fossils

i keep all of my past lovers in folders on my desktop
i leaf through them and shed skins
i dive into hot and cold waters and come up shaking and wet

they are bytes of data, ghosts in the machine
i keep them bound and silent, and i relish the power, tho it is petty
some soften me. some make me hard.
their fingerprints on my heart.

lest we forget what is broken

we are all alone in our misery

if we are lucky to reach out and touch

or be touched in our solitude,

this is life's game of tag

the cruelty we are born into

we cannot love if our love is broken

we cannot see past our pain

we think it bottomless

but only love is bottomless

pain pales in love

but time is a cruel conduit

and in our pain, god is dead

sometimes pain is our friend

we nurse it

and cling to it like love

we help it grow and get strong

we are possessive over it and will not share it

we confuse it for our love

it is only broken love

it will not be forgotten, but it must not be cherished

it is a false friend with a silvertongue

a parasite of our love

sometimes we want to heal a friend

so we take their pain

but this does not always help

because we are fundamentally alone in our pain

we are alone in our misery

all we can do is reach blindly and

perhaps, for a moment,

touch.

keepwritingkeepwritingkeepwriting

i need to write or ill pop or ill pop si i keep wiritng i just keep wiriting no matter the spelling errors no matter the rain droning on my window i keep writing my dirty dirty window sill full of the grime of past ghosts and they still call i keep writing and writing til my hands bleed my tongue poors blood of my heart im done now im finished with this whole string of shit im so used to being emotionally attached to emotionally unavailable ppl now what is up with that so i keep wirritng in hopes i will realise understand comprehend better come to light but i keep writing and nothing comes but more and more rage and more and more rage because i love hard and ai give all and no one can seem to undertsnad or do the same but i keep writintg because expectations are wrong and they are my own and they are mine fault and mine own wrong so i keep writing to right the wrongs and rewrite the songs but i hate it and i cant stand myself so i keep writing i jsut keep writing the type adn the ink and the fingers on the type the keyboard and the screen adn the fingers in the heart and i want to cry but i cant i wont not anymore i want to cry but im sick and im already congested enough as it is why do i have to be sick right now when i havent even had time for my self time to rest time to write time for me so i just keep wriritng now hoping that at the end of the night it wont matter that ihavent lesson planned that i have no clue what tomw will look like that im a shitty teacher and i have shitty students and i dont even care cause i just keep writing i keep writing cause i need to and he doesnt need me but i need him so its over and im done with all of that with loving too much and too hard and too fast and too much and too many tooo hard and too fast and too mch and too hard and too fast and too much and not enough in return adn not enough i get burned i end up always with burns adn i yearn and i yearn but for nothing to get nothing in return except i appreciate it thanks i appreciate it wow ur a natural thanks i really really apppreciate it but i dont love u i mean i might love you but im not in love with you but thanks i appreciate it u r a natural and i appreciate it but its not u breakng my heart its some other girl some other girl ssome ohter harpy not me not me im not worthy to break the heart of the one whose broken mine but i keep writing cause its write and its right and i keep righting csause its true and its broken adn so am i but i keep wirting because eevn broken things write and even broken thinggs feel and even i need a break and i need to heal and im tired of being a support a great rock a big wall a nice soft cushion a sweet spot to get some perspective GO FUCK YOURSELF I DONT GIVE A SHIT ANDYMORE ABOUT YOU AND YOUR PROBLEMS AND YOU AND YOUR EGO AND THEM AND HER AND ALL OF THESE OTHER THINGS THAT ARE NOT ME ME ME MEMEMEMMEMEMEMEMEMEMMEMEMEMEMMEMMEMEMEME I NEEEEED I CNAY PUT UP WITH THIS ANYMRE. I LOVE AND I HURT AND I CRY AND I BREAK AND I GIVE AND DIE AND I CUT AND I SIT STILL.

not breathing.

lets try again.

i keep writing this time slowly so i have time to thinnk as my fingers tapatapatapatypeing away in the night in this bed this new strangee bed with its new strange smells i keep writing in her in this new strange blanket of this new strange house with its new ghosts its ghostly strangers new and strange adn strange adn new i dont recognize their call but now my ifngers are speeeding up and im starting to make mistakes again so i need to calm myself and breathe adn fall into step with my own rtyhtinm my own pace a bit slowly so i have time to think to feel not just rage adn shriek inside adn out in paper adn in soul but maybe a little more reflection in my writing in my writing i keep wirriting i keep writing i wanna give him my all and show him the universe inside me and delve into his adn worship eveyr last drop but i cant because it isnt the right thing or the right time maybe not even the right person but we'll never know cause i cant hold my breath that long and i wont kep holding my breath any longer, and i want never to do that again, never to fall for these guys that are fresh out of some other shit and arent fully mine ill find him he ll come the one who more than 'appreciates' me the one who worhsips and adores because it exists and if so then i deserve it, i adore and i worship so why shudnt i believe that someone will do that for me of their own free and eager will and that some one i willl love too and it wont be a one way street like it always is and i wont be heartbroken and betrayed and used and forgotten after discarded like an exhausted fantasy like a good hearty meal that you later shit out no i keep writing to keep strong and to keep me and not to give and give and give becasue i keep writing and it helps its like maybe writing is my husband and my wife adn maybe there is no one ever on the other side that all we ever do is keep writing all we ever want is to keep writing all there will eveer be is more adn more writing merciless unfrogeiving endless foreverandeverandeverandever just more and more reams and reams of it jsust pure shit pure unadulterated shit comeing out of my heads hands mouth aand fingers my tongue wrotes to him when i kissed him my breath writes to him in my sleep my hands write to him as they stronke my body and i think of him and i think of him and so i keep writing thoygh really im making love to him but im actually just writing and he isnt in bed with me holding me and stroking my skin as i fall asleeep that never happened i keep writing because i realise i keep writing because i know now i am perfectly delusional that this whole thing never happeneded it was all my creation i just kept wirritng this whole thing that never happeende was my creation i wrote it into being that whole thing that never really ahppeneed iwas all in my head in my hands in my heart in my hands in myhead in my heart in me and in him the reflectio n of me andmy writing he saiyd i bring out the good in him, but thats not my problem bnot my salvation not my jobnnot my mission to save others to save him to save you to save to be loved i should be loved on my own virtues and not by the consequences of being loved by me fuck that noise i will keep writing because it will amek me strong i will keep writing and then one day i will show him my blood my ink my wiriting i will show him my curse my crazy my open wound my open cocooon i will show him inside whether or not he is ready to see more because i need to show it i need to keep writing keep writing so i keep writing i keeep writing....

photograph

Your face has changed

you're looking into the camera

armed

with the cheesiest

toothiest

grin

and behind you is the landscape

of your latest vacation

it's majestic

and i can tell that i'm getting the tail end

the cropped image

of this place this perfect paradise.

and all i can wonder is

are u alone?

Is it a vacation for two?

You haven't changed at all

your face is still the same

same eyes

same beard

same

cheesy toothy

grin

but behind your eyes

behind the pixels

and the thin veil

separating us

i remember the swimming dreamy milky sea

behind your eyes

i remember your sadness and your worried puppy look

are you as happy now as you look?

i remember nursing you

without regret

i don't hate you

for what you are

i hated you for what you did

but its all far away now

behind the pixels

of your eyes

and your magical vacation

(maybe for two)

and your cheesy toothy grin

and the epic landscape

and your smart phone in your dumb hands

your sensitive hands

your own

far-away hands

no more tears

Don't cry baby

you'll make your papa sad

come home baby

it's been so long

you've been alone

what's worth two feet on the ground?

Don't cry mama

your lil eyes'll swell

how can you work

with a face like that

how can you look them in the eye

all puffy and pathetic

you make me ache for you

i can't help or hold you

stop crying child

there's so much more to live

so much load to carry

and you're not halfway done

don't just sit there weeping

in the middle of the bridge

jump off or move on

you're holding up traffic

don't cry baby

your tears are wasted gifts

the walls are too thick anyway

and nobody has time for that

don't cry baby

go make something to eat

don't cry baby

your dishes are piling up

don't cry baby

time don't stop for crybabies

and other curses

Wishes
tears
gifts
silences
strong lovers 
weak coffee
day old bread

day old breath
unanswered letters
dirty floor dirty sink
too much too little 
never and all the time
awful awful heat
in the wintry womb
tears on my pillow
hair in my throat
over you
tell me how you really feel
tell me tell me tell me
you're depressed no you're depressed no you're depressed
well you're depressing so there
good talk, bro

now on to something completely different
'ow to pronounce the vowel sounds in
old inert art
(think of it catching in your throat)
and the h sound
in hard heart hotel
(think of it knocking the wind out of you)
not like hour
not like our hour
time and space are choking me
the lack of time and space is choking me
these things are true
and 
impossible
you're impossible its true
i can't care

marbles in your mouth 
might help you word things better
but what about your awful eyes
and that hideous mind
nothing can save you that.

you female. 
and other curses.

catlady

Cat. CAT. cat. Your fur is so soft, black cat. Your ears are like little radars, they twitch. They tick-a-tick-a-took when you are alert. My hand pets you, smooth cat, and I am lying with my face against yours, inches away, sideways on the bed. Empty bed.

cAt. caT. cAT. You are a good friend to me cat. How can I be lonely when you are here, with your soft fur and your purring. Comforting me :). No. How could I be lonely and think of my lack? That would be ungrateful.

What more does a person need than softness and eyes and ears that twitch and shift and are alert. Oh cat you are so majestic. You do not think of loneliness. You live and are grateful for it. You are beautiful for the simplicity of your Wants. They are your Needs, one and the same. Why want more than what you need? It's not sustainable anyway. I blame consciousness.

Your tail flicks from side to side and I lay my hand down, palm up, to catch your batting tail. Swish swish it touches my hand, so soft, and I giggle inside. Not out loud because I am alone, so why bother. Swish swish comforts me for now.

Suddenly I gather you in my arms and I hug you close to my body, you remind me of something. I love your body, it is soft and warm and fuzzy like love. I cannot think of my lack when I have such a creature in my arms. You are still in my arms and let me pet you. I know you are elsewhere, playing in the sun, catching mice and overturning dustbins. But you let me hold you, without wriggle. I am grateful and let you go. You stretch, your body arching and your claws spreading like parting lovers. I think of mornings in love.

Kitty cat. You are my friend. With you, there is no lack. How could I think of lack when I have cat? No, that would be ungrateful.  

Awkward silences, or status updates I could never post

ee bookkeeper

- is not creeping your profile

- is not thinking of you

- is not wishing you were thinking of her. And creeping her profile...

- is not staring at your name in the chatbox, willing it to make that sound. (insert fb chat sound)

- is not wishing you would Like her shit, Comment on her exciting life and wish you were part of it, thereby validating her entire existence.

- is looking at her phone that doesnt ring.

- is now looking through her phonebook wondering who to text.

- needs to clear her phonebook.

- can smell the desperation.

- is making her life sound more exciting than it is, by;

a. Pretending that there is no dead time between her awesome real-life moments, wherein she actually just stares at her news feed wishing it would do something new.
b. Writing cryptic status updates that make her sound profound and intriguing. And
c. filtering pictures to make them look vintage and therefore, blessed by the gods.

- is taking selfies that she wouldn't dare show to anyone or acknowledge that she is secretly a part of the selfie-taking club of Poseurs and Mr. Vains. #whichismybestside?

- is cheering you out of your depression, even though she should know better than to cheer at a depressed person. #killthatcheerfulbitch

- is looking like a hobo.

- is also smelling like a hobo.

- is trying to pluck this chin hair with her bare hands. Aha, success!

- is trying with her tongue to reach that mayonnaise stain on her sweater.

- thinks that it's quite possible in this horizontal position.

- is thinking up a really mind-blowing status update... tick-tock-tick-tock...

- is aging...ever-so-slowly.

- is chain-smoking because it makes her feel like a tortured writer.

- is choking on her smoke and feels repulsive, but also tortured, and therefore...pretty damn good.

- has discovered a new porn site, but really can't share it because she thinks it should be illegal, and no healthy person should be getting off on this. She is surprised at her arousal but the shame only makes her hornier. She has hit a new level of self-loathing.

- imagines herself getting out of bed.

- imagines herself getting out of bed and walking to the bathroom, to take that shower.

- rinses, soaks, lathers, waxes on and off, jives, sings badly, scrubs, loofahs, dries off, wraps up. All through astral projection like the yogi that she is.

- reckons her filthy mind could use a shower too.

- thinks she has never been this lonely. She blames the social network, and gags on the irony.

- is doing mental push-ups by going through the alphabet. Aardvark, Abacus, Actuality, Adoration, Aerosmith...

- realizes that if she doesn't move soon, she'll have bed sores to deal with. The idea fatigues her...

- hasn't started talking to herself yet.

- is considering the option of talking to herself.

- is on a date with herself and there's just this awkward silence...

- Banter, Bedridden, Bittersweet, Botox, Bubonic, Biding the time, Better off, Biodegradable...

- is wondering what you think of her status updates.

- is wondering what you think of her mental status. To date.

- is suddenly feeling judged.

- is defensively flipping the bird.

- is reluctantly signing off.

- is really quickly logging back in to see if maybe, just maybe, hopefully, who knows, it could be that, something new, possibly, has happened to her virtual body.

- is disappointed, and really signing off this time.

The book of your body; dirty words

It starts with your rocketship.

Your shuttle penetrates universes, exploring galaxies and forcing open my milky ways,

punting supernovas along the way.

The black hole that threatens to swallow you up,

in its mighty bottomless mouth,

never comes

but is near-enough.

You float like jetsam in sacred space,

starry-eyed and shard-gutted.

You blossom beautiful, and your thick thorns thrust, shooting out sleepily,

your petals parting pleasantly, blindly, in my eclipse.

I am the desert rose in your orchard,

that stomping ground of giants, myths and monsters.

Come down to me, cloud above!

I mew and I mire,

I pine and I long

for your spring to burst,

for the water to finally flood,

the fruit to fall,

the nut to bust;

Wanton.

My roots tickle the ground and tease your water up from the curdling core.

They stretch and suck, sensing the climax.

I crave the rainstorm, the smell of it approaching

taunts me and I grow, gluttonous, alongside my anticipation.

Alas,

my thirst weakens me and wearies my shaking stem;

I wither the while without your wet.

It begins with the saga in your ancient smile;

ecstatic eyes,

your laugh like the gods, cruel and perfect;

and ends with beating of

heroic hearts, helmet-heads,

held hands and harlot holes,

holy hell I hunger.

You are hard like the hard place

(I bash whole-heartedly against you)

and soft like the velveteen of mossy womb,

my ears thud dully with the comforting sounds of Here,

as I sleep, swimming, I die blissful.

Your hand and mine stop thinking altogether.

You are plunging into my ears, sea-diver, moving the innards with music,

like etching the caves of me, the cove within. The concave of me. The cunt cave in me.

Irreverant and innocent,

you are the eternal Bacchus and I, the lucky, follow you where we go.

Thick as thieves

we take the night; no apologies, no regrets.

No shits given.

Your talk and your world of wordcraft -

You excite easily and

I learn from you.

Comfortably,

I soak in you. I soak you in.

You are a wildcard

and I am your petting zoo.

You are the catch of the season,

and I reel you in

with breadcrumbs, fishbait, peach schnapps,

that strategic treasuretrail to my candycottage,

hoping to hook you on my whore's carnival.

People and llamas flicker like phantom static, le cirque extraordinaire,

but fearless and unflinching, - unearthly children! -

we play at building blocks with the cosmos;

perfect fit.

We are stone cold killers at this point.

You are down for this

and I am up for it;

all kinds of trouble.

Ready unsteady gone