goodmorning, heartache

It all means the same now. Take me slowly and pour me into the river because tonight is not the time to dawdle. There will be no more shreds of life to hand out to the beggers and there will be no more signs of gold at the end of this hunt because the map on my skin was wrong after all and nobody taught us to read upside down. So I'll sink here in a thick and languid way and you can watch from the sidelines since that's where everyone likes it best. There is no room for sympathetic kisses, they burn through my flesh and eat away at the bones. I stopped breathing today and I refuse to do so until I turn into a floating blueberry, because let's face it, that's what the spoiled fruit's destiny always was. Don't tuck me in or sing me sweet lullabies for the words will only kill me and sugary melodies will cause me to rot. Tonight I am your bruises and your mess and your every regretful wound. You'll never find the time you lost and I'm so sorry about that, but one day I'll forgive you for this winding trail you made as the gumdrops are long gone now and I may never find my way home again.

i was lying i am totally a princess

I watched a tree with blue bark and fingerprint leaves come alive. It grew out from the parchment in which it was rooted and I caught my breath in time to keep myself from pressing a flavorless kiss to its mouth. The pilot is drunk on too much truth and this plane will only crash if we give him anymore. My lungs are too tight and my skin is too golden and my words are no longer fresh, but I promise you this pinch in my veins is nowhere near going stale. Create a castle for me because even though I am not the princess and I'll never ask to be saved, I still want you to assume the position as though that's what I've searched for all along because I can be gentle too.

There is a ghost I know who keeps his soapbox on a shelf instead of below his feet and his liver tucked away in mystery compartments of my home. I can taste the sunlight in his skin as our movements are milky and stagnant, and he doesn't mind when my hands get lost in his pockets or when my girly socks end up on his feet. I don't know how to talk about other things and someone tells me that I'm not dying after all, that I'm probably just more alive than usual, that maybe I should try this sleep thing out more often. I find myself slithering from layers of disguises and fake smiles and heavy sweaters that weigh me into heavy oil, because this season doesn't call for it and even the new fashion line is full of thicker skin. There's something really attractive about those who are guarded. I want to climb beneath surfaces of skin and melt around tainted organs just to understand the anatomy of a voice that isn't mine. Slip me your secrets under the table and I promise to keep them in my pocket forever. My curiosity is demanding so look away from me and I'll sew your lids shut because if I can't see your visions then neither will you. One stitch, two stitch, three stitch, four, close your eyes and your eyes are no more. Tell me about your worldly ideas and your thoughts on nation raping leaders and the government that's eating us alive and I'll nod and smile and try to keep up, even if the way your breath lingers will only distract me. Give me a box of childhood memories and all the dark things that still scare you and I'll give you a chisel and a saw so we can break it all down together. Another sweater and another unspoken truth is gone and I'm toppling over this silence until he starts to shout and no matter how many funny noises hitch from the back of his throat we are that much closer at the end of the day. Everything is so much warmer now.