gemini

what does it take. how many days, weeks, months, years? how long does the silence drop. the heavy beat of the heart.

i could have fallen for anyone. i fell for you. we fell from the same. i let in to open myself. you are still you.

my love for you, it has no ends. no rationalizations. no lists. i cannot give reason, my love for you takes all reason. i see no hope for myself to rid of you. and all the hate, all the pull, it flicks like tongues on routes to climax.

what do you speak? who do you speak to? the songs of love i want to write to.
you. i kissed the words of vengeance, and held my breath to cleanse. i fought the slow unwinding of clocks to leave you.
here, i want to be with you.
here, all i want to do is run from you.

ode,

white hot to the touch, resentment’s song leaves the
coldest palette to sample from. and what delights to
the hearts conditioned response, memories bitter
the tongue.

i take a last breath
and pray my wounds will be tended to, kindly
wrapped in bandages from judgement’s scold.

but what was love to me if not a series in parts of venom. silk to skin on ice patches to your bedroom.
and where boredom took you to scenery - you played to my body’s precision.

revenge, with its finger of a doctor’s curiosity, how sly it inserts to my pleasure. what can i destroy for tomorrow’s ripeness. to take your shade of elation.

it should be mine!

my love should have, fed, could have, fed, should have -

left you on coals. in my eyes. for my eyes.

how long does the encore fulfill? of arousing temperament that fuels weeks, and so i stay weak. how long does truth take to heal. a relinquishing of power, i sleep on nails to which you left in

perfect symmetry.

to my precious, once i gave you all my weakness

sink into boudoirs, the comfort of bodies' desecration,
as deep as temptation, and your gun has its hands around my words.
for now, just a blush.

but it will only take sunrise to fetch me full.
flame the raven of manic to sing its
banshee lullaby.

disposal to burn you, i have
the body to take yours to empty.

ego around my fingers
like the sweet kiss of your apologies, linger
this on your lips.

love will take me. make me
on reveries to cleanse.

his list of women imprinted on my chest - not full enough
for meals.

i'm made up of no woman in your ideal.

i lay him on my grandest treasure.
me.
take a look at what you polish off to!

ravage of hours leaves hollow in our
promises.

a look of oil, you are spilling
to finale.

to pirouette on lies? none can save us.

rigorous showdown

my dear, the script is bare, laid to your presence.

and its selfish attraction has you on glee. don't bat your lashes
to innocence. you are not the calm to storms as your
mother believes.

i am for taking and you want this body for parts.
like men before you as they climb to conquer, as though they've crushed
mountains to victory without a woman's artillery. but sharpen your
every thought. first, come the flowers you left in bloom. those
cheap affections.
their pedestrian petals can't survive without my
love.

wilt.
dry.
break
to end.

no guard of mine will come down
willingly.
second, come the grand appeal of all your
lies. oh! how i chisel to shape you back into asphalts uneven.
and to this showdown the ego will never compromise.
what eye fury will you play for me today?
how bewildered you are that i've come again, with a will
so sharp on my glances, and to your cautious smile -
believe me, you will love me.

sweetness, you are the tired gray of skies i tolerate, love, and
dread. i find you tucked under sheep's textile.
water spills, leaking through the mattress.
i idolize; you're irate.
this enters into my fever, of passion and rage,
forms of love can take on the darkest, and mine
rids you of tranquil

off to church again

in the sky with diamonds,
cherry lover, come around
the corner of my curves, words for a nectar
taste.
run your luscious

i'm on my knees, again.
god:
can you read this?
spent my last dollar on the man
dressed for a living room display.
obsession is the gunpowder -
stains of my womanliness in his head,
thorns to this desire, through my fingers


try to tell me this isn't what fire
tastes like.

no, you cannot love my heaviness. you cannot even handle your weakness.
and i think i'm going to be humming songs of regret about you
until i have enough vocabulary near me to compose
about love.
why did i chose your nothingness to give me hope? ...

i let go of past lovers and chained myself to a masochist
who fit the tragedies my mind concocts.
you were well fit for the part. you fed my misery
well.
well, where is our love now.

he was a cranium
he was a deity
he was damaged sex i never got to try on my body.
splinters, blisters; i have from harshness i ran straight into,
impeccable lifeline; yours i give back to the dead.
intimacy, chloroform; i imagine you an animal in ruins.
i should have bleached your mouth from playing
tricks with words you couldn't hold,
but i couldn't even get inside your heart.
you said you made space for me, but i think i was more
a validation for your masculinity.

he was a year of seduction,
a personal myth,
creaking and breaking through the
cracks, crawling up my walls
to store his own past.
you denied me space in your presence, you could not give me
distance either.
in the end, i killed us to preserve myself.

the paintings he gave me still hang around the house. i can't give them away, i can't put them away, i can't do anything but give them air in my presence. i almost never keep ex infused items around, but this is different. i respect his pieces. i find them beautiful. and even though it doesn't give me the best feelings sometimes - it's okay. there was love in there, somewhere, at some point.

in case you're wondering it says I M A G I N A T I O N (our inside story thing. too long to explain) 

it's written across 3 mini canvases since it couldn't fit on just 1.  

and you don't even know it.

sometimes i cling to words to try and find passageways that aren't there. every once in a while when i'm hovering really high i'll create my own alleys. i can gather some sentences you shared with me the day before and take them into naive corners. and so my imaginative mind goes : : :

somewhere on 5th and Seneca we will meet. your every footstep will fill in colors on abandoned roads, and on my atlas (my body, my mind) parts of woman will grow. the missing 'gene' will find its home and a husband i will yearn for. finally i will be a complete journey. you've walked on, sampled, and decided to keep. 

you say one thing that 5 other girls heard and i tell myself it's okay. it means more with me. from your mouth it means more. you mean it more with me i know it. (silly, silly, love girl.  you will only hurt yourself.) but i am okay with the pain. i am still here, so i must be okay with the pain. my love is not quite full, not quite empty. i can never truly applaud you, and i can never truly desecrate you, yet, i'm never as happy as when i get to tear you lustfully with rage for receiving selfishly what i put on the platter passively.

and so my imagination stops. pulls at me. stops. pulls. stops. oh how i wish i could yank its chain and strangle this infatuation with it.

Erotic place - she is one and only. Tied to an imagination in the confines of her home. Flickers on skin from every ethereal finger that lovingly embraces goosebumps. Caged by the temptation of wanting one slight moment with one beautiful soul. That one whose every word utters rejection, and every thought of their existence blazes through the womb to leave damp. Bondage - a form (a body) that doesn't hesitate to thaw itself on thorns. Her conception of love.

L

His name was shy of just 3 little letters
Missing
From the ceiling my legs on a bed
Of razors
Through the head on the other side, pop the weasel
Goes the needle
Speakers blow through the cracks

Took a mirror and applied some dust
Breathed in the senses broke out of delight
Eyes through a camera lens flashed
Flickered on my skin
Candle burns a 3rd degree
The way his love would ignite
A vision,
He wasn’t one to sacrifice
So I told myself to tread carefully with love understated
Not required to give back

His hands would almost fissure my body if I
Didn’t hold on tighter
A ghost of past
Slick presents on my holy throne,
Jesus he was laudable
Like no other from a page I’d written with half
Empty ink
Carved precision
Such fulfillment
Anything to get a little piece
Of heaven that is him.

So fine and outlined on my lips his tips
Went searching a map of lines
He was good with his hands
No race against time
His eyes like water
Purified with just one smile
No grammar to correct my mistakes
If I said the wrong thing the alphabet he would erase

Hid himself deep inside my essence
I tried to extricate between
This fabrication
But forgery felt good on my body so I let him
Desecrate and outrage
Provide me with suffrage so I can have
A character worthy of a challenge to dissipate

(I will never get tired of reading this. And as cliche it might be, (everything I do and say and write is) it still holds me. I was 18, and I was wise.)

3 birds.

Ate a cobweb, birthed a spider. There were moist summer nights where I stumbled through secrets. Opened locks, and caressed the devil's hands. Drew a life plan on windows - slightly cracked. Broke away from chains glistening on lustful skin. Premature, and naive. I gave my knowledge a chance to bloom. Gave my enemies a chance to surrender. My youth I copied on paper, or at least tried. A slab on pavement, I thought my insecurities were beautifully designed. Never did have color in my eyes, so I used theirs to inspire.

Death came on the porch stoop. Grabbed a hold and refused to let go. Got to the age where I was a woman. Not by choice - by the clock's order. My heart, a submissive little mistress - gave in and breathed some life. From oppression a willing host appeared. Your love could have set me on fire. It did, but I never burned. Should have tortured my mind to stop on its feet. Should have, but chose to walk on coal. Took the road taken by all, cared for by no-one. Never did I exist, not until I picked on a blister that turned into a scab, and then a full on infection.

Gave a bird a free trip around the world. Grew her wings with patience, and innocence. Took this bird by my hand, a handicapped outcast. Sculpted her body to fit, contour around mine. She flew with words of yours. Breathed in and lived to moments on purity. Horizons opened their arms with scorching fire, and fellow birds wished to replicate. I saw her veracity and remembered - I never did like to exist. I shot her down.

Always did keep myself at bay. A rat in a maze, you were - waiting for an answer from a wild soul. I shot my baby, she fell on my window pane. How she got so close inside I never knew. How she crept up - loved me under her wings, cared for me. Why did she chose me? I let her stay for a minute, a minute too long. That day she came back to life - I remember her feathers in ruin. When the rain came down it washed her stains. She was my symbol of what could live again.

Used to take walks to clear the words leftover from midday mania. Close my eyes and sleep away every hour - for at least an hour. Everyday I let you in a little deeper. Until you held me up, proper like a doll. Daylight was kind to me with you on the side. I shot my baby down, but you were mine. A resurrection of what lay on the window pane. What a laugh of love that bird I let fly again.

The mind blocking any light or human form. Smoke from my mouth - standing still. Your bird was mine to kill. The room is frenzied with colors of the sky. Colors of the night, black for too long. Blessed the hand that brings curses to heal. Now only a shadow of what a girl used to be. Unattainable, the sky laughs with misery.

I’m going to wake up one morning & my mind will be intact, and beautiful. The pillows will no longer smash my dreams to little pieces. My heart won’t roll its eyes at whoever dares to come close. 

I feel nervous, I feel out of it, too exposed, too uncomfortable. Everything is amazing when we’re together - in an imperfect, silly way. But that is a crutch that’s too dangerous to give into. I’m just not happy. And in my unhappy state - I will destroy him. Unintentionally.

cut the strings and tie me with them.

Let's kill this motherfucker before it kills us.

I said I was kicking him out of my life, and I am. I swear, I am! But I cannot help my thoughts. I would vomit out every single feeling and image I have of him from my brain and my heart if I knew how to.  am an addict. Just one thought back to the past and I am enveloped in his body. Those sleep deprived, half lit eyes that only come to life when his ego is properly stroked. That stupid hair of his that never styles right.

It is almost impossible to go from lover to friend in under 60 seconds. We are not machines. Every form of communication is dangerous, it leads to naked bodies and regrets. Every time he calls or I see him, I vision slurps, and kisses, and things I am trying to stop visioning. I don't want to rid of him completely, but I can't move on when we are still in contact. It isn't fair. Everything is a tease, everything is foreplay.

the name

Love. A powerful creation leaves me
Lethargic. Fastens me. Pressures me
With each deep breath. Indulging in leftover pieces
To give myself another reason. To hold on.
Listless, yet another emotion I state for you.

Evolving. Inhaling a sweet recipe of ether and elation.
Somehow it is all glorified in you.
And I keep on idolizing. Building that gold piece of
Star, which you sit atop.

Only by meandering on do I become obligated
To coerce myself back to the present.
To paint you as I once saw you.
Blurry with an error all over.

Something that never was

His spine glistens in the harsh neon glow of the television set; the flickering light illuminating the contours of his face. Is it sadness or excitement that lingers beyond the edge of his irises? Resting in my arms I try to shelter him from a world that has already done too much damage. But am I strong enough? Does he even need me? Do I need him? I long to be his utter enthrallment in another human being and resolve to love him no matter the cost.

He is perfect, but not up close and no matter how much he reassures me, I know he does not love me…not like I love him. I fight the urge to touch him but he is magnetic. Rubbing his hair, my fingers at the back of his neck; he giggles at my frantic groping and shifts casually out of my reach. I know I make him uncomfortable…I am too intense.

Sleeping alone I dream of his soft body; my hands gliding down its entirety without hesitation. I awaken to sticky underwear, a dull aching between my legs, and a hollow feeling in my ribcage as I try to ignore the fact that my love is hardly symbiotic…much more parasitic if I’m honest with myself. He vacuums up my soul with those lips; those lips that could suck the cum out of a 747.

He never answers his phone when I need him. Always the incessant ringing, a click, and then that patronizingly pleasant voice promising to call me back if I leave a message. But he doesn’t. Somehow I can never be mad because he is full of wonder (a breathtaking exquisiteness). Distracting myself with other people only reminds me of him. A sharp pain which starts deep within my left breast cuts it’s way down to my cunt where it turns into an unbearable longing. Subsiding only momentarily with random fucks and shitty masturbation because he is forever in the forefront of my mind holding back my true ecstasy.

He is elegant in the morning with his tousled hair and glasses; a smile thats not quite a smile until mid afternoon when he really wakes up. In those hours of dawn his face is so sweet and soft…distressed and confused. I want to hold and comfort him but I know I would only ruin it and he would pull away; because he only loves me when he’s drunk (in the cover and darkness of night), or when there is someone to watch…to make jealous. He desires to be wanted and I cannot begrudge him that. I inhale his skin deep into my sinuses as I realize, love will never be the same without him.

Sometimes I like to swallow (Poetica gone south)

You hang down the corner of my lips waiting for acceptance.
Each taste proceeds to invest, digest.
Each time my mouth opens its portal you digress.

How sweet for the soul to steam
From who you are and what you are made of.
Stain my body, cross identities, we become drained.

On my knees I remember all my prayers, ones that lead me to the offering.
Everyone’s the watcher,
And I wonder if God knows…
Left my act by the door, for your mouth is a pureness to
Leave its print.
And I adore.

The body beats drums.
Wooden, hard.
A dance of betrayal to my father, a dance of temptation for survival.
Pleasure and pain provokes.

Chrysanthemums spread down my legs.
Curious eyes, your masculine growth.
I exhale the waves of crimson and burgundy as floral babies escape the tunnel.
Milk spuds burst with agony.
Throb - raw penetration is all I seek from you.

March 15, 2009

Leo my sweets,

It's a cold, sad day here in the city of the rain. The lights are hiding, my mind is shaking. I'm sitting in the living room devoid of you in my mind. I cannot stop my self from going down memory's past. I wonder what you are up to now? What coolness is breathing down your neck? I miss the sun. I miss it's warmth, it's smile. I haven't heard any birds come out to play. Maybe that's because I'm never up at 3:00 or 4:00 AM like I used to. It seems as though my birds disappeared when you did.

I'm feeling too beat to sound proper right now. Proper is for silly fools anyway. I want to call you, but my fingers can't set into action what I'm feeling. I can never find you anyway. Always the busy body. Doing something, somewhere.

I miss you. I love you.

(The things I write in my journal sometimes. Emotionally amusing. How smitten.)

Once upon a time when I was 17

Saccharine strawberries buried in poison gardens. 

Eerie lovers spook fervor off each other-

Deride the definition of love.

Adoration is for the raw souls. 

We walk beside each other in empty gardens, where ashen flowers wane from solitude.

Licentious women convey secrets under lilies roots. 

You and I step on the dissolute, waking all self indulgence,

Lured by harmonious fingers reaching enticement in places where secrets are revealed only under dusk.

destructive little girl

He stands up to me when I proclaiming loud adjectives. Ones that cut him and run through me with smiles.

Humors me until I am content with the madness as it is. Madness = love.

And I sit on the couch for mins, what seems like hours? I say I don't care. I don't give a fuck. Find some fucks for me to give, please!
I do, I do. He knows, and let's me have my stage anyway.
I don’t fantasize about his body, nor his touch. I look at his eyes and I read nothing. This is not new. I feel no eyes can inspire me.

He has a tender touch. One that opens my mind to reality-

that there is someone who stands to be with me. I won't let him mold me…
I am not the woman in which his eyes are safe with.  

Step back like I always do and wonder if I am truly worth his attention. Is he worth mine? I start to crumble. Panic attack.
I cook him on the back burner, where the heat of love can barely reach.
If I cut him short there will be nothing to heal from.

After all the turbulence I will wonder why he wants to clean up my mess. What does he want in return?
A simple hug will calm me. I’ll stay in his arms like a child. He smells like something I don't want to remember. 

He saves me subconsciously.
I drain him emotionally.
He will leave and I will laugh to ease my tension.
Lifeless and boring, everyday will be a chore. I will hate him yet there will be no reason. I will want him for praise. Salvation, I'll say, save me, you can.

I will inform everyone of this pain, but midst it all I will remember -you and I never fucked, we never made love, and that will hurt even more.