I want to open up
those colorful glass bottles inside me
and let all these untold things
flutter around for all to see.
Tag: poetry
Apology [4-08]
I offer my sincerest apologies to the friends and family of the victim. I cannot imagine the amount of pain and suffering you must be feeling, and I am sorry for your trouble. Apologizing is something I am not very good at, and this is no exception. Especially since her screams were so beautiful, and her young flesh so delicious. I found her begging majestic.
Forgive me; I cannot help myself.
Handwritten late night thoughts while testing my new RocketBook [1.28.20]
Craving [3-11-09]
I’m going to lick
every inch of your skin,
and not stop until I’ve had enough.
Every bead of sweat,
every line of your figure,
is mine.
Poetry Magnets [7-25-20]
Remembered this was on the whiteboard in my study. Got real drunk a couple months ago and did some poetry magnets. Yikes.
Lotus [7-17-08]
I could feel the lips and muscles of myself
begin to flutter and then bloom.
Pushing outwards,
wet,
layer by layer,
like a flower.
Vibrant reds.
Vulnerable pinks.
My pelvis tilted upward;
my petals poised and opening to your sun of a mouth.
My seeping cum,
beginning to collect like pools of rain water beneath me.
Hating Your Absence [8-11-08]
The moon is my clock, and when it is full, it will be time to see you again.
My head has been full of confusion and the sky of spaceships.
The bugs splatter across my windshield like rain and
I wish it was my brains on the pavement.
The pain in my chest has spread; I can feel it in my thighs, arms, throat.
I hope I see you before it reaches my head,
or at least before the steel barrel of my gun does.
Razors can’t seem to be sharp enough, can’t seem to cut deep enough,
I feel like my blood is too hidden to reach.
I couldn’t feel it slicing my skin open, but then again, I can’t make it hurt like you can.
I’m sure I’ll never be able to feel anything again.
I know that even razor wire and cement walls couldn’t keep us apart,
so why do I feel so far away?
Dream: The Night Stalker Richard Ramirez [8.26.19]
Richard Ramirez was in my dream.
He was tall and we danced. We had never met before. He didn’t know who I was, but I knew him, and that he had already murdered women.
I said “I know who you are, night stalker.” And to prove it, in the middle of the noisy packed bar, I pulled down the collar of his t-shirt a bit, to expose the top of an upside down pentagram that he had carved into his own chest.
He was super confused and shocked. He stared and then motioned for me to follow; he wanted to take me outside somewhere. I kind of blew him off, because I was dating someone already and so I started gathering my coat and bag, muttering excuses.
He turned away from me and went outside with his friends, who were wearing black and dressed like punks. After a few minutes, I thought better about it, and followed him outside. I called out “Richard” and he turned and looked at me, and then turned away, went into the street with his friends to set off some kind of m80.
There was a cop nearby watching them, whom I started talking to, to distract her, while they set off the explosives near a Cota bus. The shockwave blew out the bar windows and was visable to the eye; a color like blue fire.
Food Chain [2-26-09]
This is a terrible web we’ve woven.
And it was I alone that ruined our relationship.
Now,
Our beautiful lives as spiders;
Stalking, catching, cocooning,
Sucking dry the flies,
Really only exists somewhere between dreams and reality.
Stockholm Stalker [10-16-19]
His eyes are upon me again, I can feel it. Sometimes he’s a tall looming silhouette on the path behind me when I walk at night, or a whisper in the wind outside my window. Other nights, he’s the noises coming from the darkness between the trees, or the warm sticky breath upon my neck while I sleep. But he’s always those eyes; piercing and dark, with such depth and hunger.
He’s been following me for so long, awake and sleeping, that my body can register his closeness before my eyes see him. His presence, although frightening, has become familiar. There has always been that grip of fear in my core, the electricity down my spine, but now there’s something else as well.
His eyes feel like a weight or a blanket; covering, hiding, and comforting me. But sometimes it feels like the warm sun on your face after being in the cold. Sometimes it’s easier to sleep knowing I’m not alone, even if he’s always out of reach. And his eyes, only ever watching and never daring to touch.
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