earth an·gel

/ərTH ˈānjəl/


  1. I threw myself into the void, but the void placed me gently back on shore and said darling you will be remembered, not for who you are, but you failed to be. So, I told the void fuck off and dived right back in, these seawater lungs gulping down lifeblood, this is a stinging baptismal rebirth.
  2. I wake up to fluorescent lights in the hospital, and  desperately rip out needles they injected in me, devil tendrils pulsing in life I do not want. Ten hands hold me down, and I scream this is my last rite, the doctor says that is a classic case of delusions of grandeur to the scared interns and there is a prick on my neck and everything goes dark.
  3. The galaxy is eating me, and this non-oxygenated blood circles in my lungs, making my heart and everything so devastatingly blue blue blue, I am so daringly mortal, in my self-destructive tendencies, that these veins can’t take any more pinprick points before they burst. The galaxy whispers this is how a junkie looks, this is how an angel self-destructs. 
  4. I claw my way out of my own lungs, in a different world, my hospital gown hangs off me as my back bends and breaks, I rise to the ceiling and levitate, the doctor says that is a classic case of demonic possession to the scared interns, my head spins 360, my spine cracks and bees erupt from my mouth I am not a classic case, I am the original Lilith, my serpent tongue speaks. The nurse checks off unknown species on my chart and continues on. 
  5. Gabriel draws me up from the water, and I can swear, he reminds me of someone I know are you Hermes? He smiles in another life some knew me by that name.  In that moment I remember, and I know he is not taking me somewhere I want to be so I rip myself from his grasp, leaving twin bruises on my arms, in another world I was Icarus and the sun was my beloved, but in this one I made my vows with the ocean abyss. Where are you going? He calls after my plummeting body, home home home. 
  6. Is your home not heaven? the sky asks as I descend through it. In another world maybe, but it never truly was. 
  7. I hit the earth hard, dazed and mouth full of soil, I think this is home. With its glided mortality, and chocolate chunk brownie ice-cream. With its blood-soaked kisses, and barbed wire love,with its sunshine lungs and radiation smiles, in its imperfections, this is home in the way the ocean stings against my cut wrists, this is home in the way I have bled for it, this is home in the way it gave me shelter when my wings were gone. This is home in the way it embraced me when all I  had was a cage on my back. Welcome back it says, welcome back. 
  8. Who have you become, the void whispers, she stops and corrects herself what have you become? All I know is that these veins are no longer glowing, that this halo is broken and gone, that these wings cannot fly no longer, all I know is that this earth is my cradle, my mother, my grave. All I know is that I am stronger than ever before. I tell the void fuck off. 
  9. I am no longer what I was before.

There is a galaxy inside of me,
a thousand years it has grown.
I am it’s temple, it’s goddess, it’s only home.

Stardust lines the inside of my veins,
organic matter thriving and pulsing to
the beat of a heavenly heart.
Odes to seraphim who spit winged verses,
whose lofty white winds descend unto scorned eyes.
sand burning them holy water blind.

The earth is dry here,
it’s cracked spiderweb across deserts,
dewdrops clinging to it’s hydrophobic skin,
oozing blood between rifts of the land.

There is no love in these trenches,
only arid death, bruises,
constellations metastasizing between skin.

Bone mountains rise like empty ribcages,
from fog-laden abyss, nails like a scepter.
Gems embedded in breastbone
rusty, cracked rubies.

Cuticles destroyed,
uplifted as if by silent giants,
viscera beneath rounded opals.

Knees knocked together in silent prayer,
spine bent like an over-used bible.
Edges crackling with electricity,
zinging between neurons with the furiously of a thunderstorm.

The air is static,
the air is still and silent, waiting,
held in stale lungs,
waiting for the second to exhale like
unread psalms, for holy books never read, never wrote.

Engrained pebbles in skinned knees,
braille for the burning ones,
whose skin is firestorm.

This planet revolves in it’s own solar system,
lighting celestial fire to all within lightyears.
Inhabitable it screams,
a lowly dying death rattle.

A grip that says you will not forget.
Ivy laden arthritic joints,
eyes as milky blue as the sky yonder.
It groans, an ancient giant that will never rest easy.

It’s saltwater oceans pounding
shores of dead men.
Waves rioting to asteroids
who promised the sea as their beloved.
This is their wedding vow,
and it will be the end of them.
They crumble to ash as they hit the toxic waste atmosphere.

This galaxy girl’s breath
Is cigarette smoke burning a hole in the ozone.
Whiskey laden lungs,
gasping for air
and drowning in drink,
skin, flesh and bones.

This planet is dying,
decaying inside of me for a thousand years.
It rips through my ribcage and says
I am still here, I am a death that will drag you into the void with me,
and it catalyzes supernova.
All that is left is bone dust and star matter.

—  the tragic death of galaxy girl

I would walk across miles of hot coals,
just for one ounce of your pure love.

I would travel galaxies,
walk across the realms above,
just for your hand to hold.

I would fashion Saturn’s ring,
into an engagement.
Let the stars be our witness,
and this immortal infatuation our eternal bond.

I would grow a tiny universe inside of me,
until I glow like the moon.
If my light would captivate your wandering eyes. 

I’d do anything for you
to let your galaxy bleed into mine,
I no longer want to live in a universe of black and white,
But darling, all my color is with you.

I would rip myself apart,
let this unclean blood spill on sacred grounds,
hold myself together with staples and stolen ribcages, 
If it would make me the object of your desire.

I would carve prayers into my ribcage,
rename the space between them Jerusalem,
until I become angel, until I become holy,
If it would make you worship me.

I would swallow supernovas for you,
stitch black holes closed,
make a constellation in your image,
grow a cosmic garden in your stead, 
If it would make you notice me.

I would do fucking anything
if it meant you would write me poems,
like the ones I write about you love.

—  I open my mouth and I tell you to love me, you look at me with those eyes and I know that you can’t 

Bodies move in time to the syncopated beats of the club,
these fluorescent flashing lights,
a little glimpse of heaven and what’s in-between.

We shoot up neon in the bathrooms,
and get holy water drunk until it all goes blind.

Rose thorn tongues, wither in pink petal lips.
honey tongues, burnt coffee lips.
We lie but we can’t keep up in time.

We wither under emancipated rights,
pale bird bone bodies.
Distort the sound, distill the night.

God is beneath my toes tonight,
he is in this white hot flash of light.
I can feel him heavy in the air.

Disco bass thumps intimate to my heavenly heart,
these beats are seraphim wings.

Your skin is a living breathing bible,
I trace psalms in your veins,
your kiss is my communion.

There is LSD in this nectar,
There is divinity in this tea.
There is something in the air of this club tonight,
and it’s eating me up, setting me free.

I wouldn’t mind falling into the abyss
with you here in my arms tonight,
I’ll thrive on one last burning kiss,
it give’s me holy sight,
I’ll love an angel even if it kills me.

In this sweaty hot club,
Michael is the DJ
and Lucifer the bartender.
God is the owner, and
archangels trade bouncer shifts with demons.

Gods reign in skintight leather, cigarettes on their lips,
vodka on their tongues.
They all live mortal free.

—  bright lights, last rites 
We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, “O me! O life!…of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless…of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?” Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?
—  Dead Poets Society 
They’re not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you. Invincible, just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they’re destined for great things, just like many of you, their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable?
—  Robin Williams (Dead Poets Society)
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.
—  ― Henry David Thoreau, Walden: Or, Life in the Woods