Mundane run-on

The mind goes…

It reminds me of the screen

I take to falling apart quite gracefully if you would just get the fuck out of my way

who said I had to be whole for you

anyways

who said I needed to be measurements not given by

me

well fuck me and then take my thighs wet

to memories and I will touch upon it now and then

again

but most times i will regret

I will regret

I will regret

not leaving sooner…

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Waiting To Blame

I never once took him for granted. Although he would have told you otherwise, that son of a bitch.  “You don’t care about me. “ He would whine after an argument that began over dirty dishes and backed up toilets.

Don’t get me wrong he was a good man in the beginning when he rode me hard and kept his mouth shut. But soon after we married he began to feel and in feeling he began to smother me with questions of whether or not I loved him. Did I need him? Why wasn’t I coming home at night? I mean shit, I can only take so much questioning before I bark, “Look sissy, I don’t give a shit if you feel like I should snuggle you more after sex or spend time with you at night balancing the check book! If I wanted someone so damn soft and pink I would be with a woman!”

A spine, yes a spine is what he needs and I just don’t have the time or energy to give it to him. If he beat me I’d be better off. At least then I could call him a man. At least then I could look him in the eye . Shit,  I’d even let the fear keep me home. Something. Anything to keep me home. Right now all that resides there is his damn pathetic whine. Waiting to blame me and beg me not take his love for granted.

Me? Take anything for granted? See, it goes to show that mother fucker doesn’t know me at all. Not one bit. 

Cycle of Love

Photo on 2014-01-06 at 20.05

Words like granite crunched in his ears.

“This is shit.”

He rips pages from a notebook sitting on his lap.

“Fucking, shit.”

Wads them in his ink stained hands and tosses them into the garbage can fire burning in the middle of his living room.

A bottle.

A lonely bottle.

A lonely bottle sits alongside him glittering with fire on it’s cool brown body.

“Shit.” He says licking his cracked lips and moving the pen back over the notepad on his lap.

You quench my thirst like water to fire I fall damp…

He nods out. Eyes fallen heavy, so heavy they drag his head down to his gut causing him to jerk awake grabbing the bottle next to him, gurgling and snorting through chugs of his real true love. Whipping his face with the back of his sleeve he catches a glance of the notebook in his lap.

“This is shit.”

He rips pages from a notebook sitting on his lap.

“Fucking, shit.”

Wads them in his ink stained hands and tosses them into the garbage can fire burning in the middle of his living room.

A bottle.

A lonely bottle.

A lonely bottle sits alongside him glittering with fire on it’s cool brown body.

“Shit.” He says licking his cracked lips and moving the pen back over the notepad on his lap.

Don’t change a thing.

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Lucy, her name is Lucy and I wonder. I wonder how deeply do I let her see me?

How deep do I let her hold me into her guts and see that I am beauty.

He says the same thing she said to the others…you are beautiful.

Fall hard with me again

even if it is only for the love of words.

If it is only for the capture of the toes that dip in the grape vines.

Tell me you love me again and let us not change a thing the reality will crush us but for tonight, for ever, be my dream.

Come here again.

Curl in my lap and be the dream again.

Never to touch the tainted reality that is life.

 

Thank You Disaster

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I look at him

eyes are heavy

his eyes are light

I remember fixing him and the way he alcoholically

pissed on the bed I also remember

how hard he held me pressed in groaning the floor I melted

I remember how colors never seemed the same I thank him

for his deep blue

a bit spicy beyond the concerns of others

but my tingles thank you

My memories that quicken the heart

thank you

thank you

disaster for coming and staying not long

Death of Taurus.

Death of Taurus.

The death of the depth.
It’s blood for the purpose of annual celebration.
It is killed because it is strong.
Killed because it is beautiful and untouchable.
So marvelous is the bull that the other creatures kill it to show how amazing they themselves are.
They worship the kill.
They worship it’s beauty.
They worship it’s death.
As I am Taurus watch me bleed.
See who rose by stabbing me. . .