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No One.Today, I've got grief the size of pancakes for someone I never even loved. Today I Have grief the consistency of egg yolks covering my hair and lips. "It's okay," you say tonight to no one. And no one listens with contempt. She says nothing is what it seems in this place. This place between care and uncare, love and unlove.No One.
Every lover No One has ever had has been her brilliant lion. More a name
than a title, more a title than a diagnosis. Diagnonsense. As if some Freudian theory could save a wretched girl like No One. As if any thoughts made any sense to yo
by ~Pickles-oh-noes
IntrovertI write because I hope to find someone who understands when I replace "phallus" with "love," "vagina" with "desire," every raunchy sentence holds the complexity of an eyelid to an amoeba. I notice that "todos," in Spanish, "every" looks quite like "to do" and I wonder if that symbolizes the thoughts I should have every time we meet, you and I, significant no one; the things you never tell me "to do."Introvert
My blood runs thick as old used tea leaves. What's worse is it's become cold and unwanted too. Uncle always said "pick your poison." No one always tells me I am what I
by ~Pickles-oh-noes
Favourites
Queen Jellyby ~stuntkid
Been+Been
The reason a woman leaves is very simple: not enough love, or, perhaps, too much. The reason she returns is always more
complicated. She found herself seated with her eyes forward on an airplane and the man next to her said,
"excuse me, could you move your arms?" and she couldn't. It is like this, Orion moving in ways that seem deformed, her face
pressed to the telescope, a falcon or hawk on the tree outside, crying. She thinks she has tried everything, that is why she left,
but it's not true. That is never th
by `queenhrosie
Why You Should Never Marry A+Why You Should Never Marry A
Think about it - the way that credit cards, bougainvillea, vacations, dictionaries, the road on the way to work will
all never be enough. The poet wishes
with her deepest bones
and writes that she wishes
she would have killed you
in the supermarket. She wonders why
she ever loved you in song.
She publishes book after book. Each line detailing how your hair is ugly and monstrous in the morning. And how,
like moss, you cling to her
so piteously.
But you marry
by `queenhrosie
Out Of All The Reasons In The+Out Of All The Reasons In The
"it makes me feel like I am human," I say. I am just being honest. I spend most hours just watching 20/20: stolen children, Holocaust survivors, bank robbers
in Nancy Pelosi masks. It isn't as awful as
reading it back to yourself hours later in the form of ache and hunger. In the bag I carry, there is
old makeup, a murderer's selection of meat knives, Keats, and supermarket receipts. I hide my pens,
pencils, broad-tipped markers. I don't write personal
checks or sign greetings cards. &n
by `queenhrosie
Wishlist
by =glittersniffer
by =mansongothicJournal
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