Maybe I'll just go to the party,
stand around alone in the corner
in a red dress
while everyone talks pink to each other,
politics and weathertown,
anarchists getting stoned
and drinking bourbon straight from the bottle.
Predicable.
And all I'll have to say in response is,
yea, yea, you're so right,
while I'm rolling my brain's eye
in the back of my head.
And maybe I'll just go hang out
with the butterflies in the basement
and they'll have intriguing things to say
about the subways they accidentally
got stuck on
and the sax they heard play on the corner
that sounded better than
a choir in a cathedral
or the people they met in French cafes
that wept over their ex boyfriends or
the healthcare they couldn't afford.
Or Maybe I'll stay all night,
stay after everyone's gone to bed
and dance with the monsters
in their kitchen cabinets,
talk sex with the ghosts
under their kitchen table,
and play Russian roulette
with the tea cups
until the sun rises.
Your Shadows: A Horror Story
For awhile I tried to
stuff all your shadows into my closet
to shut them up,
but they wouldn't stay,
too loud and pushy to live there
next to my dresses and flannel.
So I had to let them out
to howl in my kitchen,
to mock me in my brain,
leave scratches down my back and arms.
I tried to drown one once,
held one down as long as I could,
watched it struggle under my hands
but it just laughed at me
as it came up after.
They like to drink best,
smash the bottles over my knees
when they're done
to watch the blood drip down my legs
to my toes
as I hobble to the kitchen
for towels to soak up the blood
and grab bandages.
They like the way the drops of blood
taste on the carpet.
It's been eight months
since you left your shadows here
and the hissing in my ears never stops.
They keep me up til 7 in the morning
telling me ghost stories
when I wanted fairy tales.
I thought they would've faded by now
or moved on to another girl to torment,
but they've taken such
a sick liking to me,
dancing on my toes til they break,
tearing at my lips with their teeth,
pulling out my hair while I sleep,
and so they stay,
and stay,
and stay,
and thus I live with your shadows
every day turn to night turn to day,
a little horror story of my very own
to try to hide from everyone
including myself.
stuff all your shadows into my closet
to shut them up,
but they wouldn't stay,
too loud and pushy to live there
next to my dresses and flannel.
So I had to let them out
to howl in my kitchen,
to mock me in my brain,
leave scratches down my back and arms.
I tried to drown one once,
held one down as long as I could,
watched it struggle under my hands
but it just laughed at me
as it came up after.
They like to drink best,
smash the bottles over my knees
when they're done
to watch the blood drip down my legs
to my toes
as I hobble to the kitchen
for towels to soak up the blood
and grab bandages.
They like the way the drops of blood
taste on the carpet.
It's been eight months
since you left your shadows here
and the hissing in my ears never stops.
They keep me up til 7 in the morning
telling me ghost stories
when I wanted fairy tales.
I thought they would've faded by now
or moved on to another girl to torment,
but they've taken such
a sick liking to me,
dancing on my toes til they break,
tearing at my lips with their teeth,
pulling out my hair while I sleep,
and so they stay,
and stay,
and stay,
and thus I live with your shadows
every day turn to night turn to day,
a little horror story of my very own
to try to hide from everyone
including myself.
To Love an Addict
It is 5:21 in the morning
and all I can wonder
is if you’re still alive
or just another ghost
at my beside, wailing.
See, Ive known you
for 11 years
and I remember
when you used to wear your hair long
and when you cut it all off
because you were tired
of being called faggot
out of truck windows,
and I fell in love with you
the first second you walked into the room.
I was there the night
you took your first pill
and you said you liked
the way it made
your knees buckle
and your head fuzzy and
it made you tell me secrets
like you would probably steal
a pair of my underwear
just because.
And I remember
when you had no car
and no home,
so I drove you to my house
for months
and you chopped up
4,5,6,7,8, blue pills
on my sad little white desk
and snorted line after line and
I couldn’t watch
so I looked away
and begged you to stop,
please stop,
don’t take anymore baby,
though I would never call you baby
because you would've hated it,
praying that this time
it wouldn’t be too much
and I wouldn’t find you
not breathing beside me in the morning,
And I remember
the three times you kissed me
in the two years we fucked
was only when I sucked your dick
in my apartment
with the holes in the floor,
and you had a car then
and chatted up that girl at the party
with enough pills in your system
to give you what you called bravery,
but still didn’t want to go home
so you came to me instead,
woke me up at 3 in the morning
to fuck me from behind
without any touches
so you couldn’t see my face,
more easily to picture hers,
in the dark,
and you refused to sleep in my bed and
hold me afterwards
so you slept on the floor.
And I remember
when you got your own place,
and you stole my mental health meds
like I wouldn’t notice
and you said you had wanted to die
the night before
so you cut yourself
even though you knew it was stupid you said,
and promised me you wouldn’t do it again
but I looked for more scars
every day after that
because I knew you had meant that the dying sounded
so good in your ringing ears.
And I remember
when we moved in together
and the pills switched to alcohol
and I would wait up for you
to make sure you at least got home safely,
forcing myself to stay awake until 4 in the morning,
and you would stumble home
after wrecking your car
for the third time
and I cleaned up your throw up
in the sink,
on the shower floor,
on the blue and white shower curtain,
on the floor of the bathroom,
and scrubbed the whole house
with bleach to try
to get rid of the smell and the memory
of your alcohol falling out of your mouth
like my screaming cries when you weren’t home.
But still the drinking got so bad
you were a habitual hangover
that I didn’t recognize,
a walking death cry
and I didn’t sleep at all
the night before
my first day at a new job
but spent it crying quietly,
holding my mouth shut
as the tears ran down my red cheeks,
rocking back and forth
because I could hear
your throat
heaving until you blacked out
on the bathroom floor
and I prayed again
to gods I didn’t believe in then
that your beautiful eyes would
look at me in the face alive
the next day.
And I came home
every day for a year
hoping to not find your dead body
slumped dumb on the cold tile.
And I remember
the night you came home
and stumbled into my room
and crashed hard like bricks into my chest
sobbing, “Im so lonely, Im so lonely”,
snot and tears covering my red dress,
and I said,”Im right here,
Im right here,
Im right here,
Ive always been right here,"
like the wallpaper in your bedroom
that you forgot was there,
and I held you til you blacked out,
grabbed hold of your limp body,
put you to bed
and slept next to you for the first time in years
so you wouldn’t choke on your own vomit
and spent the whole night awake
craving so badly to stroke you back home
with my sparkling hands
and whisper, “I still love you, a different way now but still. Please come back to me dear one,”
but got up early the next morning
so you wouldn’t be embarrassed,
if you even remembered any of it at all
and pulled your arm off
from around my screaming sorrow bones
and we never spoke of it.
And I remember 3 months ago
when you told me
you were moving out,
a week before rent was due,
and you packed your things,
never said goodbye
and left me alone
in an empty apartment
with no curtains.
And I know now
that you wont answer my calls,
you wont respond to my texts,
and you’ve left me behind completely
like a piece of hair you cut off
when I first met you,
11 years ago,
And now I know
that it’s hard to love an addict.
and all I can wonder
is if you’re still alive
or just another ghost
at my beside, wailing.
See, Ive known you
for 11 years
and I remember
when you used to wear your hair long
and when you cut it all off
because you were tired
of being called faggot
out of truck windows,
and I fell in love with you
the first second you walked into the room.
I was there the night
you took your first pill
and you said you liked
the way it made
your knees buckle
and your head fuzzy and
it made you tell me secrets
like you would probably steal
a pair of my underwear
just because.
And I remember
when you had no car
and no home,
so I drove you to my house
for months
and you chopped up
4,5,6,7,8, blue pills
on my sad little white desk
and snorted line after line and
I couldn’t watch
so I looked away
and begged you to stop,
please stop,
don’t take anymore baby,
though I would never call you baby
because you would've hated it,
praying that this time
it wouldn’t be too much
and I wouldn’t find you
not breathing beside me in the morning,
And I remember
the three times you kissed me
in the two years we fucked
was only when I sucked your dick
in my apartment
with the holes in the floor,
and you had a car then
and chatted up that girl at the party
with enough pills in your system
to give you what you called bravery,
but still didn’t want to go home
so you came to me instead,
woke me up at 3 in the morning
to fuck me from behind
without any touches
so you couldn’t see my face,
more easily to picture hers,
in the dark,
and you refused to sleep in my bed and
hold me afterwards
so you slept on the floor.
And I remember
when you got your own place,
and you stole my mental health meds
like I wouldn’t notice
and you said you had wanted to die
the night before
so you cut yourself
even though you knew it was stupid you said,
and promised me you wouldn’t do it again
but I looked for more scars
every day after that
because I knew you had meant that the dying sounded
so good in your ringing ears.
And I remember
when we moved in together
and the pills switched to alcohol
and I would wait up for you
to make sure you at least got home safely,
forcing myself to stay awake until 4 in the morning,
and you would stumble home
after wrecking your car
for the third time
and I cleaned up your throw up
in the sink,
on the shower floor,
on the blue and white shower curtain,
on the floor of the bathroom,
and scrubbed the whole house
with bleach to try
to get rid of the smell and the memory
of your alcohol falling out of your mouth
like my screaming cries when you weren’t home.
But still the drinking got so bad
you were a habitual hangover
that I didn’t recognize,
a walking death cry
and I didn’t sleep at all
the night before
my first day at a new job
but spent it crying quietly,
holding my mouth shut
as the tears ran down my red cheeks,
rocking back and forth
because I could hear
your throat
heaving until you blacked out
on the bathroom floor
and I prayed again
to gods I didn’t believe in then
that your beautiful eyes would
look at me in the face alive
the next day.
And I came home
every day for a year
hoping to not find your dead body
slumped dumb on the cold tile.
And I remember
the night you came home
and stumbled into my room
and crashed hard like bricks into my chest
sobbing, “Im so lonely, Im so lonely”,
snot and tears covering my red dress,
and I said,”Im right here,
Im right here,
Im right here,
Ive always been right here,"
like the wallpaper in your bedroom
that you forgot was there,
and I held you til you blacked out,
grabbed hold of your limp body,
put you to bed
and slept next to you for the first time in years
so you wouldn’t choke on your own vomit
and spent the whole night awake
craving so badly to stroke you back home
with my sparkling hands
and whisper, “I still love you, a different way now but still. Please come back to me dear one,”
but got up early the next morning
so you wouldn’t be embarrassed,
if you even remembered any of it at all
and pulled your arm off
from around my screaming sorrow bones
and we never spoke of it.
And I remember 3 months ago
when you told me
you were moving out,
a week before rent was due,
and you packed your things,
never said goodbye
and left me alone
in an empty apartment
with no curtains.
And I know now
that you wont answer my calls,
you wont respond to my texts,
and you’ve left me behind completely
like a piece of hair you cut off
when I first met you,
11 years ago,
And now I know
that it’s hard to love an addict.
Nicotine Goddess
Nicotine Goddess
grows horns on her head
just to show off her sweet skills
and laughs out loud
at your pathetic attempts at
foreplay.
What did you want from me?
A torn sword,
a locket half empty,
a piece of twine
taken from my womb
to tie around your neck.
I left you sleeping
and a note of sexual innuendo
taped to your radiator
to say goodbye.
grows horns on her head
just to show off her sweet skills
and laughs out loud
at your pathetic attempts at
foreplay.
What did you want from me?
A torn sword,
a locket half empty,
a piece of twine
taken from my womb
to tie around your neck.
I left you sleeping
and a note of sexual innuendo
taped to your radiator
to say goodbye.
Cross it out and Start Over
It was like I had accidentally stapled myself shut with a cross and a bird’s wing and I wondered did you ever feel that way? That haunting sense of crosswalks and chicken fingers being pushed down your throat while a vampire sings you that sweet jazz of the nighttime.
I gave up on hallucinations. They read back like lizards fucking, chalk, and cellophane and it was all very exciting and then very boring and I just wanted more than anything to whisper in your ear, “I love you so impatiently that it scares me to the brittle bones of my skull, crackling and interacting with the meds I take in the morning to keep me numbly normal like you in my desperate hour of forever and backwards to the crowd, the test tube, the vigilante, the whore.” Read it back. Write it again. Cross it out and start over.
I gave up on hallucinations. They read back like lizards fucking, chalk, and cellophane and it was all very exciting and then very boring and I just wanted more than anything to whisper in your ear, “I love you so impatiently that it scares me to the brittle bones of my skull, crackling and interacting with the meds I take in the morning to keep me numbly normal like you in my desperate hour of forever and backwards to the crowd, the test tube, the vigilante, the whore.” Read it back. Write it again. Cross it out and start over.
Let's Go Back
Let's go back,
before the ice cream
melted in between your fingers,
before the teaspoons
were left dirty
in the kitchen sink,
before the plants
you put in the soil
died in the winter,
before the boxed wine
we drank in one sitting,
before the screaming
and crying in the shower,
before I pulled the Tower
and the damn thing fell
on your head,
before the written rhyme,
before time got bored
and fucked off,
before fantasies and lingerie,
before d-day,
before the witches burning,
before my soul left hurting,
before the ancients stopped talking,
before being left alone.
There were cups
of tea to be shared,
there were lavender buds
to be picked,
there were slow dances
in the hallway
while I sang in your ear,
there were odes of love
and honesty,
there were dreams
of getting married in Ireland
under a fairy tree
with the ribbons swishing
our wedding march.
But then there were fears
and then there were tears
and then,
nothing.
before the ice cream
melted in between your fingers,
before the teaspoons
were left dirty
in the kitchen sink,
before the plants
you put in the soil
died in the winter,
before the boxed wine
we drank in one sitting,
before the screaming
and crying in the shower,
before I pulled the Tower
and the damn thing fell
on your head,
before the written rhyme,
before time got bored
and fucked off,
before fantasies and lingerie,
before d-day,
before the witches burning,
before my soul left hurting,
before the ancients stopped talking,
before being left alone.
There were cups
of tea to be shared,
there were lavender buds
to be picked,
there were slow dances
in the hallway
while I sang in your ear,
there were odes of love
and honesty,
there were dreams
of getting married in Ireland
under a fairy tree
with the ribbons swishing
our wedding march.
But then there were fears
and then there were tears
and then,
nothing.
Absolutely Twisted
You’re a goddamn monster,
she said,
so I ate her lungs
and spat them back out,
sung up to high noon
to destruct the tantric moon
that gave up on this
sunk sick city.
You’re cold,
she said
while I gnawed the gravel you gave me,
bleeding from my tooth’s eye
and I laughed
while I bled dry
to please the crowd
that gathered
chanting of my sin.
You’re sick,
she said.
I threw up my dying liver
from all that damn alcohol,
scraps of paper
with lines of filth
scribbled down,
hot ash from your cigarettes,
dragons’ tongues
that I had snapped from out of
their mouths,
potions and poisons
that could kill you
just by looking at you,
heat lamps,
circus camps,
shelving I thought Id
thrown away years ago,
a glossary of swear words in French,
the knife of my brother’s fallen,
the egg I ate whole
when there was nothing
left in the fridge,
the Venetian mask
I got when I was six
that told a story
of murder and the rape of women
that you thought was funny.
You’re twisted,
she said,
and I took out
my one good eye
and said,
yes ma’am
that my dear I am.
she said,
so I ate her lungs
and spat them back out,
sung up to high noon
to destruct the tantric moon
that gave up on this
sunk sick city.
You’re cold,
she said
while I gnawed the gravel you gave me,
bleeding from my tooth’s eye
and I laughed
while I bled dry
to please the crowd
that gathered
chanting of my sin.
You’re sick,
she said.
I threw up my dying liver
from all that damn alcohol,
scraps of paper
with lines of filth
scribbled down,
hot ash from your cigarettes,
dragons’ tongues
that I had snapped from out of
their mouths,
potions and poisons
that could kill you
just by looking at you,
heat lamps,
circus camps,
shelving I thought Id
thrown away years ago,
a glossary of swear words in French,
the knife of my brother’s fallen,
the egg I ate whole
when there was nothing
left in the fridge,
the Venetian mask
I got when I was six
that told a story
of murder and the rape of women
that you thought was funny.
You’re twisted,
she said,
and I took out
my one good eye
and said,
yes ma’am
that my dear I am.
Kiss me Hard
Kiss me hard
before you leave
and linger that
absinthe breath
on my tongue.
We are always
sinners to someone's god
and shamans to another,
but in the end
we walk the gravel eaten path alone.
before you leave
and linger that
absinthe breath
on my tongue.
We are always
sinners to someone's god
and shamans to another,
but in the end
we walk the gravel eaten path alone.
Even Shaved Headed Girls Get the Blues
Even shaved headed girls
get the blues,
sitting in classy joints alone,
drinking whiskey and
silently weeping
over dead boys and their fathers.
Looking up from the placemat you are writing on
and recognizing the bartender
who you think you remember
being sloshed at a show at the club Bohemia
grinding up against a barstool,
but you keep catching his eye
and he wonders why you are smiling to yourself.
get the blues,
sitting in classy joints alone,
drinking whiskey and
silently weeping
over dead boys and their fathers.
Looking up from the placemat you are writing on
and recognizing the bartender
who you think you remember
being sloshed at a show at the club Bohemia
grinding up against a barstool,
but you keep catching his eye
and he wonders why you are smiling to yourself.
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