~theunbeingdead
oh *sighs contentedly*
Newest
Hey You“There is a girl. . .”Hey You
This is as far as I’ve ever gotten. “There is a girl. There is a girl. There is a girl who wears hollowed hearts as mittens. . .” That sounds dumb. Deaf and dumb and apricot colored. She thinks of phrases in terms of fruit.
This is as far as I can go with it, I think. “There is a girl.” She is just a girl. She doesn’t want to become anything else. She doesn’t want a plot or a characterization. She doesn’t want to be diagnosed and analyzed and picked apart. She is just a girl. She fills many pages in just this fashion. She is a girl.
by ~theunbeingdead
Xavier Loses His TeethWe were encased in ice,Xavier Loses His Teeth
our perspiring noses numbed, became the thaw, more than your lips were ever my balmy summer. She pirouetted and sang even though there was death and the threat of death all around us. The perspiring, it continued; and we passed the weak, though there were few faint hearted, defeated, with the
dilapidated maw.
We barked and scavenged, but mostly we thanked the asphalt and the
heavens that we were children,
and starved, pining, panting like wolves,
for the sorrow of strangers.
by ~theunbeingdead
Bah Bah Black SheepI was born without knee caps in San Diego, smoking Marlboros; I didn’t look at anyone; I kept my eyes closed until you taught me to chase apples that the little girls tossed in the water and crack my thighs against the concrete.Bah Bah Black Sheep
You picked me up off a steeple, looked at my shut eyes and called me a cad; you
shook my hand and called me “sir;” you
took my fist and licked away the cartilage.
We grew faster in the springtime and became locusts in the fall; we ate their harvests and drank their milk- it took months to digest because we were larg
by ~theunbeingdead
My HoneybeeDear Taylor,My Honeybee
I spent 30 minutes as a single cell awash in pink and oh I bled myself out through my thighbones when I contemplated reawakening because oh my god is always a Saturday phrase and your wounds are too far away for me to hear your heart slutting itself around like a washing machine inside your chest repetitive and throbbing angst so you can shed 98 percent of your atoms every year and is your soul made of atoms and is your spirit made of atoms every proton and electron so vibrating and electric blue that you spat out the window of your truck and the velocity was too much and the bones the insulin oh the ratch
by ~theunbeingdead
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