i don't want to watch my heart grow old
i don't want to sit on the dark side of the moon
i don't want to walk through broken glass,
you walked into my heart, velvet-footed
i was tongue-tied and you, too bright but eclipsed
playing hide and seek with a moon and some stars.
discourse on my depression
("do you want to die?"
"i don't particularly right now, but i'm sad today."
"that's comforting, i guess."
"maybe i should have a burger, i think it's harder to be sad with a burger. what do you think?"
"i think it's stupid to be sad because you don't have a burger"
"do you want to go to McDonalds?")
pagan angels made of wax and twigs
burnt out matches for stars
(they shine only because they're very far away
and really, they're dead by now)
saccharine snow and cigarette ash
pagan angels and borrowed cars
pagan angels and your body on the hardwood floor, beauty breathing
pagan angels and frosty breath.
pagan angels to bring me into the new year and to burn what is left.
(being ready, slowly, slowly...
but it is much harder when you are loved.
it is much harder when you are missed.)
happy new year everyone + best wishes
be kind to others + to yourselves
butterfly, i like the way you wear your wings
the way they beat
and echo my own heart.
("what, or whom i was loving,
or what in me was loving, i do not know."
but i loved and that is the important part, no?)
have you seen her?????????????????????????????
my mommy's wrong daddy knows best
(last night a boy i used to think was beautiful called me just to talk and he was drunk and he told me i was wonderful and perfect
and all i could think was how you should have been the one calling me at one in the morning, drunk and telling me i'm perfect.)
pourtant quelqu'un m'a dit que tu m'aimais encore.
I have this recurring dream about a fallen angel
he holds me in my sleep.
he told me once that "heaven leaves a scar, too" and showed me the wounds on his back where wings once were.
I don't care if it's real,
I don't care what it means,
but it makes me feel safe, a little
and sleeping isn't as bad if I have those dreams.
and in those dreams I'm perfect and the way I should be
in them I have a child's body but with the proportions of a man
the dreams comfort me.
december thoughts and diary pages
an angel of tears and piss,
a bed of bones, blankets of ash,
laying in spit and semen and sugar.
(you called me sugar, once
you called me little ghost, once
you called me jupiter and you called me mars, once.)
dreaming of carving love into trees,
as though it's exciting and beautiful
to destroy something with your name.
caffeine and cannabis,
happy christmas, darling Adonis.
do your eyes still shine like stardust?
guilt has the tendency to seep through the pages of notebooks,
What should be said,
and what shouldn't,
What should be painful,
and what I'm familiar with.
(You held me in your sleep last night. I had missed that but you're not the same anymore. I slept with you the day before and I felt empty, as ever. You'll call me tonight and no one will have anything to say.)
There was my illness
and your leaving
and the synchronicity of it all,
And it comforted me because it was perfect, for once.
secretly he loves me
and i love him.
i'll prove it.
that awkward moment when you're drunk
and you vomit your feelings
i've got a whole world inside of me to burn.
grow up and blow away.
but it makes me glad that
you can bleed, too