April 8th, 2009

Somewhere in a hut
There is a man who
keeps his heart in a basin
by a locked shed.

And every day
teenage boys try to
break in to his shed,
because they figure
he must have something valuable there.

But his secret is,
the shed is empty
for he holds nothing close
to his personal clock.

January 22nd, 2009

I pulled out the dresses
from two new boxes,
hurrying down the stairs.

They sit in front of their matching vanities,
two tables made of cotton candy vomit
with intestinal weaving trims.
The lights shone down on them,
the white powder hiding
the scarred, red skin,
the headstones from years of those
little pus-filled bumps
making themselves home in early adolescence.

I pulled the dresses on them,
tightening them with all the strength I had
hoping maybe one day,
if I pull hard enough,
they’d implode on themselves.

January 21st, 2009

Filled with dust;
dust and boxes.

Old boxes,
left undisturbed for
who knows how long.
I hungered for their solitude,
their ability to sit,
and do nothing else
but collect dust.

I open one up,
and pull out a necklace
made of lace.
It’s wrapping around and around,
the intricate loops of fabric hugging each other,
different and the same.
The white,
once so clean is now yellowed,
crumbling at the edges,
It’s curious,
how the maker of such a
beautiful item was able to
cast it aside and allow it to rot.
This lace and I,
we have quite a bit in common.

January 20th, 2009

The apple wasn’t poison.

No, the poison came before.
The apple was simply dessert.
Every time I bit down,
some more juice would ooze out,
down over my teeth.
Fill my taste buds until
I couldn’t
see,
hear,
feel anything but the
pure white of the apple.

Out of the corners of my eyes,
I could see my house guests.
They came every so often,
the little men.
Colorful little ones,
they became a sash,
as usual, and I tie it around my waste.
I can hear their laughter as it tightens.
Lack of oxygen to the brain.
Fall,
black out.

January 19th, 2009

Now I’m flying,
my journey to the moon,
cut short by my rose bushes.


They can’t let me go, their tendrils
stretching,
reaching,
pulling me to the ground.

They’re hugging me,
kissing me, thorns leaving the
scarlet blush of their lips.
It’s comforting, their love.
The only ones to whisper gently in my ear,

to caress and forgive.

January 18th, 2009

The window was open,
blowing the curtains.
Fanning them out like my hair
on the hospital pillow.
The moon’s rays race through,
eager to show off the
thousands of diamonds
littering my floor.

I walk to the window,
the diamonds becoming one
with my feet,
with soles of sinking sand.

The edge of the pane
bites my palm when I
lean against it,
but I feel nothing,
its jagged teeth biting.

The morphine is in my blood,
and the path it clears is the only thing I can feel.

January 12th, 2009

Devoured.
I was.
Whole.


Stomach acid splashing,
eating away at my eyelashes,
the burning sensation of it
working on my layered skin.

I dared not scream and chance it intruding,
consuming from
the inside.

My saline tears burned as
they ran down my cheekbones,
becoming one with the fluid
as they dripped off my jaw.

Sudden gut instinct kicked in;
punching at the walls of my
intestinal prison,
desperate for some air,
freedom from becoming nothing,
slowly and painfully.

A wailing filled my ears,
the sound waves cascading over me,
the vibrations bouncing around
my head in a halo.

I realized it was my own voice,
my own fear I was hearing,
echoing through my brain.

Suddenly, the world went dark. And there was nothing.

January 10th, 2009

My name is Annabelle Lee;
I live on an island, in the deep sea,
No one's here but me...
But the loneliness keeps me sane
To a tolerable degree.

One night a boat was floating
In the ocean, very far
From anyone or anything
Its wood, warped and marred
I was on that very boat
A fortnight and a half
When it crashed into that rocky shore
Where my head received its gash

Now I sit and wait for rescue
As my phantom brains drip on the sand
Searching for boats or submarines
Looking for a place to land.