Witch Wings

Im re-growing my
witch wings
because even hell and her angels
deserved a break
every once in awhile
to block out the hate
and the voices
in my thin skull
that told me I wasn’t worthy,
sweeping those
dust demons out
along with the ashes
of the fires that burned in Salem
with my broken bruised broom,
soon to be mended
by my own fucking magic
thank you very much
so I could take flight
anytime I was
found wanting
to get the fuck out of here,
as far away as I could
from under this sleazy mess.

But all I could hear on repeat
were my brother’s
last ghosts breaths
before he died,
skipping sick phonograph,
over and over
in my freak show head,
for the last two horror years
which drove me
off cliffs and
wild mad.

And when I looked
in the nightmare mirrors
of bathrooms
across America,
I didn’t recognize myself,
my eyes
consumed by house fires
and shitty poetry lines
scrawled on
napkins in diners
in Minnesota,
sloppy words on coasters in coffee shops
in Tennessee,
slurring notes in ice cream parlors
in Arizona
under the bluest skies
Id ever seen,
scribbling nasty nonsense
on paper towels
in the bars
of New Orleans,
hoping to turn
prophesies into realities.

And I sang
choruses of dirges,
and harmonized
with funerals in
the catwalks of churches
with candles below glowing fiercely
in every last one of the stained windows.

I was exhausted
with pulling off masks,
to then eat those same damn toxins again,
I never seemed to fucking learn
and digest in disgust
the poison that  
sticks to the
sides of my
stormy stomach lining,
causing that kind of
hunched over thunder
in the belly
with a grimace and groan,
and I was left with just lungs and
phantom blood
which scream out
just to prove
their very existence,
but no one,
not even me,
can hear their cries
in the night.


All I wanted
was to know your
soft footsteps were
climbing up the stairs
to my room again
in the morning
so we could chat.
Simple things
I suppose it seems,
but we were truly connected
to the point that
though I couldn’t hear you coming
I could always feel your energy
moving closer to me,
across carpet to wood floors
to carpet again,
and you always smiled
with awareness
when I turned around
in my chair
to meet your face
as you walked through
the doorway.

Ive never met
a pair of siblings
closer than you and I,
always finishing
each others sentences,
had our own language
which was mostly
knowing sighs
and intuitive glances
sprinkled with obscure
movie quotes
and lots of laughter.
I miss the excitement
you showed me
when I walked into a room,
arms outstretched for giant hugs,
made me always feel
so special and significant,
like I could make your day
just by being my crazy hot mess of a self,
no judgment or harshness
spat in my direction,
just all accepting and
unconditional loving,
and I felt the same way,
you changing my life
for the better,
with every moment spent
and even the rare moments apart
you were my conscious,
gentle and kind,
then coming back together
smoking cigarettes,
over tipping in restaurants
and booze joints,
toasting our dad
who we lost
many years before
with bourbon and tears
on back porches
across america,
swapping memories that triggered
other memories,
now forever lost
under the setting sun
a year after you died
and your ashes still
in my mother’s closet
because we couldn’t bare
the thought of letting them go.
We shared all the nuances
of existence with each other,
snarky jokes and plans for the future,
big travel plans and roaming lands,
news articles
on raging wars,
conspiracy theories,
contradicting philosophies,
deciphering propaganda,
language, and
how to ignore
the weight of the
capitalist mayhem
in the midst
of the struggle
of being artists
in a society
that only glorifies
the buying and spending
of goods no one needs.

And now
I only dreamt of snakes
and friends
becoming strangers
in the years
after you,
my dear brother,
died of the brain cancer
that no one
would talk about.
And though
I sat around fires
with groups of happy people,
all the ladies
averted my gaze
and went off into
the night laughing
and kissing each other
whilst I just tried
to put one breath
in front of another
and waited by the embers
until the sun came up
so I could
go away from here
with a shudder to the left
and a flask of whiskey
to the right,
because I refused
to force smiles
and fake happy
in the days
after my fallen brethren,
when death’s cold hands
rested on my shoulders
and gave me headaches
so bad
I couldn’t see the floor
beneath me,
but even though you didn’t believe,
I still swore I heard
angels singing
through the veil

of the dead.

Party Animal

Was I just too fucked up
for this to work?
Had I ruined the night
before even getting dressed?
still in bed
20 minutes to show time,
party go time,
and Im hunched over
a six pound bag
of peanut m&ms,
chugging a liter of
cold coffee
that was brewed
three days ago
when Id had the energy
to go downstairs
and the patience
to wait for the
drip drip drip
of that dark elixir.
Now, Im holding my
fucking pen
like a goddamn
hand grenade,
listening to the same song
over and over
til it makes me nauseous
and snapping at my mother
who just wants
to help me pick out a lipstick
and pleads with me
for the hundredth time
to leave my room
and go meet some people
which makes me feel guilty,
even though she doesn’t mean to
put those feelings on me,
I did somewhere in my hazy head
want to at least play normal

Six tranquilizers
and one panic attack later,
breathing so short Im feeling light headed
and have to pull over
into a gas station
with its boxcar lights
droning down on top of me.
I do my best to calm down alone
in my knee high black boots and
some little saucy skirt,
with one of my infamous
big tits shirts,
all of which makes
me look fabulous
but forgettable,
which Im all too aware of,
always knowing
Ive shown up to the wrong party,
feeling like some kind of
freak apparition or
an awkward octopus who shakes
and shuffles out of sight,
my eight tentacles outstretched,
attaching themselves
to the darkest corner
of the dance floor,
slurping down vodka cocktails
cause that’s what everyone else
seems to enjoy
though I know I always
throw it all up when I get home,
wishing to be underwater instead
and finding deep caves
to hide in.

I felt out of my mind,
fancied myself a vampire,
an erotic empire,
a soul entertainer,
some bastard’s badass bitch,
a fortune teller’s mistake,
a maiden of the moon,
but at the end of the night
felt absolutely nothing
and sang slurred lullabies
to my sweet midnight cat
who looked at me
with a sadness and knowing
akin to mother earth who
seemed to sleep alone too,
tossing and turning
with the tides
and eyes wide
staring into the void,
calling out for someone
to remember her name
in the morning
even when the house of cards fell
and left us
only dust and an apron
that was too tight
but must be warn
to clean the sexually frustrated furniture
and to keep
the hat racks
standing in attention
to the prophecy on
the last-standing wall
that echoed
our own madness
and the capitalist decay:
this was the only thought
that put a smile on my face
the whole evening
as I sat at the bar
and drank til I was sober again
in the already

drowning damned dawn.