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taurus never loveshoroscope for february eighteenth, two-thousand-fourteen:
find your muse and kill her.
and then kill the parts of yourself
that remind you of her.
arrange her bones into a bouquet and
put that in a vase and send it to her mother
with an apology:
sorry, i loved your daughter for my art.
and then cut yourself open
and slather yourself all over the walls
and write i loved myself for my art
hang,i buried your bones
beneath the bristle, threw your
mother's ashes over my shoulder
and hung myself in the
on your lips
on your breath.
you taste like
sirens and scurvy.
(don't love her, please)
to seafoam, you
(you're enough for me)
honeycombyou're buzzing fast
queenbee, gnawing on
cadavers with bouquets
jutting off their bones
(an apology from you:
sorry i'm too high to
petals from your
teeth and laughing
i'm sorry you're too
high to care.)
borderline personality disorderi've never been good at making goals or keeping goals.
i was built with impulsive bones, writhing around inside me,
jutting out at angles. i'm phases and faces, constantly changing.
i am a chameleon, mother raised me to blend to a certain shade,
to lighten my tint and darken my chroma. i am many different gradations and hues. i am stumbling along the roadside with a obituary in my back pocket, titled 'the girl who was everybody and nobody at all.'
who will you miss, all of me or none of me?
i am sybil, i am borderline.
mostly, i'm just sorry.
psychopathologyyou're another rorschach test, another issue i cannot fathom. you're another relapse. and i want to trace scars into you. i want to strip you of your skin.
creationismgod is an amoeba;
and we're all just living
through the great universal cloaca
some things you have to figure out yourselfsleep is creeping past
two holes in heavy eyes
rips my mind from my thoughts,
the muddy rib from my side
you in the aisle of wal-mart
writing Jesus under
pretense of a hallmark card
"what's a stone without a sinner,
a sin without a stoner?"
question: which is worse-
the need or the donor?
because we, unequivocally,
have excelled at ripping all
of the fruit from all of the
trees. your eyes are open,
they are viewing, but they
do not see
and do you see
what i mean? do you
even see me
a snip, a crush, two sniffs-
i need you, i need this
you are beautiful and i am hungry,
but i can't take what you won't give.
(the need and the donor)
which is worse:
the deliberate lie or the Judas kiss?
i am starting to understand
that i can't have
i love you, standing strong and
standing tall, but how much
do i love you if i
curse you when you
we have been conquerors of everything,
and keepers of nothing.
carnival ridesJesus came from smoke & moonshine
so whenever i blow out candles,
i write God a grocery list and
set fire to wax in the back of a church
with waning moons for parishioners.
faith comes and goes like carousels,
so i guess that means that i can count on clowns
but i can't count on light.
crack your glow sticks upon our congregation
like rainfall amidst the baptized first.
i spend more time in bed with myself
than i do whispering secrets into the
onion paper of Bible pages.
i vandalize hymn books with my favorite lines of poetry.
i never bothered to ask God if he was okay with this,
i've just always been apt at assuming too much.
maybe, when my father's language unfurls like a Persian rug,
i will relearn the taste of cotton candy & confection sugar.
i will build monuments for my convictions
to make up for all those times i just faked it.
maybe, like a holy convict, i will shackle myself
to good deeds that do not self-fulfill but, instead,
teach every lesson i
to the girl with hungry footstepsI'm sending all my words back
to the people who need them--
people who wear scars like
war trophies, like jewelry, like
an identification for those suffering
from the same acceptance of
self-hate. this is to the people
who sleep with one eye open, who
cry when footsteps enter their room
at night; this is to the girls
who love by cutting their hearts
into snowflakes and watching
them melt. I left you behind and
I can't be sorry for that.
you are the type of beautiful
that kindly asks the world
to fuck off. the days we buried
have decomposed, headstones are
snapshots; sanitized breakdowns,
rusty tongues, sighs laced
with fear, I love you, I love
you. saturdays were the best
because we could sleep through
the nightmare. you painted me a
picture of the world with your words
and they made us wash it away
for being transparent.
we were afraid of nothing
but the monsters in our eyelids.
back then, we counted days
like shooting stars; it took 67
to wish myself away. this
is for you, skygazer;
Blue DreamI discovered a man
who makes me feel incomparable
the same way Columbus discovered America:
he existed beforehand and was probably better off
without a directionally challenged sociopath,
no matter what those Thanksgiving crafts
peddle to Neoamerican children.
Regardless, his persistence
withstood my apathetic exterior,
and I like his music even if I don't say it,
"You're okay," translates to something meaningful,
"Pretty great," says exceptional, "I'm really senstive,"
adresses that he knows what he's doing
with his tongue, his lips, his cock,
and ten competent fingers,
but now I'm making excuses. I have a big nose,
countable ribs, narrow hips, an ass like a sheet of drywall,
a shipful of charisma, countless manipulations,
social ineptness, political anxiety,
and over a thousand pages
of writing, which,
for the record,
in case he doesn't get it:
that's a lot of emotional bullshit,
and about half of it is melodramatic, petty,
unsubstantiated stories about my life
Lit Contest: The More Things Change...the more they stay the same.
Iiiiit's contest time! All original literature welcome.
This is a speculative fiction contest—the technology requirement could cover steampunk, 'John Carter,' 'The Windup Girl,' 'Watchmen,' '2001: A Space Odyssey' or about anything else you can think of. The one thing that isn't permissible is magic.
That was a joke.
Your story must center around the development of a relationship between two entities.
Some things to consider:What kind of relationship is it? (No, "relationship" doesn't have to mean "romance.")Who/what is it between?Is the development positive/negative?
The relationship must be noticeably changed at the end.Distance/death don't count if they're still besties or whatever.I don't mean changed personalities. I mean a changed relationship.
Plausible but (currently) nonexistent technology must be integral to the development of this relationship.Time travel goes forward.Nothing goes faster than light, a
you should be home by nowlast tuesday the house took my hand & said,
it's more of a hurricane than a fire
since he broke in & burned
but sometimes I see her with a lighter
& she finishes what he didn't do
(I think she's afraid
of settling in,
but last tuesday I realized that she kept the lights on
to frighten away the bridges & the people
so no one will come inside
& smash the teacups, steal the pipes
because since he burnt her beds out
no one lives there anymore
Schrodinger's Cat is Stoned in my Bedside Draweri pack jesus' bong with some grandaddypurple and slip myself into heaven through the cloud-cracks in a bad acid trip. i climax in my bedroom by watching the peaks of static on the lcd screen and i tell jesus, "fuck man it's talking to me."
and jesus shrugs it off with a, honey you're just gone right now get outside of your head. i think the strings of your chemical make-up are vibrating too lickety-split for you, you're too connected to the other world right now, baby, come back come back.
if i'm dead for nothing then i'm alive for something.
if i'm high for nothing i'm high for something.
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