ever forgotten a word you needed?

had it on the tip of my tongue.


December 3, 2011


For some reason,

I just don't sleep anymore.


And he said

"these things take a lot of work,

being successful doesn't just come

in paper-wrapped boxes,

you open on your birthday.

I don't get anything for all that I do,

so I can't keep doing this.

You're a burden, now."


He turned away,

the light sparkled

bouncing off his glasses;

from a profile view,

I still thought he was beautiful.


Above all this hate,

I still felt admiration.


So he got up to leave, and I,

being the self-denying creature

that I am, I cheered him on

with happy smiles and

hopeful words.


Broken hearts meet my chest cavity

hours too late. I've already

stopped caring.


But every time I hear his blaring songs,

see his bright lit face in city streets,

I flicker in my certainty,

and wind the scarf a little tighter

round my pale, frozen neck.


The words that escape his lips

bring about a the image of a

burdened wastecase. A lonely

little writer, like me.

Who sits upon her holy throne,

signing certificates to be the next

piece that gets to own me.


And they purchase my heart

equally portioned in little diamond squares

hidden and wound inside his

plastic cases and cheap CD's.

Sometimes, they buy a hacked lung

cut into strips, buried in his vinyls.


I don't mind.

No, I don't mind his poisonous

kiss, his melted marrow-bone

caress, slick like acid.

I rather enjoy the burning

of his skin on mine.


Sinful, like my dreams at fame.

Sluts strutting before carnal cameras.

We are, we are.