when all he wanted was
to die a peaceful death
why do you keep resurrecting him?
he is not coming back.
the two things I want most
are first, to stop living
and second, to be forgotten.
as you live and let live,
let ghosts be ghosts
and don’t pull them from the earth
when they are trying to sleep.
when I was a little girl
with long dark hair
and brighter eyes
I was spoilt and greedy
for souvenirs.
every museum, every holiday,
every sunday in the park
was a delicious excuse
to amass new toys - pencils,
dolls, sticks and pressed flowers.
*
I still hoard - more unwholesome
playthings now. lights out
tongues in mouths, frantic
grasping hands and quick thrill.
collecting names, numbers, brief encounters
best of all bite marks and bruises
the kind that blossom on the skin
framed with crescent moon-shaped indentations
aching when pressed by dirty fingers,
the gift that keeps on giving.
present: it is late
so I get into bed, lie
still with eyes open and
watch the ceiling carefully.
past: can be divided
into bad memories
(which form my schema,
suck the colour from
rose-tinted glasses)
and good memories,
which have been and gone
so what use are they now?
present: no signs of movement
so I turn onto my side,
observe a different wall.
future: yet to be formed,
suspended in amniotic
uncertainity and terrifying
by its very nature.
present: still, still.
I turn again and
sigh and blink
and turn again.
on a scale from
somebody else’s bathtub
through a hospital bed
to the golden gate bridge
how noble was your death?
I’m afraid of
a lot of things,
but mostly,
most sincerely,
I am afraid of
being completely
unraveled by you,
and you finding nothing
you want in here.
(Source: keciasamethystheart, via itsonlyadreamalice)
who said, “you’ve kept me going for two
years, it’s really amazing to meet you.”“thank you,” i answered, “but who’s
going to keep me going?”i’ve asked this question before and
all i ever get back is a gentle
smile.but it’s a good question.
they have no notion that i may consider
suicide several times a
week.they’ve read some of my books
and that’s enough for
them.but i only write that stuff,
i can’t read
it.—charles bukowski
(via itsonlyadreamalice)
I dated a communist once.
He destroyed my entire world
A boy entirely without class,
He only kissed me out of necessity.
And his kisses landed on every girl’s lips.
To take them as only mine would be a frightful sin.
I dated a capitalist once.
He took everything I had
Telling me he deserved it
Because we aren’t created for equality, darling.
He didn’t believe in giving,
And only pleasured me with an invisible hand.
And that is when I decided that I did not care for in economics.
through its veins the blood cells thunder
stomach groans with latent hunger
bones adjust and knuckles crack
tongue still red and pupils black,
blown, and staring at the ceiling
muscles clenching, both lungs heaving.
the creature’s will to live has gone
but it still marches blindly on,
a flesh-and-blood automaton.
*
the stupid thing forgets to eat
and hasn’t showered in a week
it spits in sun and cries in rain
and has only itself to blame.
the contents of its ugly head
have spilled upon the floor, and yet
despite the mind saying goodbye,
somehow the body will not die.
it crawls because it cannot run,
my flesh-and-blood automaton.
