
maybe…or maybe i just want something to explain
why i’m still empty
and why i’m pining over guys
that i want to be you.
someday i’ll wake up.
How true can a young love be
The body isn’t grown
The mind isn’t ready
Young and eager
Pathetic and needy
The chemicals we can’t control
Move the things we can
How good can a young love
It’s poison on the mind
It’s hell on the body
Can’t I just move along
But what a shame
I had to see
How good a young love,
Could really be
The Good Stuff & The Trash
Or “What we believe if we continue to believe what we believed when we were in school.”
You are the good stuff
The sticky chocolate candy coveted
I am the wrapper
The shiny thing that catches the eye
With all the slick words and images
You are the nougat and the peanuts
I am the trash.
My moment with you reminds me of the zoo
Melodious is the excrement that spews
so effortlessly from the orifice
centered on your face, that
thing you call a mouth
moves a mile a minute
filling the space between us.
So much so it’s becoming
unbearable to be so close to you,
I’m reminded of the horrors I once
saw firsthand as a child,
and this, well this diminutive
appendage you use to speak
with reminds me
of the horror I witnessed
so long ago, I was at the zoo
for the first time and saw the back
end of a bear spew out as much
crap in three minutes
as you have in twenty seconds.
Never shall this moment be repeated
so if you’ll excuse me I need
to extricate myself from here immediately.
I dreamed I went to an art shop and bought a piece named “Lawrence 1930”. “Lawrence 1930” consisted in a tall, blond, bearded man wearing a long blue coat and an unusual blue hat. He followed me everywhere I went and did everything I told him, except leaving me alone or going away. He could only speak English. I went to watch a movie and Lawrence 1930 obviously came with me. The movie showed scenes of Lawrence 1930 doing very strange things in a completely white room. Everyone got upset after a few minutes and left the theater, except for me and Lawrence 1930. He was annoying at times, but a rather pleasant companion.
After this I dreamed one of my cats was in my room, trying to grab a book from my shelf. The cat then fell on the ground in a absurdly ridiculous way.
Between You and Me.
“Is your name spelled with one n or two?”
We collided while climbing the
stairs at the same
“Do you want one of my beers?”
Two chairs turned to face
each other, your hands on your
thighs, fingers tapping.
“Do you want to sleep out here, or in my room?”
The first kiss, your tongue was
curious, and your breath was
“Did you know William S. Burroughs shot his wife
while playing William Tell?”
We are walking into a restaurant and
you accidentally kicked my shin
when we sat down.
“Can I fuck you here?”
We were wet and the hot water was
running out and you came without
telling me first.
“Just calm down, I love you, okay?”
Taxis passed and the rain slapped
your face and I wanted to run
but I held your hand instead.
“I wish you’d stop acting so fucking crazy.”
I ripped every shirt off every hanger and
left the front door wide open when
“I’d give anything for you to come back.”
I came back I came back I came back and
nothing changed at all except your hands
on me were never so soft.
Wobbly knees and shaking hands
and a smirk or two in
“Do you like Brand New?”
I sipped on your cheap beer
and wondered what color
your eyes were exactly.
“Give me some blanket.”
I did not sleep that entire night
because I was afraid of closing my
“Did you know Sylvia Plath killed herself with her
children asleep in the next room?”
You didn’t order anything and picked
all of the fries off of my
“Why didn’t you say something?”
You paid for the morning after pill
but I had to catch three buses
to get it.
“What did you say?”
I should have said I love you I love you
I love you and I should have kept
“I wish you actually gave a fuck about me.”
I know where I went that night and I
know what I did and I don’t know
if I’d change it if I could.
“If I leave this time, I can’t come back.”
There are 842 miles between us
but the distance is not what
keeps us apart.
To my future lover
I’m sure you’re sitting in your room
watching Netflix in your underwear.
I’d like to think you’re writing
poetry about me,
but I doubt that is the case.
I just have to warn you —
I am a mess.
I wear oversized t-shirts
far too often.
I am very clumsy.
I snort when I laugh.
I don’t like to go out a lot.
I will pick out my
flaws from time to time
and say how much I hate them.
I will ravage you with passion
and some days I will be indifferent
I am fire.
I will hold my rights above
my head with dignity.
I will be equal to you,
whether you are a man
or a woman.
I will treat you respectfully.
I will try to run away.
I will pull away as hard as I can.
I will try to rip you from me
like a bandaid.
Do not let me get away.
Also, I am sitting in my underwear
and writing poetry
High School Didn't Prepare Me for This
Will you miss me
when I leave?
Will you toss and
turn in your sleep?
In your dreams,
you’ll say everything
you were too shy to say,
and in mine,
I fear you’ll push
I wanted to fall in love,
but I fell into confusion,
and you can’t be a winner
when all you know is losing.
Please remind yourself
to keep in touch,
we were supposed
to fall in love.
(Come on, babe,
Somewhere in the flowers,
In the meadow I trampled
And left behind like
Yesterday’s abandoned tomorrow,
Soon to harvest the sun’s aching
Presence, the burning upon our flesh.
I find you behind the walls,
Scratching just beneath the surface.
I find you beneath my skin,
Scratching just beneath the surface.
I find you beneath the floorboards,
Scratching just beneath the surface.
I find you in my heart,
Dead and gone as its chambers.
I find you in my heart—