oh sylvia

today i will fall asleep and drift into a warm purgatory among the babys breath and poppy
my words are oblivious to mortality 
each second warms me and settles my thoughts 
slowly crawling back into a damp reality, but no fear holds blanket up to my eyes 
i heard the hiss of the gentle assassin, it's blinded metallic tongue licking at my conscious thoughts, the rising pressure conforms a smile to my lips,
 i am a godless woman, but i pray aimlessly for no more pain. 


my words will always carry my blood like strong veins directly to your heart
after I have stopped breathing 
you will always have a piece of me 
i have thrown a wrench of heartache into the workings of my own machine, it softens my bones, and i suffocate happily in the invisible stream. 

push

and if your going to write a song about me, make sure you get all the references right,
make sure the pitch and tone of your voice emulate just enough pain, to make every girl that hears it simply want to die
when you get her in your bed
touch her and ask her how she's doing
they always have the same answers, i always knew what you wanted right from the look in your eyes



i need a glass of water and another round of vicodin
forget about the diet, and all your dead best friends

babe, a deeper breath than that

without being overtly obvious, your hands remind me of him

the whole time it was so so easy
it only hurt when I told him you were better.

your summer kiss haunts me all winter

as the motel ceiling came back into focus, you asked what it feels like

i mouthed the reply

" it feels like taking a fucking bullet"

you laughed, but I wasn't finished

"right between the eyes"

get the fuck out of my head. 

resin and ashes

here is some required thinking

nothing hurt,
you were calm and collected
my fingers were bent back
and you were inhaling the smoke and laughing

you

he half choked, " I want you to show me what hell really looks like"
i stepped back and half screamed " Then look me in the fucking eyes"

do you remember the summer when...

a girl always needs a fallback.


give me big black open spaces, between mountains, oh your rivers are raging in my veins, your roots grow deep inside me.

the birdcage

i wanted you to write the last chapter,

it would mean the world to me,

the blood in my veins,

heats accordingly.

it seems as though i am having his dreams.

these are a few of my favorite things

1. french cigarettes
2. rose water baths in antique claw foot tubs
3. living is easy with your eyes closed
4. marzipan and pink cream horses
5. doc martens with sundresses
6. greek food
7. heroin chic
8. anarchist poets
9. hopeless romance and drug addicted writers
10. the eiffel tower at midnight
11. falling apart leather journals
12. old typewriters
13. french markets in the fall
14. central park in the winter
15. trails that lead to weathered cabins    

tourniquet

medicated by your lips, i slip into what seems to be a sleepless haze for nights after I get another taste of you

i try i try i try i try

im a half a (w)hole

i want you/i want you/i want your heartbeat buried in the sound of my sighs

revelation

the way your voice curdles in my ears like warm milk when you say " us"
oh, it breaks me down like a child.




"Young Jesus goes to school carrying his cross upon his shoulder. When he learns his lessons well he is given candy. A sweet apple to put in his mouth, a bouquet of flowers to put in his little heart.
Youll see. Youll go and see them, youll talk to them. Theyll listen to you and theyll follow you."


your chap stick sticks my white cotton dress to my thighs
i told you to wait till after class
your hair smelling like orchards and your lips tasting like strawberry fields on fire

the fall

you are always taking deep breaths but never letting them back out again, I am half flattered to say that you may be on to something here.




1. i have nothing but amazing things to say about you
2.
3. you laugh...
4.
5.
6. and everything is going to the beat.


this week..
razorlines and rose petals
rust and cigarette burns on blue jeans
marzipan and champagne
planning out a trip to paris by the fire and home made chocolate chip cookies

and i dont want to live this life if i cant live for you

"Please bury me next to my baby. Please bury me with my leather jacket, my jeans and my biker boots. Goodbye. With love, Sid."

longer still

I yearn for the sinew and the lace, that composes your delicate frame.
the love letters get shorter as the winter grows colder.

fingertips that ache to touch the edge of your bed with such a sudden perversion to be cheek to cheek with you, wounded breathing, your laugh, muted by a milligram, the tilt of your head, awkward, I allow your forehead to fall forward, caught by my chest.

and you dont know me by just drowning in my eyes. you need to really fucking lose yourself and crawl under the skin.

times square is burning. and the scene is euphoric, i lose myself in these bass lines and bottles of alcohol , we were never meant to touch, i was never meant to make it out of your bed alive.

concerning winter

1. I have a collection of hospital bracelets
2. you asked me If I dream about lavender fields in the winter
3. in this town, the boys of summer never go away
4. i never will forget those nights, i wonder if they were a dream
5. i miss the way the sunlight framed your face, come nightfall you were but a shadow of a man
6. i starved myself for two days
7. these dreams are becoming more vivid as winter approaches
8. i want to visit the museum of modern art before the first snowfall with someone who makes me feel beautiful
9. i want to believe in something again
10. my heart skips a beat when I think about how beautiful your snow angel must be, I hope our lips will meet under a frozen sky in december


skin against snow i crawled following the rabbit to her hollow, beneath the roots and insulation of earth.

the wanting ache wakes me again

their are snakes in the lavender fields, nursing off the shade
i became the girl becoming a black hole in the corner as everything about you consumes her.
i just wanted to feel the miles under my fingertips, the miles of lavender under my hands

ive been dreaming of you and I
standing at the top of the eiffel tower
mid winter, the lights of the blanketed city are blurred out like expired film

you are just brilliantly illuminated
it gets harder and harder to keep my hands off of you, and my heartbeat steady and slow at these heights

i blush as your pen hits the paper and you sigh
dressed me up in her clothes and sent me off into the golden mauve and sparkling wet rain of a morning
the whole town was waking up in the beds of other strangers
but you were no stranger
you were my savior.


the calming effect of his forehead against the small of my back, with pushed up stilettos held up by strong shoulders, this night is something to compare to the resurrection of christ.

this is the nightmare, that takes my breath away

we are awaiting symptoms

So blush at being mine, yet gently come
And place a dainty hand within my hold
Too delicate to crush it into warmth,
Save that blood mantling to thy cheek shall flow
Back to the fingers, though I press them not.
- Aleister Crowley, " White Stains"


i imagined myself in his bed, underneath him, everything but our bodies were still. everything was sweat and shadows on the wall. the cool sheets were soaked with whiskey and dreams.
you radiated walking through those hospital doors.

A) you are like a headwound. When I lay down with you and close my eyes, I don't know if I will ever wake up.
B) if we are in this together, why do you keep abandoning the thought of something beautiful happening between us. You folded the sheets you inspired me on and put them in the linen closet, only to be confronted by your own skeletons.
C)when you open your eyes in the morning, you'll find me still sleeping, in your arms, against your chest and the blood all dried up

" on paper we are ideal, but life isnt written out on paper"

let me see what Ive got for that headache

 

seeking : the fullness of you mouth, and the hot milk you pour for me each night and leave on the bedside table before you fuck me 

the deep birth groaning of the mare left me with an ulcer the size of a black hole, and my pale pink cheeks turned to cracked porcelain 

i hear the wolves clawing at my bedroom door, and i have the most unbearable desire to let them in and cool my burning lust with their dead meat tongues

 in the november garden, my heart stopped beating, and with my last cold breath, i imagined i was smoking strawberry cigarettes

A)i will walk among peach orchards and wear vintage lace dresses if we make it through the winter 

B) zabars is an a amazing place to buy your groceries /  www.zabars.com 

C) i have an intense sexual attraction for Patrick Bateman, the main character from the novel and movie, American Psycho

D) i will never find someone to finish my sentences for me 

E) your are my drug, get in my veins

F) i only wear stockings with holes in them

G) i dont want you to bring me flowers

H) lentil soup for dinner last night 

I) i scratched up his headboard, and left my perfume scent and lipstick all over his sheets

J) he told me i made him feel young again

K) my hands started to shake when you told me you read my diary and that you were completely infatuated with my mind

sun drunk, scabbed knees, rusted candy paint cadillacs

" To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering. "
Friedrich Nietzsche

" There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness. "
Friedrich Nietzsche

we have been wilted down to nothing but fading goodbyes in and out of cars running from the colors of the sunrise. If we are lucky, you'll exchange phone numbers and talk shit about the people you used to fuck in highschool. You'll remember the awkward taste of the sweating milk cartons in the cafeteria, the hours you spent in those bathrooms carving and etching, starving for the chance to make your mark, with even just the slightest hope that years from now, someone will go from having their head between their knees, tears swollen and threatening to spill from the waterline, and look up and see your work of pencil carved art, and smile, " FUCK YOU PORT RICHMOND HIGHSCHOOL, SUCK A DICK" with two little hearts.

those summers were endless. The cracks in the sidewalk held this promise to scab our knees at some point and we were okay with that, we had our lovers. They were always older than us, ready to take us to their bedrooms, and we just wanted to run in the waves.

those pictures that hold my image in, i am stark and naked in the pixilated consequences. my eyes are searching for yours on the screen, but your looking down, or your looking past, perhaps there is no difference ,your just a fucking shell of a man.


The best author will be the one who is ashamed to become a writer.
Friedrich Nietzsche


Artists are, above all, men who want to become inhuman.
Guillaume Apollinaire


i'll stick with you baby for a thousand years ,nothing gonna touch you in those golden years