i will never know the pain that shoots through the fragile thinness of a ballerinas bones some nights we miss the things we never knew enough to miss
There’s a spoon left on the counter top. Someone, hours ago maybe, stirred sugar into their coffee or English tea, milk too, honey. The spoon is marred with a brown perfect-circle stain that had been left to pool in the little dip of the silver. There are hardened bits of brown in the sugar bowl too, clumped fragments of sweetness that will be discarded only after many mornings spent...
you are seven layers and i’ve got your blood under my nails but i never managed to make it to the surface
i am in a muted place where poetry doesn’t make much sense to my senses it reaches as far as the back of my throat and turns back to mix with my saliva and be spat on the concrete i am too ugly inside today to let pretty words in to swim in my bile and get lost among the noise my organs make
discodroid asked: well done! very close to perfection in it's simplicity.
sliced my palm open on the corkscrew, sucked, and chased my blood with wine
Wanted: New Muse
I sat down to write tonight, in low light with an eerie creaking silence in the room, tea hot enough to remain hot to the last line without being sipped and a damn good idea in my head. Just the way I like things. Perfect to the last detail and I cracked my knuckles for show. I thought the shadows on the walls from passing cars might enjoy a little build up tonight. I like an audience to...
tealangdons-oldblog asked: Hi. Just wanted to say that I am in awe of your writing. Your words sting me, but in a very good way. Does that make sense? Anyway, please don't feel pressed into doing this, but I would be incredibly honored if you'd check out my writing blog, fragmenting(.)tumblr(.)com. Thank you! :) hope you're having a good day.
you are not worthy of the curve of my lips or the effort it takes to push my tongue to the roof of my mouth in order to speak your name
Call From The Road
You call me at 11pm on the coldest night of the year but still without snow. The ground is frozen and the muscles in my neck are knotted into buds that my freckled skin stretches over, taut and restricting. Dolphins are beaching themselves on the coastline not far from here and through the white noise and thick silence on the line I think I might hear their screeching cries bouncing between the...
I love the dizzying head rush that a nose bleed brings. The tunnel vision and the muted sounds, brightened points of light. It’s the closest thing I get to a high these days. The blood ribbons on my chin remind me of raspberry syrup while it drips and splatters into the sink. Full of melted sugar and Red 40 dyes and the kind of sweetness that tingles your tongue before even making...
The Problem With Kids Like Us
The problem with kids like us was that Mother would wrap our birthday gifts in newspaper, and we’d read the obituaries out loud, giggling, and toss the trinkets aside. You can’t be surprised that this is how we turned out.
I sat useless across the room in a wooden desk chair, folding and unfolding my hands in my lap and breathing through my mouth for fear of smelling things that didn’t yet permeate the air. You lay there in my line of vision sweating profusely under a floral hotel quilt. I watched your hands, or really, the mounds they made under the blanket, seeing where they landed. When they’d jerk...
Such A Mess
The scoured stainless steel of the kitchen sink is filled with crusted plates and chipped teacups. Flies are losing their wings in the rivers of tar molasses creeping it’s way towards the drain. I can smell the build up but it’s almost sweet to me now. It’s the way you get used to your own body odor and the prickly feeling on your calves. There’s a wine stain on the...
your teeth are bleeding, i say you correct me, because bone can’t bleed and you spit at my feet thick and bubbling pink your knuckles are bleeding, though, you say i correct you because, bone can’t bleed, right? and i spit at your boots, too thick and bubbling yellow with venom
The night before you died we shared a take-out container full of orange chicken with water chestnuts. You cracked your chopsticks clean in half so I gave you mine. I found a silver fork and stuck sugar snap peas onto the ends and fed them to you. There was no electricity in your apartment. You said you’d forgotten to pay your bill. We ate next to a whole table full of candles with so...
fumbling-fox asked: this isn't really a question, but i would just like you to know how much your work inspires me in my own writings :)
I’ve got secondhand sickness. My stomach is cramping and folding in on itself while I starve it of nutrients and love for so long that the bile has no where to go but up. But this isn’t even my fucking sickness so why do I have to carry it around? It’s born of watching you be torn apart by the skin and the bones of a pretty little brave thing who can hardly breathe with her...
A Conversation With A Character: Arguing With...
Tonight I became consciously and fully aware of something I have always known to be the truth but had never really felt when it was happening. I was there, tapping away my the worn out keys on my laptop. The TV was on, a bad habit I can’t curb. I swear, it’s worse than the Marlboros ever were, all wires and sparks and what I’m assuming are some sort of mind control waves of...
She and I spent the night folding maps until our lives overlapped. We drank wine wrapped in brown paper and barely noticed the magenta stained sand around the rim until it scraped at our tongues. We spit and it looked like blood, like our teeth had been knocked down our throats, but there they were, stuffed into our mouths all pink-wine and coffee tinted. Our taste buds were fuzzy. We wrote...