Death’s residue, a thick blanket that chills

Death’s residue, a thick blanket that chills My bones, my heart, my breath difficult to catch I’m wrapped up tightly, a mummy of emotion– A mummy awake, hungover from imbibing Too many memories and not enough whiskey   Death’s residue, a thick blanket that chills  

Oh, Girl: A Brief Memoir About Nights Spent With The Chi-Lites

Oh, Girl. Mom couldn’t stand the silence of night after Dad left; couldn’t stand the blaring introspection. And she couldn’t sleep alone. I wanted to sleep alone–needed to curl up alone and be. I was eleven years old, sleeping in a goddamned waterbed with my mother, and my six year old sister between us. The bed

First Quarter High

Moonset is drawing nigh, and Lara Babe’s been getting high on Granddaddy Purple, and sepia memories. She steps out onto the patio, and into October sheathed in down feather warmth. Against the black the moon illuminates borrowed amber, and casts a candle flame path upon the lake that stretches from horizon to shore. “If only

Full Bitch Rising Bright White and Callous

Go on, and draw those Roman shades; it’s not the sun you owe in spades, but the moon. She does come tonight, so see that those shades are pulled tight– Roman shades for blocking the sun, but the moon? Oh, this will be fun! An oath to the white you did make, and sanity the

Love: You’re an Asshole

There once was a girl who loved a boy, a boy whose roots were rooted far away; the boy loved the girl too, though a dream. One day the couple met, and did learn dreams are much sweeter than reality. Reality hurts, but it is good. The girl now loves another, the victor. The victor

Who ordered the crazy?

  I am no stranger to the breakdown, Florence– I lose my mind in varying degrees on the goddamned regular, it seems. prepaid predisposition See the predicate? Please identify: She hides in the shower. Cry, cry, cry. No one can hear you.      

Life With My Mother

I love her to the point of madness, my mother, a paradox wrapped in sun-kissed paper flesh. To embrace her is to hold an armful of hollow bones; the shell of a woman short-lived. If only you could study the photographs of my childhood, or look through the lens of my mind’s eye, you would

Glued

Sad for no good reason, I listen to music that fuels my mood Because I feel like feeling lonely And reflecting upon everything and nothing at all. Do you ever hear a song that goose bumps your flesh? That speaks to your soul? A song that tears you down and builds you up Both at

Rip It Off

    Thick crust long and deep Color of crisped  bread crumb coating You began as a crimson bead A perfect little blob of blood Love’s deed It did prick again And again, plunged deeper each time New blood building upon the old Across my chest crispy  coating Love’s bold Brazen behavior I should have

In the Black

He visits the beachfront every night And shouts her name at the ireful sea. He stands at the rock-strewn coastline, His tall frame stooped and shaking As the frigid tides break before him.   He laments the woman who haunts him— The Archer, a living ghost.   His heartache is a fury that its vessel