You are blood across your mouth and I am the knees knocking
thinking about your teeth breaking.
My pillows keep these thoughts of you in plumes.
The light by my bedside
brights your squints and sleepy
the other black and jags
box your eyes as you talk of snow.
When you were gone
I saw you in my bedroom yarn--
the brown beige green and gold
bold,
so rich your face stains, you think
So rich in your face stains,
I think
as my pillow cases do.
The last time I was happy I was laying down
and so I lay down more.
Then you are the blood across my mouth and I breathe better.
I remember how wet my lips became
and in pain, laughing.
The intrepid e
I tasted the Sun and spun it on my fingertip
Spicy cinnamon and raw lips
Prickly whispers and soft secrets
a nebulous, I know.
I licked it
with a tainted tongue I charred
my tonsils, every bone set aflame:
we were kids.
Too close.
Too bright.
My eyes squinted shut
tight.
Pressing together, my heart
stings,
and yearns all at once and the ocean
pours out of my mind.
Reminiscently together:
Still burning
still intertwining knuckles.
and how?
To chirp at the sight of morning sky.
To sleep with the wind and blow the moon away.
i want to write you a letter( by puppydawgkilla, literature
Literature
i want to write you a letter(
i want to write you a letter
(that with each tail of a "t" and the dot of an
"i"
makes it better and better
and then tickles the tiniest ventricle of
the softest part of
your heart,
rests in the dirtbed
of a nail,
notices the smallest flame flicker in your eyes' peripherals).
hold (you nightly in the pit of my arm
and mold my fingers to the crook that robs the head of your shoulders,
be the first dab of a shadow to a pupil's window and let you wear) me well.
I want my DNA to plant itself inside you (a smell that whistles the tiniest faint of help
The first drop dripping that gets the pleasure of burying itself into the salt of your skin
A
to comment on my inside of me as it is common knowledge as the sky is blue and so is the ocean, and i kiss you lightly on the pores of your oily forehead and declare you my favourite
the caterpillars of these mountain top turn quite and quiet and they feel like the fur of a soft animal
we kiss the breeze unwillingly but desiring nothing better, these kisses like razors dulled to tufts of down and we sail down while you tell me it’s okay
and it is so we are the strings of a violin with resin residually telling us stories of when the sun did not know if it was setting or rising because it didn’t matter until we named it
so we na
i will sleep where we huddle by puppydawgkilla, literature
Literature
i will sleep where we huddle
i will sleep where we huddle
our bodies warming
in colder proximity
we forget discomfort
as we try to sleep
our eyes say nothing happened
but then they had retired for the evening
we’ll never admit it and i yell it at the rooftop
i will sleep
where we huddle
our bodies warming in
colder proximity
we forget
discomfort as we try to
sleep our eyes
say nothing happened
but then they had retired
for the evening we’ll never admit it
and i yell it at the rooftop
i will.
sleep where we huddle our bodies
warming: in
colder proximity: we
forget discomfort!
as we try to sleep,
our eyes say nothing happened.
but then,
th
This is the part where I call you the Earth.
It sits right on top of my stomach like a chicken nesting,
caresses the inside of my breast in my left chest
and it feels alright.
How your hair tickles and your giggles sniffle,
and it feels alright. Clothes matter cloths
and masks beats pumping,
but the inside of my backside hops in pogoform,
we are a being of something uniform, inside and around the sides,
intertwine, we lean and sigh.
This is the part where I call you Yellow.
We decided on daffodils from a story about being one genius.
"Synonymous," we said and blew into the dead air, to bring life to a wind
to send it a
You are blood across your mouth and I am the knees knocking
thinking about your teeth breaking.
My pillows keep these thoughts of you in plumes.
The light by my bedside
brights your squints and sleepy
the other black and jags
box your eyes as you talk of snow.
When you were gone
I saw you in my bedroom yarn--
the brown beige green and gold
bold,
so rich your face stains, you think
So rich in your face stains,
I think
as my pillow cases do.
The last time I was happy I was laying down
and so I lay down more.
Then you are the blood across my mouth and I breathe better.
I remember how wet my lips became
and in pain, laughing.
The intrepid e
I tasted the Sun and spun it on my fingertip
Spicy cinnamon and raw lips
Prickly whispers and soft secrets
a nebulous, I know.
I licked it
with a tainted tongue I charred
my tonsils, every bone set aflame:
we were kids.
Too close.
Too bright.
My eyes squinted shut
tight.
Pressing together, my heart
stings,
and yearns all at once and the ocean
pours out of my mind.
Reminiscently together:
Still burning
still intertwining knuckles.
and how?
To chirp at the sight of morning sky.
To sleep with the wind and blow the moon away.
i want to write you a letter( by puppydawgkilla, literature
Literature
i want to write you a letter(
i want to write you a letter
(that with each tail of a "t" and the dot of an
"i"
makes it better and better
and then tickles the tiniest ventricle of
the softest part of
your heart,
rests in the dirtbed
of a nail,
notices the smallest flame flicker in your eyes' peripherals).
hold (you nightly in the pit of my arm
and mold my fingers to the crook that robs the head of your shoulders,
be the first dab of a shadow to a pupil's window and let you wear) me well.
I want my DNA to plant itself inside you (a smell that whistles the tiniest faint of help
The first drop dripping that gets the pleasure of burying itself into the salt of your skin
A
to comment on my inside of me as it is common knowledge as the sky is blue and so is the ocean, and i kiss you lightly on the pores of your oily forehead and declare you my favourite
the caterpillars of these mountain top turn quite and quiet and they feel like the fur of a soft animal
we kiss the breeze unwillingly but desiring nothing better, these kisses like razors dulled to tufts of down and we sail down while you tell me it’s okay
and it is so we are the strings of a violin with resin residually telling us stories of when the sun did not know if it was setting or rising because it didn’t matter until we named it
so we na
i will sleep where we huddle by puppydawgkilla, literature
Literature
i will sleep where we huddle
i will sleep where we huddle
our bodies warming
in colder proximity
we forget discomfort
as we try to sleep
our eyes say nothing happened
but then they had retired for the evening
we’ll never admit it and i yell it at the rooftop
i will sleep
where we huddle
our bodies warming in
colder proximity
we forget
discomfort as we try to
sleep our eyes
say nothing happened
but then they had retired
for the evening we’ll never admit it
and i yell it at the rooftop
i will.
sleep where we huddle our bodies
warming: in
colder proximity: we
forget discomfort!
as we try to sleep,
our eyes say nothing happened.
but then,
th
This is the part where I call you the Earth.
It sits right on top of my stomach like a chicken nesting,
caresses the inside of my breast in my left chest
and it feels alright.
How your hair tickles and your giggles sniffle,
and it feels alright. Clothes matter cloths
and masks beats pumping,
but the inside of my backside hops in pogoform,
we are a being of something uniform, inside and around the sides,
intertwine, we lean and sigh.
This is the part where I call you Yellow.
We decided on daffodils from a story about being one genius.
"Synonymous," we said and blew into the dead air, to bring life to a wind
to send it a
All my doors are windows
When I think of climbing through
They're locked from the outside
To protect me from you
I know that you'll come visit
And fiddle with the lock
I hope you find the bolt cutters
I hid under the rock.
I'd like to lift the window
And I'd talk through the screen
I'm afraid if I do that
Your words would come out mean
You look at me sadly
clutching close a small pine box
I ponder why it isn't
secured by any locks
I see a little bird
Light upon her head
She gently opens the box
And it nestles in for bed
Close the lid, tuck the latch
No lock should it adorn
I ponder her entreating eyes
Whilst feeling so
Well.
If.
For instance,
That.
We.
All Spoke,
In sentences that rhymed,
At the end,
With life in our pockets,
And blood on our seams,
I beg to differ your highness,
But life with all nothing,
But rhymes,
But roses and dresses,
Than life would be nothing,
But.
A.
World of a puppeteer,
Dressed in silk in rain,
Of violet crimson,
And violence sitting,
In.
The.
Rhymes of our words,
And life with no magic,
Means life with no soul,
With no childhood of wonder,
Splendour.
Gold.
Blossoms on cherries,
With apples on markets,
And cats on blueberries,
On puckered market stands,
Mama's lost her mind.
Can't blame dad, he's gone.
The grave's a walkin', as she's a talkin',
To the stalkin' spirit of the dead.
She ain't bad, or at least she doesn't mean
The thoughts she thinks,
the tears she cries,
for what she's gona do.
Can't see but hear, can't know but feel:
tremors behind closed doors at night.
Mama, you gotta wake up,
Please
Dad used to hold her up,
when she'd slash herself down,
but he's gone now
so mama contemplates tomorrow,
her sorrow,
and mine.
Time tick-tocks and rots away her soul,
as she tries harder to cry,
with each lamenting second.
with every stroke she's broke,
and I go with her.
I could repent my dissent and prevent my descent
but I meant to pretend in the end, it made sense.
But the end should have come a long time ago,
we both just held on, although we both know
that we are no longer two peas in a pod,
two bees with a job, you see it's just wrong.
I can't be the guy who just cheers from the yard,
invite me inside, you'll see it's not hard.
My love was a gift, I gave it to you,
my hopes and my dreams, betrayed them for you.
Yes we are different, from two separate worlds,
with you being highbrow and me being poor.
You told me "no matter, I could care less",
now three years gone, it's all a fair mess.
It
Reading old journal entries embarrasses me.
Who the heck was I?
And so.
Who the heck am I?
How existential of me to ask myself.
The good thing about one of the billion episodes of Frasier on tonight, is that one of them (this particular one) has a woman wearing a really nice bra.
I'm gonna do reading now. I'm tired of your boobies.