jeweled-miko

spider web wounds of vinegar and arsenic tears this backseat stench is the taste of your knees and hysteria is mute and silent as limestone screams that will eventually wear away with your rolodex memory. hold hard to your anger, child (heart, stone ; heart, stone) death is not a pretty sight and you will never die with dignity the body gives up as the soul shuts down.

Run your fingers up her spine, that’ll work. Always has. What weirdo does that? Runs fingers up spines. Like doctor’s hands, cold and clammy and creepy. And their stethoscopes, and the look in her eyes when you whisper “what would you do to live?” Of course, she’d do anything. It could be just a flu. “Luke…are you thinking again?” I look up. He says it so quickly, like a slur. Joshua, Joshua, he hates that name. I can feel the edges of my eyes fazing out, making his face a dreamscape. “Are you seriously thinking, man? It’s porn. There’s nothing to think about here,” he continue

I think we're addicts to disaster we return to the places that depress and nothing grows fast enough I guess I meant to just drive somewhere but I hit the curve too close and she hit the seat too hard and the delicate tendrils that encased her cerebral were snapped, even with the support and I am sorry, really though not truly because she kept her secrets to her grave even through the voices that those monster tentacles rode along and she always said she would take them no matter what so in a way I was just giving her what she wanted.

I lose my lines At night, when the tired can takeover Hostile parking spots are filled with cars And there's a woman crying next to me Her acrylic nails are clenching the steering wheel Patent leather loosened with tears Steal the town, these heels bar your heart in This parking garage is a prison This is someone's daughter Tap, tap, tap on the window And smears are glancing up And flying hands are performing their act There's a story already formed on Ruby red lips and tears are still slipping out Cause her voice can't manage anything But an echo 'this feels like suicide' I yell to the window and see her eyes slide Down her

My eyes could be cameras pausing and sharpening, blurring and editing And if my pupils were focus buttons my memories would be false but they couldn't forget you If my irises were only black and white or sepia or old aged I could look from the inside out My mind would be a dark room pinned with snapshots of nothing in deep reds, draconian devils in hiding, hanging from high strings If my eyelids were shutters they would hide my ticking inner workings like bombs and truth and beauty and deserted park benches their weeping trees and sallow grasses fields with pretty Eve's and Mona's staring into other cameras as lovely as eden'

I see you as See through, flimsy Veins that extend into telephone poles From nothing to nowhere And non existent hydro worlds Water slides and birds never Appealed anything to you Spindle-like-spider-spires Weaved their way into your connectors Surging into your mainframe membrane Like I never could And like you never wished I would, With my chained wrists and Swallowed key, a Houdini feat, you tugged At strings tying us, but you popped arteries Without remorse, I couldn't save you Words jumbled onto pages like light-years In your minds juxtapose, You always were ahead of us But we never knew by how much We never knew yo

'Production is slow,' the boss says, telephones, faxes and street signs, dangling from her ears. She is a robot, from which binary and wires sprout, spewing from her computer frame, tangled. She's empty, a ghost in the machine, 'Production is slow,' she repeats, 'because we lost flesh, blood and bone.' 'Our marrow has been drained,' she continues 'and replaced with eco-enviro friendly, enhanced quicksilver, now q-w-i-k-s-y-l-v-r' (she spells), she growls we have no use for vowels. 'We're falling out of reach,' she points to her head 'yesterday is a wrinkle on my forehead' nodding like a shock patient 'Frankly' (eyebrows i

I have a habit: on Mondays I dress to his eyes and her slacks. I break, and routine sags losing its rush, and Tuesday no longer matches his skin tone (I've messed up, again). Her jewelry sparkles  longer,     brighter,     faster Wednesday speeds by with no chance. Thursday's makeup (so made up) compliments his and her matching checks, buttons and boules and baubles of bubbly demeanor. Friday doesn't have a clue, her shoes are uncomparable to flats that catch strident beams of sun in his hair. Saturday is lost, (neutrals are in) and Sunday tries all over again, Her weeks shine louder in grey (and, mud brown, she points

I never meant it when I said ' I love you, come back I need you. ' it was all a test. I just wanted to see if you would. but I'd still kiss you for every time  you scribbled me   lousy-napkin poetry. and said you loved me like a lime flavoured lollipop, and in the rain on dates, and left me alone.

My eyes are not blue enough, My hair is not blonde enough, My cheeks are not blushed enough, Less like reddened cherries than peaches in a wicked basket and alabaster skin. My eyes are pot holes, I hide when you change and peer in on my shifting altitudes, your slumber fills my heart like concrete in crevices. You're my striped umbrella, leaning over a leaky rooftop as the winds gust to change how you fell, and you remind me of split lips and stitches, and how much I miss collecting dusted heartbreak. I wear my eyes like a mask, to make you think, this is how I see you, to remind you, without you, I'm just blue, blonde, and