Stained Paper

The pen glides

staining paper navy.

 

As the ink flows out

it glints in the florescent light,

winking at me as others read its secrets

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Little Girl

Little girl, little girl.

 

Phosphenes dance

colored wheels of mysteries

just out of reach

of tiny fingers.

 

Little girl, little girl.

 

Cartwheeling across trimmed lawns

training wheels left behind,

racing into the future

of obsidian.

 

Little girl, little girl.

 

Look before you step into oblivion

the stars are enchanting

but the fall is long.

 

Look before you step into oblivion,

or you’ll find yourself in a muted grey world

made of poisoned stardust.

 

Little girl, little girl.

 

Incandescence burns in your youthful eyes

but it’s ephemeral like so much else.

 

Little girl, little girl.

 

I see it’s gone

the innocence

the serendipity.

 

The milk is alcohol,

the vitamins are drugs,

the smiles are tears

the body is broken.

 

Little girl, little girl.

 

I look at you and know your story.

Now look at me

and see your future.

 

 

Limerence

Our hands are clenched tight

fingers curled around each other.

 

The trepidation of the ineffable has us quivering

in our high top boots

and fishnet tights.

 

The fabric snaking up our legs

matched the crossing of our minds,

each so entrenched with the other’s thoughts.

 

In unison we sing our song

melodies so sonorous

that the forest can’t help

but hold it’s breath.

 

No one notices anything but the beauty

of our smiles

so our tears escape unnoticed

rolling down blue-veined faces.

 

Imprints of nails on our palms

still rouse memories

of silent stares

and untold secrets hanging heavy

in the air.

 

We are iridescent with the limerence

but never does the epiphany grace our minds

that we clenched hands so tight

that one one fell

the other did too.

My Little Ethereal Girl

His hand wrapped around my wrist and I flinched in fear. The wounds hadn’t  I was still the beautiful painting of bruises, splattered across milky skin.

“My little ethereal girl.”

The raspy voice came close to my ear, his breath spreading across my cheek. Stronger than my trepidation was the stench of alcohol, drowning out all my other senses. Something cold pressed forcefully against my lips – I tried to dip backward but just pressed into a hard chest. As he tilted the bottle up the thick liquid I’d come to despise washed into my mouth burning my tongue.

“Come now,” he rumbled, delicately stroking the front of my neck. The abrupt tightening of his fist around my already-aching wrist was all the encouragement I needed. I started to gulp, face wincing at the tang as the alcohol washed down my throat.  

“There’s a good girl.”

When he finally took the bottle away, I was swaying on my feet, blinking slowly. I could barely feel his hand around waist, slowly moving up under my loose shirt. My body began to tremble, remembering the last time all too well.

“Now, now.” he cooed, digging his thumb into one of my bruises. “Nothing to be afraid of.” I stifled a gasp of agony, my vision going blurry for a moment.  A chuckle echoed through the air, the only sound in the empty house. “Let’s paint a picture, shall we? You do look so lovely in violet and blue.”

I couldn’t  resist anymore. I was too busy erasing the memories about to be made.

He picked me up in his arms like a rag doll, and headed to the bedroom, eyeing me hungrily. I was so cold…but soon my senses faded. I no longer was myself and never would be again.

Cosmogyral

Elysian species decorate the planets

webbed fingers outstretched to meet

the nothingness that has overtaken

the universe’s beating heart.

They shrink to the latibule’s of the stars,

hiding among dust

becoming as hollow as the burned out sun.

“Be quiescent”

they whisper

“give in to the chasm”

and embrace the mellifluous universe.

Le Monde Rouge

 

Le ciel est peint en rouge,

le soleil est brûlant avec des larmes,

le sang coule dans les rues.

 

Les murmures caressent l’air de tristesse

et ils écrivent les mots de la tristesse

mais nous ne pouvons pas lire

quand tout est floue.

 

Les blessures sont froides

dans l’air glacial

et nous tenons tous

notre souffle

resteront avec nous.

Nous avons peur de lâcher prise

quand tout ce que nous voulons

est à remonter le temps,

—–
Je t’aime, Paris. Mes pensées sont avec vous.

White Nightdress

Hanging from the floor

with nowhere to go.

White nightdress limp

on broken frame.

 

Memories singing sweet nightmares

of reality.

 

Images of white rooms

with white walls

and white doctors

flood the white mind.

 

They took her in,

the girl –

the rag doll.

 

They filled her with pills

till giddy delight

was forced upon

an exhausted body.

 

White

she remembers.

White.

 

She was the blackboard

and now she is the chalk.

The Rulers

The kings and queens stood,

fingers intertwined,

eyes as cold as the unsolved mysteries

of the doomed galaxy.

 

They danced to a tune of their own,

feet flying across the splatter-painted earth

and bodies fluctuating in the ashen air.

 

That night they walked home

their crowns put into a box

their song of laughter silenced

the blood washed from their shoes.

 

Then they smiled

and said they knew nothing –

even when the bruises began to show,

when I was a picture of royal purple and deep blue,

painted by their cruelty.