arms clenched around your back i grabbed you pulled you back to me and i could imagine breaking you vicious with bruised knuckles which is horrible terrifying for 2 seconds at most and then i released you and your soft skin and you will never know what you had coming if only for a breath.
i will never hurt you as overpowering uncontrollable as this love can be.

involuntarily i pull your chest to my ear listen to the beat i can feel in my thumb wrapped to your arm i think of my limbs impetuous with the veins in your heart ripping through clotting arteries from my jagged self climbing and slipping round your insides tearing at loose ends and tying them in to pretty bows with red velvet ribbon the kind that looks nicer still on satin sheets/the ones i find in your bedroom/the kind that feels like your skin on mine. some strange calm almost like sleeping/i am holding on to every waking moment next to you not to miss a shared beat.

we were bound
tight
by our matching measure
the weight of love
i saw beneath,
loved fool
fully sunk to
every moment
shared
in code.

i couldn't shelter you from the world.

(i tried. i lost).

you offer me
everything,
silent.

the moles on your chest
i'll take
with the blood
blister
under your thumb,
which is mine.

i would injest
your blood, your spit, your cum
have it dance
of infection
under my skin,

which is yours.
under my smile,

which is mine.

she would hold my hand all gentle finding fingers can fold in to each other and some can turn to fists and fight but these things we'll find on the path to come or maybe we'll just find each other, hands clenched to hers/mine, hands weak but ready to run Together.

"why would anyone want to change You" she said.

and i laughed.

and she meant it.

pretty a poem as yet unsung, free to ride the wings of my own creation-and yes pictures seep through the cracks i see some crazy images only i could chase staring through my closed waking eyelids. but at least it's interesting. it's always fucking interesting. and i am not frightened of visioned voices maybe it has something to do with my ability to break dvd players with wandering thoughts maybe i am a gift maybe i am my own God, my own something to believe in.

Happy.

some live in ideas
bouncing around
between mindlines
and printmines
i live by
the feel of a breath
i live by
the sound of a voice.

tori amos hasnt seemed clearer since i was 16 and walking around parks at midnight.

funniest is it should have been me i feel, if the world was as it once was, it would have been him worrying where i was, who i was with- and i would have been distance somewhere with my arms around anyone else, or even my thoughts. instead it was me waiting. it doesnt matter to me that he didnt cheat on me. that doesnt deserve a medal. it doesnt even matter that he says he doesnt like this girl- this girl he has been spending his time in secret wrapped around like a new fur coat, bad from anyone with a heart looking at its soft, deadly warmth. so yes, i create drama. yes i am a jealous person. only i dont feel jealous, not at all. i feel nothing but sad really. i know irrational jealousy hell i know all kinda of jealousy and thats not what this is. this is like it is to be a fool. it is, of course. of course. even if he doesnt like her, or didnt like her, or whatever the hell it is, even just friendship- it is the deceit /ommission is a lie it is to me/ that kills me. why wouldnt you tell your girlfriend you had made a new friend. this friend who you talk in 'wes' with and share tea for two and i sit quiet because theres nothing i can say and i dont feel angry or jealous because it is so lovely for you, this girl, this life, where i dont even get a breath in. and he says hes been going out a lot and so she came along, but i didnt know that. everything is planned carefully on eggshells to present to me, he has a boys night watching the notebook, he goes to brigids party and doesnt speak to me for two days. he works. and thats all i know. never mind the rest, never mind maybe i would be interested. maybe i want to know about his life.
time stops for us from the time he met her. doesnt matter if its just friendship- it didnt change that i felt left, completely, from when he met her. and i didnt even know there was anyone or anything- i just thought it was me. and matthew protesting that i was unfair to demand love from him, or it was in my head. worse was that dark empty stare when he knew i wasnt being out of line in my tears. he didnt say i was being ridiculous. i guess he knew i was right. i just think, what if it was in reverse. or what if i'd in fact met someone, just a friend, but someone overseas and actually oh by the way i spent the whole trip hanging out with them. slipped my mind. guess i slipped from his.
and the day before i came home, with all the horrible things that made my heart crack and falter- and then he called me baby and i wanted to throw up. because matthew has never called me baby.


"I don't believe you're leaving 'cause me and Charles Manson
Like the same ice cream
I think it's that girl
And I think there're pieces of me you've never seen
Maybe she's just pieces of me you've never seen

Well all the world is
All I am
The black of the blackest ocean
And that tear in your hand
All the world is
Danglin'... danglin'... danglin' for me
Darling, you don't know the power that you have
With that tear in your hand
Tear in your hand

....

Caught a ride with the moon
I know I know you well
Well better than I used to
Haze all clouded up my mind in the daze
Of the why it could've never been
So you say and I say
You know you're full of wish
And your 'baby baby baby babies'
I tell you there're pieces of me you've never seen
Maybe she's just pieces of me you've never seen "

tori amos- tear in your hand.

a poem of loneliness and thoughts that haunt...a poem that is not my own...

(totaly not written in my style!! what have i written? but worth a post anyway)


sure,
and I am bored
by my own, struggled
company.

that which/witch
like Screams
shuddered lull-abies

rapping of dotty teeth-rip nails
to air

Very Very
quiet

save that
awful sound track
squatted in yellow to green
infested
cloggy most deaf
more dumb ears

that wolves
would howl to/o.

sleep, i will,
while ghosts make
NOISE
at door handles
and freeze my restful
motion.

a response to my love- stevie smith

A child of words
spitting on flowers,

God, that haven
I longed for
peculiar belief
and absolution


God, that never came
to me in wake-dreams.

So I wouldnt meet
in apology
or redemption

with knife
neatly gripped
to the wash
of any throat
to my reflection.

I would
vanish.

safest
with my head
against your chest
my fingers firmly wrapped
to any curve
i could squeeze
if only i wouldn't run
if only i wouldn't

and i couldn't think of anything, not one thing i would change about him.

and i could picture his list about me. i can see it now rolling out his front door down the street reaching nearly my house (in brisbane haha) only then his pen runs out ink and he cant finish it.

or even one thing. one little tweak to a person is too much.

maybe i will become a better person-or maybe i don't need to be.

i can't love myself properly if people keep wanting this 'me' to be someone else.

and i couldn't and can't think of one fucking thing i would change about him.
----------

my silly little dream i had last night...

thin rake body, grey and scrunched under a table- dark wood, wood that's scratched that's leaving blisters in her back- she's been clawing at her eyes little cuts over little lids. metal frames slabs of not-silver STEEL that dull heavy thud of a material. a new Her, one long arm breaking at every crease and opportunity through each bar swinging this way and that, a leg twists over and through and she'd scream if it didn't feel so right. there's no face there's no body only limbs that curve and crawl THROUGH anyway they can. the breaks seem easy. there are three. the hardest is breathing. the only light is skin and bones (their's/her's/mine). imagine a black out imagine a BANG a THUD a HUGE EMPTY SPACE. and three girls now standing. in this vast. more terrified than ever.
-----

my little mind is fascinating in sleep :)

right up in that gap between -left ear-meets-right ear- waiting is a grimey like-moss substance drip, slip, seeping in sepia tones [more apt than grey more NOTHING less likely to evoke ani di franco lyrics] its a mush to squash to leap out i would like to write i would like to work on a new play i would like to not be scared I AM of failure of being told the amount i could be is limited. come august i will be an out of work writer/actor/hiding in writing so she doesnt fail at acting and THEN WHAT?

drown drown drown drown drown.

why i should stick to whales and bees

SPIDER...an exercise to see if i could write about anything...no...only my worst get put up here now :)

you extend
your grip
by pressure

segmented
to break to feast
to legs that creak.

your abdomen leaks
flooding,
grinding

fusing each part
to one dark mass
of you/r
crawling carrion.

you carry on.

you sprawl
in tangled mess
of your creation

and wait.

the rants of an insane man at a strip club- turned to poetry...

I wrote books,
a thousand million,
fifty,
a lot
about the dream time
(the bad time
bad stories)

i wrote them on
scraps
of what i could
remember

can't hear anything but mindless arguing deep behind my ears this one tells me the best plan was to make short sharp cuts in his face that'd look the nicest maybe split at the seams only the/my voice (the one i call other, the one i pretend isn't really me) didn't tell me to the newspaper monster soaring down from the ceiling in the single bed sized room did. this monster was thin(paper haha) with newspaper clipping hoods over dark eyes dragging paper knives towards me. death by paper cut.

what is going on with me...

my mother doesnt see how far i have come. every day is NOT. a struggle, not lately (not til yesterday/today/this moment bleeds through me acid rising) i need to explain to my mother-
my job gives me the flexibility to focus on my career
my job is not as emotionally draining as sitting in front of a desk
i create a fantasy i DONT sell sex
i have never been happier in a job
i DO Have the power
if i didnt want to do it, i wouldnt- easy as that
i am very supported by my friends at work
we are NOT drug addicts, weak, victims, sluts
i AM a feminist.post or otherwise.

how can i say any of that to her...she wont understand...she only hears stories of sex work she researches in south east asia trafficking my life story as her own so its easier for her to digest "how can you do this to me"

matthew left me...i am not good enough for anyone...

soon i wish i was air borne flying falling free .wish i was a pile of dirty clothes strewn on the pavement from a great height leaking juices from behind my spine and my ears bloodying the street and any idea of me they might have had (wrong).

matthew said i am too concerned with how other people see me, maybe if people would stop seeing me as a work in progress i wouldnt be so caught up in it...

my poems are being kept off the blog so i can send them off as new pieces...expect incoherent ranting instead...

he said: i can smell your juices
i thought about rubbing my fungus behind his eyes
back there i imagine it's all coils and snakes and rubber
one of those real WOOOAHHHH moments and the eyes spring forward right out there, just after some big bossomed bunny rabbit walks by and before a sledge hammer gets him, in that moment i smear yellow globs and he cries thrush on to my sympathetic shoulder.

dont you hear me
scream..........?

the mother of all.

you men are Just
mother-fuckers
drone lovers

i was fed
for sex
made my own cut
like a hinged lid.

but i can sting
endlessly
i sting

child's trumpeting
I AM HERE
i am here to fight
if this is all ive got.

hear my flight
with out
a movement

dont you hear me
scream..........?



----
the saddest thing ive read for a long time.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Queen_bee
poem is totally stolen from all of this.

song of the bees

ive decided i have a new obsession with bees= they're totaly the new birds, but i doubt i could write a play on them/maybe/but i think ill start with some poems and see how i go. the beginning of a poem i cant be bothered working on just yet...

the queen bee says :

my many legs
expand,
spread
black tar and other
sticky shit.

honey in every
lonely hole,
too sweet too sour
the lot of this.

i dont know how
IM FUCKED
but im told
i was born for this.

i was the right size
and every man
the right fit.

-------------------
please note- this is me trying to right with a FAKE character i am NOT writing as myself, though it's easy- im writing from perspective of bee. queen bee as permanent whore and mother, and when i start writing from worker female bees, what it is to never be a mother. devastating world of bees.

my most common criticism- i am just words- came flying back to me last night. how can anyone say i dont mean the if-a-bit-cliched things i say. i am hurt. i am scared.

i thought you understood me so i wouldnt have to try to.

wanting to move past this...

sunny side up...

You trickle through me
around my ankles
chained to you/r nails
or anything sharp
on offer;
your gaze
and remembering
we had agreed on forever.

you stain
this Ever concept
like i saw
red food dye on velvet
picked at it
against my skin
i cried i cried i cried
only the beauty of metal
and not the taste
only dim-lit memories
and fancies, free-like.

that shackled feeling
that we agreed on forever.

--------------------------

i still feel like she owns me.
i want to fly.

WHY CANT I FUCKING WRITE!!!

i dont feel unhappy

therefore with out comparison

i dont feel happy

therefore i dont feel

and have nothing to write.

frustrated with myself with- MAYBE (self reference to my play) maybe when sunny side up is over ill have time for new thoughts.

or maybe it will just be over.

too much art and
the walls are dreaming of peeling
back
to floral wallpaper
lets hope that burn
mark on the roof
is a door to colour
when a fist flies through
its off to a new world of wonderland- i wonder.

watch me
fuck your eyes
lies lies but i do love
it when you love me
this moment
your pockets
empty
YOUrSelf
i fill this time
i run out
of things to say
i stare you down
i run

i need this fantasy as much as you.

i would create fictional characters to write about if i knew any that were just like me.

the art of Plagiarism

i have very little creativity of my own, at least that's near the surface so i did the old faithful collage poem method...cut up words and bits of sentences to create some weird little poems about nothing or everything in my subconscious i guess... begin...


1/
still clowns
synchronised in the corner
a place where they'd been
burnt
--------better than us
i wouldn't have waited around.
they can run, punch, kick, hit and throw.

i found them in a house.

they flew together.

i lost
it
you'll see it
so dirty. i wanna be dirty
get feet in our faces
i like the graceful
you chuck
through a dream world.

until i pass out or
stop. Indefinitely.

2/
i was sick

relax. Don't panic.

-------------------alone
and i wanted
wet dream
so we were covered
after


3/
dance while we drink
i might throw
point my toes too.
It's OK, boys.
No. I'm not a Barbie doll.
control of my gun.
she hates about you!
dainty
-just need more tits
money
get broken
Sex Things
it's a big deal who pays, unless
money is just.
makes it worth it.
But not for all.

MORE old writing circa 2007

crazy crack prose written in 2007 it actually went on for much longer than this but my hand writing stopped making sense and it gets even more confusing and self indulgent...


Dressed in wings and a lace shell, her eye shadow in skin and things,
of trying to erase them. She’s stitched carefully with eyelashes and hair, for holding in boiling with out measure, for holding on. There’s layers for little tears to rip indents in, her and Forever
and decisions take Time.

She chose this
And it’s too hot to hold hands.
tonight
it’s too hot.

She’s clustered on the couch in a Fist and watching sleep disappear with kisses that were Hers and she tries all she dares to exist. The tv is screaming and the floor’s everyone’s but hers. She could own the upstair curtains if the cat wouldn’t insist on breaking them down, leaving a trail of material and fur.

She chose this.
And it’s too hot to hold hands.
It’s too hot.

She broke the glass in the door, just one crack held together with cellotape and she said she slept in the park, but it was safer than her, safer than here. Meaning Forever meant flying knives and waiting for the sharpest to take the both of them.

She always flinched with yelling, she’d never been told love meant always having to say you were sorry. And she liked silent and crying and was used to alone and played wife, even if she couldn’t get the cleaning right. Smoke and diamond mirrors led her easily and soon she cried when touched for it was meaning and rushed her dizzy head in to spins of promises. Music was thrown across the room and she sang riddles in her mind to hide time. She had cried when she heard the groan of the punching bag and fist in the garage and made childish demands to outraged ears. Many steps to take and she couldn’t run fast enough only round and round, begging at feet.

She could see the world and her mind were for worse than walls that shook close and sterns words were Honest and Truth would bind their love. Lies sounded good if she said them out loud but she only knew to write words that hurt, better to not, and to cocoon and soon-later at least she’d re-emerge and they’d be better. Her words only bred crazy and if she didn’t write or think much about much she wouldn’t be.

She pays best she can and buys time with gifts, not enough, never enough and is giving the impression she doesn’t love as good and right because she dreams collages and candle names not shiny toys and shoes for love.

She is lucky to be looked after so well, and is faithful to fear and she never will tell. Even tripping over that darn cat they take photos and laugh at easy bruises and cry for easy forgiveness. Somewhere in bloodshot she wishes her eye would stay like that so she would see. Yet even in fading she can’t forget, just pushes it in to her bubbling digestion and swallows gritty salt, shaky smiles.

She keeps seeing other smiles with sharp teeth and she’s already thrown all her trust in to her red, white and checked basket. Her nightmares of wolves under the bed are in the daylight and she can’t quite bare the wake from dreams comes true.

She lies and likes the way it cans till sound nice when she says she’s looked after and loved and they will marry. Even if she is kept a secret, how long could anyone really keep secrets, she wondered.

No room for leaving: deceit ridden everywhere and not as was thought, even the cat’s unhappy and angry and clawing to get out. Except when they’re alone, the cat and her. Then they hold tight and warm each other.

ENOUGH.

what does it mean to be both a stripper/an object/and a feminist (post or otherwise)? the post mix got delivered to the club across the street even the buildings suffer from some confusion.

man is buying skin is buying sex only i dont have sex to offer MY sex is not for sale only man's sex he buys in to this illusion/allusion to sex he buys his own desires. man is seeing me naked only Darling you will never see me naked you see me dim lit with red lips the both of them you see soft skin and shadows and whiskers. i havent shaved for a few days i figure you dont get to buy my smooth and ive got a bloody tampon shoved up me im splitting at the seams so any minute now i might bleed on to you. bargain, you got this woman real cheap.

apon reading kathy acker

**please note, the use of dots is meant to just be empty space but this stupid website won't allow me to do my fancy thought seperating spacing...
------------------------------

if i can accept
colours
and pretty/ugly...................pretty ugly
shapes
.....................THIS IS IT
i can be free.
[to die.
.to live?
.in an undetermined order]

i wouldn't
i couldn't
make a decision
of what to wear to the funeral
{said in a muted low voice that is not my own}

red is the new black
black is everywhere
im not sure
i have the right shoes
to get around in

i get around alright.

i could break the circle
if i made The Choice

only i wouldn't.
......i couldn't.

i could live a Life
of embrace
desire/
no concequence
leave a trail of myself

they leave me battered too
this battle
each blow i bring apon myself.

alliteration is one of Lifes small pleasures.

i have allowed
my toast to go cold.

it is now
bread with melted
peanut butter
at an earlier time
than mine.

he's perched
on his breakfast log,
minds have been swirling
for an hour
or more.

it must get congested
up there
or it's all in order
as straight lines
or circular roads,
a capital idea. [get it. haha]

i'd like to keep this
image/
always.

quote of the day-
i want the world to stop. i want the world to be sad.

and i do. how can all these people i have never/will never met keep moving keep smiling, how can they laugh so loud [nothing is that funny] how can they not cry for this loss. fuck you sun for making pretty patterns in the clouds that look like a painting of gods and cherubs. i prayed to this God character ive heard of on the off chance i did believe, i prayed. but it is the world, it is the universe, this horrible mess of BALANCE that brings good and poorly placed bad to us all.

thank you stevie smith for reminding me we are all waiting to die- or maybe that's what ive just read in to this EVERYTHING.

i am a cliche on my knees in the rain wrenching out my hair screaming WHY NOT ME.

i am hanging on to every word even if it seems i'm not. it is a struggle, i confess, not to withdraw and find myself enthralled by the walls crawling around me or focus on the pattern in nothing on the ground. there it is blurry and safe and near sleep. i feel myself slip away a little and i remind myself to stay for something very worth while and more wonderful than that strange monster shape i can draw out of the walls.
in matthew life is sweet and colourful and feels like the life i should have been living.

more old poems...circa 2007

You said darling take care
this hood and cape won't protect you long
but you look quite tall in red.

You offered fresh cut flowers
I, drawn to the skeleton trees
growing in the lake.

Off the track
I'd see wolves
in soft wool
unravelling
with a glaring bite
and eyes of night
that catch me
long past bed time,
muddying my riding hood.

------------------------------

I remember. I wanted this
Matchstick
Around. Beautiful
cracking bones and
blister touch,
the fanatically restrained
hardly breathing
mostly beating
on their own.

Fire dance in circle
praise at off hours
Sits them silent
and wordy
heads round-a-bout
unrested
above their frame.

Toy wooden ballerinas
pointed to turn,
poised to flame.

in response to andrews musings...

one all i'd reckon
a tie around our veins
desperate for anything
collapsible
or two to me
and your grazed heart.
i hardened some
the times i was passed
to the weekend
a whisper
a habit of yours
to recover from
and much too less
to end with.

you love me best with another by my side.

on waking up haha

Morning meets me
with grizzly undertones,
grey around
my lashes.
A glue I would will
to seal
tightly closed.
Alas, I must go to work.

Take this music with you
I carry you
with each blink
with each breath.
It is not in the words
you give me.
I love you
is not enough, not nearly.
It is in every
living moment.

blast from past collages/poems

while cleaning up my computer i found some fairly disturbing things i put in there...these two crack rants were collages of words and words put together over many hours and when i finished making the collages i realised they were poems and for one of them i'd been sitting there for 6hours cutting up bits of paper.
they dont make any sense but im fairly certain i chose the words for a reason...who knows...disturbing..

this one is just before andrew came home....

The past
Just killed dick
post love
they can’t even look at
something from them as a word
his temper
beaten up
bands with a
kick
until a trip
gone serious
turns
decisions electric
from all
mistakes
that has ever been

Don’t run off

I’ve done pretty good

Don’t worry

Junkie beats getting way to drunk.
Independent,
Hid on purpose.

Way out.

Life becomes
This movement
Looks like it’s been pretty intense
Take a closer look.

You can say battered and bloodied
Lie ever made
Was I delusional
Cute and addictive
At the same time
Absolutely everything.

One stop high
If you walk
Around the world
Chicks
learn you will fit
In.

He’s still traumatized
Even deadly
Giving up before they planned.

This shouldn’t be happening
The very first time
Open about everything
She lives in some horrific violent
Can’t be named
Help with violent
After a failed runaway
Helps run faster
Really is fucked
Someone’s being violent

Overpower
Bathmat
Altered that much?

Girls who commit
Big liars
Aren’t so bad
Making so many mistakes
Was even harder
Trashed
More disturbing
I had some friends
Negative influences
Sleaze
No thanks
Was letting abuse
Was wearing tease
Video star
Gets a bit boring
Reason is unacceptable
Because we realised that they had
A fucking massacre.

Time to meet people we met
Collect faces
Best if I moved to live
SAVE YOURSELF.

===
this was made as the cover of a note book

He
As well as
Smoke
For her part
Says what she
Likes
So it’s a must
Even with
Your best
Twist to
Trench.

Collection really
And as a part of
Life
Evolved
Current icon
Different with
Pleasures of…

Friends have
The most accurate picture of
Strange.
Peace.

He’s introducing
Youthfully cool
Better still
It really crosses lifestyle in these
Window pane checked works
Torsoed
Is the perfect person
To cover both.
It’s the sweet
Showing,
Can hardly wait for
Inspiration
To pretty in.

Precious I was
A tub of fresh.
Some new changes to look out for
‘men are from mars women are from venus’Fur.

It feels real
Is original
Did you just slip into
Ritual?

The fanatically restrained
Move forward
Hard
Every day or night
Classic mostly beat
Versatile and adaptable
Anything you want

I remember
I wanted this
Matchstick
Around beautiful.


(front page)
him back base
say yes.
Trenches trimmed
With beaver.
The runway collection.
Fagotting sticking machine
Dress with wing fur
Present
Too divine
Their unique
Gossip
He says smiling
Jolly good
Life’s little indulgences
Action packed days behind
To counterpoint the season’s lines
Step into the night
Hook and fear
Watch from
Terms
Touching imaginaries
Age of innocence
Aims to ride on this
Vision the perfect
After everything
Fine
Innocence
Fire
Wowing the crow
All fancy
Everything goes attitude
With a lace shell
If I don’t like
Built up confidence
To embracing
Lessness
Fastest.

Following master
Permitted to remain
A bright choice
To kill.
Move forward
To become a true
Accident
Cultural phenomenon
A corner of hoy.
Im charming and someone you
Want to be around
Nothing but this
Less of fame
A face to remember
Leather suspender
Hirt dress is
Everybody
He declares
Bias cut
Shot

Puts 100 percent in to
Being balanced.

Categorisation details, please see
Nothing he says.

you have tried
a wordy game
that leaves me
sinking, vomit on my lips
you are fighting
in a way i understand
in a way
i can not release to you.

---------------------------------
this poem just ruined me like writing hasn't for a long time...
Never Again

Never again will I weep
And wring my hands
And beat my head against the wall
Because
Me nolentem fata trahunt
But
When I have had enough
I will arise
And go unto my Father
And I will say to Him:
Father, I have had enough.

Stevie Smith

you've taken my eyes as truth
eyes that play to be the ocean
that pool in tears
to a muddied puddle.
a sweet child
like you might jump to,
your ankles browned in a leap.

we lay
in some french fim
our bodies snaked
to each other
your skin
that could be mine
tearing in to me///////////////////////////////////incomplete...and horrendous. haha.

i am no where near a good enough writer to describe how beautiful *not a strong enough word* this all is.

something very strange is happening that makes me dizzy and skip rather than walk and when i am still i take very long breaths as if to savour every beautiful part of being alive. i am happy i am happy/i am very fast and loud and if this all drops soon i think i will destroy myself perfectly but right now/i am happy.

he is unlike anyone i could have dreamed for myself.

I admit defeat. I cower at your admission- your heads in a different place - which means YOU DON'T LOVE ME. I could love you forever I think, because I always thought we would be together, when it was right for us. and WE'RE NOT RIGHT. or I'm not. you're in a different place which means THERE'S NO PLACE FOR ME, you wouldn't even fight for me, try for me. I admit defeat and I hate you a million times over because how can I be the best friend I am meant to be to you when my hearts all over the fucking ground in clots of OUR LOST CHILD (and fuck you for never caring that WE had a miscarriage not just me) MY LOST SEXUALITY (i feel like i'm starting over i dont know if im gay or if it was just you and i dont want to deal with that and if i am gay/or not/than everything will now be seen as just a phase) and maybe just fucking maybe OUR LOST FRIENDSHIP.

i love you anyway.

andrew...

you looked so beautiful
untouched
my body wrapped around yours
hoping i could stay
nestled over your right shoulder

with you.

My dear friend,
You take me.
You bring me to asylum
and sew at my edges
with carefully planned words
and a blindfold you carry,
next to your handkerchief.
Used for curving my insight,
a sweet little smile to masquerade in
for a while.


As long as this will hold.


(leave me so I can hate you and forgive you and never decide what is the right choice to make or love me COMPLETE so I can feel there is something more than words between us)

i will listen
between your stutter and pause
i will find reason and i will find
you telling me you love me-
sweeter a tune
than the nightmares
where you cackle towards my candor
i will find myself believing
you could love this.

---------------------------------------

maybe i can convince myself we will be ok.

you don't love me that's why you ignore my messages mixed or otherwise that's why you wont miss when we're gone when this is over you will know you could have had me you had me eating out of your hand leading my head in to stories one of us is making this up or harder the higher we climb i forget how we got here i remember your green tshirt that i might have seen in a photograph and molded you to fill i think this is it. this is all wrong.


------------
i like the fuzzy comfort of the what is the best idea when the best idea is not sleep and a banana to help a chemical inbalance the best idea is dark and words i can only say in my head followed by actions- maybe words i wont think of after sleep. and a banana.