Naked Winter, Tell Me Your Secrets

It's cold tonight but it doesn't stop me from sitting on my patio wrapped in a blanket while otherwise completely naked. I'm drawing on my pipe and letting the sticky drug sink into my bones as I watch the spirals of smoke slink into the sky. A song drifts out the open door as I watch the darkness creep along the alleyway. Kissing you has been on my mind a lot lately and I'm thinking about it again here in my little dark hiding spot.Your lips are becoming a preoccupation of mine. They look soft. Touchable. Like I want to run my tongue along the edge of them before exploring the deeper depths of your mouth. I close my eyes as your image materializes on the inside of my eyelids.

The cats are milling about my feet exploring the dark crevices with soft mews and quiet feet. I'm watching the first crystalline flakes of snow drift towards the ground in the dim light of the streetlamp. It looks like sugar dusting the air. The winter night is cold and still. Soft as my breath lingers on my lips. I think about you dancing before me so many nights ago. The club we were in was loud and hot as that summer night dripped humidity down our skin in stark contrast to the gentle winter's night I drowse in now. You gyrated, slinked, and shimmied left and right. Your skin glistening in the heat through your see-through shirt. Was my intention see-through that night? My want, could you see it? Did you know how badly I wanted to touch you? Explore those twisting muscles in time with the rhythm of the music. It's just... I was never sure you wanted me to. Never sure you saw that need in my fingers and mirrored it.

And the summer slipped into fall and the fall blew in the winter winds and the snow is starting to fall tonight. My bed is empty. My heart is following each drifting snowflake on it's long journey to the ground. My naked toes are cold. My eyes half-closed I think of kissing you when I should have. My life is full of 'should-haves'. I sigh against the chair and whiskers tickle my ankles as a tail twists against my shin. The cold wind drifts through my hair whispering to me little secrets only the winter can know. I rise, draw the blanket around my naked skin, step back through the door to the warmth inside my strange little world as the cats follow closely at my feet. I settle back down with cats now wrapped around my lap and I write this down. All my little secrets for you to find somewhere out there in this cold, dark night.

Dinner with a Bad Girl

I feel like the Antichrist, very unwelcomed and unwanted at the dinner table. I glance at the man I'm supposed to be in love with. Whose cheap engagement ring I'm wearing. I glance at his parents, whom both thoroughly dislike me. His mother's brow is furrowed as I poke at my peas which taste like little balls of overcooked cardboard. I imagine she's thinking about how to kill me and make it look like an accident. She doesn't want her son to marry a girl from a poor family (not that I think they are rich by any means but they are much more middle class than my family), with a penchant for black clothing, who is a little too smart for her own good with a decided ability to think for herself. She wants her son to have a good little wifey who will take care of him and spew out good little pink skinned grand-babies. I don't want children. I can't stand anything that cries at 2am that isn't seriously drunk.

'And what I need is a drink' I think to myself. I would sell my left nut for a Jack and Coke at this point while my fiance makes idle chat with his graying father about crap I could careless about. 'How's your car running? How's work? Your friend from high school, Mark, is getting married. You should meet his pretty little wife-to-be. She's a nice girl.' Blah. Blah. Blah.

And there. That's the point of contention. I'm not a nice girl. I'm a bad girl who doesn't want children and doesn't need a man to take care of her. I want an education, a passion and some sort of focus to my life. I don't need my validation from the person who is supposed to be my partner in life not my keeper. I want to dress in tight clothes and spend the night dancing and boozing in some dark bar. I want to smoke cigarettes and talk about philosophy to depressed intellectuals. I want to play poker with men chewing on thick cigars in the backrooms of seedy bars. I want to dance around in my underwear in the living room and fuck on the kitchen floor. I want to smoke hookah in smokey Persian tea shops while discussing the state of Middle Eastern affairs with dark skinned women. I want to taste sweet kisses on the edge of dimly lit beaches. I want to skinny dip in the middle of the night. I want to drunkenly fall into bed with a big smile on my face. I want to talk dirty. I want to drive fast. I want to get the fuck out of here.

As I hide in the bathroom during after dinner coffee and further discussions of 'guess who just had a baby?', I contemplate escaping out the window. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The understated make-up, the brown top, the sensible shoes... all to fit in with this family so I don't cause a ripple. So I don't spoil the nice little suburban lie. And they still don't like me. I want my slutty black dress back and my over-done black eyeliner. God, I just want to go get a fucking drink! I don't want to be someone I'm not anymore.

I take the cheap ring from my finger and drop it in the toilet. One flush and its gone. Tonight something is going to change.

I Had A Strange Dream About You

The dream was coming fast and heavy now. Your face bobbing before me, beckoning me to follow. The sweet contours of it, the handsome angles of your cheeks, your nervous eyes and parting lips. I would trace those lips with my fingers. I would touch them with my tongue. Deep and wanting blurred by the edges of the dream and jumps through narrative space. The taste is soft like delicate candy as I pry my tongue past your lips and rest my mouth against yours. Kisses this deep tumble us down to the place where touch rests chest to chest.

There the heartbeat thrums. Pressed against you, close, one breath passing between us. Fingers slipping below waistbands and up underneath shirts. Skin the final landscape navigated by blind touch carefully tracing the curve of your spine. The beautiful valley of your hips, the tautness of your stomach. I trace each muscle, each line like a road map fingers dancing from hills to dips, this map of you. Every place my fingers travel I want to retrace with my tongue. Taste the salty sweat dripping from you, feel your heartbeat quicken, feel the warmth spread over your body.

Your smile. Your half closed eyes. Each thick syrupy moan escaping the depths of your throat to find my ear tangles me in the dream as I tangle myself in your shimmering limbs. My hands find your hips, sharp and beautiful. I dig my fingertips in ever so and slide against you. My own skin glistening taking on that sheen of only the most fevered dreams. I feel your lips on my neck, butterflying against my ear.  I can't catch my breath and I don't want to. Now panting with the heat only desire can bring. You hands wrapped around the curve of my breasts. The length of our bodies left with no air between us. You hand sliding south. Searching for the center of my growing warmth. Your other hand laced in my hair. Your tongue searching more frantically the contours of my mouth as your clever fingers trace the contours of the inside of my thighs. I gasp...

And suddenly the phone rings and I am awake. I violently toss it across the room. I slip my hand between my legs and desperately try to fall asleep again.

A Recipe For WhoGivesAFuck

This is the make-up of who I am:

Combine and mix the following-- half-fucked up teenager, half-fucked up adult, one part vengeful demon, two cups diagnosis, a couple teaspoons of misplaced love, a quarter pint of violent father genetics, half a pack of cigarettes from 15 years ago, one bottle of Jack Daniels, 12 years of post-secondary education, a bag of sugar, two bags of candy, three pints of uncontrollable pain, four bottles of blue and white pills, eight tablespoons of intelligence combined with six tablespoons of self-defeating tendencies, a dash of agoraphobia, 3 helpings of anxiety, one dollop of neurotic behaviour, two cans of occasional vanity combined with three big cans of body hate, several tight dresses, a dram of sex, one eating disorder, a fifth of creativity, several fingers of confidence, half a pound of self-doubt, 2 litres of being too nice, one case of being a bitch, and a sprinkling of ennui.

Bake for 31 years and serve with slight indifference.

Pills for Breakfast

I rolled over and pushed my face into the pillow. The sun streamed in the window around the edges of the dark drape I had hung to keep it out and stabbed my eyes as my morning headache filled my sinuses. This headache was getting to be a reoccurring daily theme. I untangled my hair from my face blinking into the dim light of the bedroom. My mouth felt like someone had laid shag carpeting in it and I knew I needed to get up to spit the vile slime out of my throat so I wouldn't start choking. There are several bottles of pills waiting for me by the sink. My bladder painfully stabbed me to let me know it still existed and was upset that it was full. I pressed my palms into my eyes ignoring my body's various complaints trying to assure myself that today was going to be different. I knew I was probably telling myself a lie.

I'd been in love with several different men this last year. They were all men I had been in love with before and each time we met it always ended in some disaster or another. This year was no different. It was a routine I had become comfortable with in an odd sort of way. Love someone. Make sure the emotions are complicated. Make sure the situation is even more complicated. Make sure someone gets hurt (usually me). Lather. Rinse. Repeat. At least these meetings of bodies and emotions were always brief so I always had lots of time afterwards to dwell on what had happened and how it had gone wrong so quickly so I could actively apply my expertize in over-analyzing.

I had my beautiful lover in the summer heat whom I laid with on the beach as he got increasingly uncomfortable with my presence. I still can't figure out why he wanted me there in the first place. I had considered just drowning myself in the waves to make the whole situation less tense. There was my lover in the fall who swooped in with a surprise phone call at 3 o'clock in the morning, fucked me hard through the morning in a hotel room, and swooped back out when his ex-girlfriend made her usual plea for his savior complex. This has been our usual arrangement for when he is in town for several years. There of course was the man I have known since I was a teenager whom took my tender virginity after we had made sure to be as drunk as humanly possible and still standing one night a very long time ago. The love, however, I feel for him seems to be moving into a place of deeper friendship than I ever thought possible for the two us. I found myself adoring his girlfriend and meeting his other girlfriend and liking her a lot too. They've made sure to make me a part of their group of friends and every time we go out dancing and drinking all together I end up having a great time despite myself. I often think we should do it more frequently. We always end up telling stories to everyone else about our youthful escapades the drunker we get. I'm sure everyone is sick of hearing the same stories over and over again but we just can't help expounding on our shared history.

As I lay in bed cursing the sun and the dull pain behind my eyes I thought of the people who have slipped into my life and into my bed over the years. Then I thought about how nice it is to have this big bed all to myself as I was stretching my limbs out to the four corners with the cats murmuring as I gently nudged them. Four years ago, or maybe it's five years now, when I broke up with my last officially sanctioned boyfriend, I swore I won't get into another relationship and mostly I've kept that promise to myself. I don't like who I turn into when I have to be around someone else for too long but then again I can't seem to stop myself from loving people. Maybe I do it so I have something to write about. Maybe I do it to drive myself crazy. Maybe I do it have something else to think about other the ennui that seems to be taking me over on a daily basis. Maybe I do it so I can get laid. I close my eyes and think about the new attractive young man I seem to be developing a crush on.

My bladder stabs me again and I finally get up to pee.

You Were Always On My Mind

I want you to know that sometimes I fuck you in my dreams, slow and deliberately with an aching passion that brings the moments of climax to ever brightening conclusions. Our skin shining in the moonlight. Our fingers entwined as our breath rises and falls to the rhythm of our movements. In my dreams I kiss you as deeply as the cool ocean. I love you like a collision of stars crashing and falling over our heads. I taste you. I lick you. I devour you like candy. Our bodies slide together in the slickness of sex and crushing desire. We are a tangled mass of limbs and delicate heat. We fall in love over and over again and the world slips away.

And other times in my dreams I tear your fucking throat out and drink myself full of your red gushing blood. Or I simply put a gun to the back of your head and paint the wall with your brain matter. I take your heart out with a big knife fist deep in your chest and I eat it. Devour the raw meat with a face covered in gore. I throw you into a shallow grave, pour gasoline on you and set you on fire. I watch you burn alive as your face contorts into frozen screams. I open you up from stem to stern and let your guts spill out like a crimson wave onto the pavement. Sometimes I keep your heart in box lined with red foil as a memento mori of my eternal violence. I poison your drink and watch you slip to the floor into a debilitating coma. I wrap my fingers around your throat and squeeze until every last bit of air has left your lungs and you've turned a lovely hue of purple. I put my knee into your throat and your neck makes a satisfying snap like candy and the world slips away.

That's how you can tell I love you. I either want to fuck you or I want to fucking kill you. Either way, you are always on my mind.

Waste Not, Want Not

I wrote my entire life story on the edge of a very sharp, very large knife so when I slit the throats of my lovers they would know why.

My Sex was Weaponized

"You see, there have been men I loved and men I had the vague urge to kill is some very violent and graphic ways. I'm not sure where you fall in that spectrum." I said to him as he took his clothes off. I felt for the gun under the mattress just to reassure myself that we were on the right path. That I had an out if I needed it. The cold metal against my palm calmed my nerves slowing down my pulse as more and more of his milky skin was exposed with each item of clothing dropped to the floor. He gave me his bedroom eyes as his belt descended with a thunk.

By the time his underwear came off he was as hard as granite. Soon his hands were reaching for me to undo the buttons on my pants and lift up my shirt in one swift delirious motion. I felt all the blood in my body rush between my legs making my head a little lighter than it should have been. With a few tugs and jerks of fabric against skin I found myself as naked as him. He ran his eyes over my body assessing the mounds of quivering flesh that laid out before him with his dick firmly in his hand.

He turned his dark eyes on me and with lush lips parted whispered, "You know, you'd look better if you lost 20 pounds."

I leveled the gun with his nose and thumbed back the hammer.

Talking Through the Hole in Your Chest

When I saw myself as an instrument of vengeance, I did not see myself a slick, shining smooth god flying somewhere near the sun. I didn't see myself with perfect skin and a sly smile as I was sticking knives into deserving chests.  No black trench coat. No secret sex language. I wasn't golden at all. I saw something else. I knew what I could become.

I saw myself more like Kali with her grotesque lips peeled back in a grimacing smile to reveal a hundred teeth and a lulling tongue; her cunt the black gateway to the end of the world. She knew what it meant to sever heads and drink blood. I saw myself with great black demonic wings and the sharpest teeth you ever saw. A head full of shark teeth. Claws an inch long dripping in rotten flesh. The Great Devourer. Perfect only in destruction and her ability to mete it out. A heart ripper; straight out of the chest. A heart eater, blood dripping down my chin. Shreds of meat still stuck in my teeth. Eyes glowing piss yellow looking to eat all your bad, bad deeds. 

And I might set you aflame. I like how immolation tastes on my tongue. I like shallow graves and flames reaching the sky. You know she calls for it. Her great sword lifted high over her head; she screams your name with every girl you rape and every life you take. Have you met my sisters? Furies each and every one of them. Those are snakes in their hands. The stories said Athena tamed them, but the truth... The truth was they tore right through her. Left the bitch bleeding in her own temple and hounded Orestes until he ripped his own eyes out of his head.  They drank the fluid in his brain and snapped his bones open to suck the marrow straight out. You can't stop the anger of the dead.

I am the grotesque. The perfect rotting center of the world. With a thousand eyes turned in all directions in all time I felt every wrong. Every death. Every crying mass curled on the floor. Every shuttering breath as a heart stopped in the hands of the wrong person. And I came for them all. Black lips, shark teeth, hatred turning my skin languid. I came with knives. And I came with swords. I came with a shot to the back of the head.

I ripped them apart. I ate the parts I wanted and spat the rest back out. I sucked the juice from their eyes. I broke their spines and let them live without limbs. I slit stomachs open and read the entrails like star maps. I felt skulls crush under my fingers. I snapped vertebrae like brittle candy. I howled. I screeched. I hounded. I raced through the back roads of the worlds. I chased and I hunted and I ate my fill. I killed with fear. I killed with teeth.  I killed with a smile. I killed until the world was clean and still it was never enough.

That's when I decided to burn the whole fucking thing down. May some god with more mercy and patience than I save you all.

The Bomb

I want to form my heart into a weapon of mass destruction. I want to kiss you until I incinerate you. Immolate you; set a fire so fucking big you can see it from space. I got a heart of broken glass and fiery hate and divine love. I keep dynamite stuffed in my bra and accelerant tucked in the band of my underwear. I can rig your sex toys to explode. I may have already set fire to your sheets while you were in the bathroom. I unhooked all the fire alarms and disabled the sprinkler system. I have molotov cocktails brewing in the shower and I filled the refrigerator with C4. Don't jiggle the handle or you will set if off. Let's fire bomb our enemies. Let's burn up the neighborhood. I'm your pipe bomb, bombshell. I've got the detonator and the urge to use it. Ain't nobody surviving my love. I'm the heart demolisher and I'm gonna bomb you back to the stone age, fucker.

Blame

If I told you that I loved you, would you hold it against me?

I Called You Spider Heart

You can't seem to help but tease me not realizing what I went through as a child and just how much I hate to be teased. You laugh and fall into my arms kissing me as hard as you can. Middle of the night adventures and sly looks from the doorman. I've got swagger and a pair of stilettos in my bag. I can wiggle my butt with the best of them. Late night call girls and junkie eyes saw me pass with a big smile on my face as I rushed down the stairs and straight into a waiting taxi. Your voice on the other side of the city distant in the dark, crouching, waiting to swallow me.

I checked that my tits looked perfect in the elevator mirror. I wore my tightest pants. All hips, and ass and scented desire. Quiet knocks, silly jokes, giggling and louder obnoxious hotel sex for hallway ears to hear. I feel like a goddess in your careful worship. Perfect for a little while. Wanted. Needed. Undone. I am undone. Four AM phone calls still buzzing in my ear, I watch the dawn close in on us, skin naked and slick against the unwanted light. A few hours of precious 'just letting it go.' All spent. Every condom in the room used. Every breathe in my body exhausted. A war zone of pillows and sheets spread about the bed. I lay against you and listen to the fear rush back into your heart. Soon enough I'm dreaming as you toss and turn next to me.

I called you Little Spider Heart, skittering away as fast as can be. Finding some dusty corner to hide in. Jumping out to frighten me in the middle of the night.  I can see your misery. They once called me the Ice Maiden, too numb to have felt any of this. They don't call me anything now. He said 'there's nothing wrong with you girl. There's lots right.' But most days I don't feel that. Most days... yes, most days... I don't feel.

I know you need a destroyer trying to take you down with her. Little Kali and her little needles. Sweetest little strawberry blonde candy, all wrapped up in broken hurt and dangerous situations. It's a wicked thing to do. This little heart. This little candy heart. Spiders lick candy clean in glistening webs just over my head. I go quietly into the wet morning, trains rumbling in my bones, knowing I won't see you again. At least not this time. There's always next time. Next time. Next time, little spider heart all the way to the sea where it's never me. Never me. Never, ever me.

Fucker

And I screamed into his face, "WHO HAS THE FUCKING GUN HERE?!!" spitting vodka and warm saliva across his brow. I leveled the sights with his nose.

"Me! I have the fucking gun!" I watched his lip quiver a little. Even with a gun shoved under his nose he still managed to sneak a quick peak at my cleavage. I considered emptying the entire clip into his left eye socket. Fucker.

"Please baby. I didn't mean it!" he pleaded into the gun barrel. He gave me his most sincere face, that was until his eyes started to drift towards my breasts again. My finger twitched against the trigger. 

The New Ripper

I was surprised how easily the scalpel slipped through the skin. Not unlike a butter knife slipping into a soft pat of butter, and while his skin was as white as soft butter, when the blood started oozing forth that was where the likeness ended. The blood was more like chocolate syrup and raspberry jam all mixed together flowing down his chest in thin viscus rivulets. I read somewhere once that inside the body blood is actually purple or blue but when it hits the air the iron in it oxidizes and turns it the vivid red we are used to. I wondered if your blood would be blue if you bled in space where there was no oxygen.

I shook my head and turned back to my work. And that was what it was becoming. Work, a calling, a violent career in the making. The hours of planning, preparation, and execution that it took to get to this point could only lead to a life long pursuit. As the blood oozed little trails away from my incision, the young man on my table started to gurgle. His eyes fluttered backwards in a contortion of pain and fear. The restraints did their job and kept his straining limbs in place and the gag tied firmly around his head kept his cries muffled.

"You know you're my first." I whispered in his ear. "Isn't that a lovely symmetry? You were the first person to rape me. And now... Well, now you're another first. My first work of art."

He thrashed against the table, his eyes wide saucers of fear staring up at me. I made another incision next to the initial cut, deeper than the first, the blood coming fast and hard now.

"I wonder how long I can do this before you pass out? If I pour gasoline in your eyes, do you think that would keep you awake?" I said glancing down into his panic stricken face, "Since you are my first, we're just gonna have to experiment, aren't we? You like experiments, don't you? It's science, after all!"

I lengthened the incision towards his stomach and felt the muscles of his abdominal wall resist than suddenly give way like coiled springs snapping under pressure. The rivulets of blood now turning to deep crimson rivers.

"O, how I wish I could hear you scream!" I chirped digging the blade in deeper, "What a lovely sound it would be! Did you enjoy it when I screamed? Did it turn you on? Make you go harder? Did you enjoy the bruises blossoming on my skin as much as I am enjoying the patterns the blood is making as it runs down your sides? And look at the beauty of these striations in the layers of muscle and skin! Truly art!"

Here his muffled screams became moans as he rolled his head from side to side in anguish.

"Well then, that's a wonderful sound too, isn't it? Are you about to pass out? You know, I think I might have something to help you stay awake that might even be better than gasoline. We wouldn't want to you to miss any of this." Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a large syringe full of glistening fluid. I held it above his head turning it in the light.

"See this?" His eyes flickered but I could still see the recognition there. "It's adrenaline. I stole it from the hospital where I volunteer. The nurses should be more careful about where they leave their keys. That's how I got my hands on all these surgical tools too. It took me months to gather every thing I needed to avoid suspicion but you were worth it, my dear. You were worth it."

I smiled down at him, "Adrenaline injections directly to the heart are supposed to be very painful. Are you ready?"

Blood started pouring from around the edges of the gag. He choked and made a few feeble strains against the table, the blood loss slowing him down. I took the needle in hand, pulled back and plunged the tip deep into his chest as hard as I could to break past his sternum and into his heart. His eyes flew open in sudden panic and pain as the needle hit the mark and the drug forced it's way into his veins. His entire body arched against the bonds towards the ceiling in a beautiful curve of suffering straight to the sky.

"Beautiful." I gasped.

He looked at me with terror and tears welling up in his eyes, pleading. I could almost here him think 'please let me go.'

"It's too late to apologize," I said picking up a bone scalpel from my collection of tools. I patted his cheek with my free hand, "Don't worry we have all night my dear but like all great love affairs and all great works of art it has to come to an end sometime. And besides, you can't have me all to yourself, there are others like you who need to meet my tender touch. But don't worry, you won't have to stay in your grave alone for long."

I dug the tip of the blade in and thought, "Just like butter."

Drowning for Fun and Profit

I am soft. Soft skin. Soft edges. Soft mind. All soft. Sometimes I feel like I'm flowing like gentle babbling brooks lost in the brambling green trees with twinkling emerald leaves and soft moss floors.  Other times I feel frozen up like deep clear ice on winter lakes sparkling in the harsh cold sun of frosting days with glaring white snow up over your hips. You sink down into that snow and you stay frozen.

The hard crust of the bread sinks into my soft gums and bruises. I yelp in pain. You dug your fingers into the too-white skin on the inside of my thigh and bruises blossomed there like purple and red flowers lining the pathway in the garden. I didn't make a sound. I want to be adored but I can't stand to be around people for too long. Their brains touching up against mine. Thoughts, words, emotions pressing against me. I feel like a butterfly under glass thrashing my wings against a clear prison with freedom only an illusion on the other side.

They once called me 'the girl nobody knows', enigmatic as I can be. Dancing alone night after night. I didn't want to know. I still want to be unknown. I don't want to hear all those thoughts. Feel all those emotions. I want to wrap myself in the careful darkness and never open my eyes again. I am as soft as kittens feet. Absolutely silent in my wants. Some days I lose sight of those ends and those means and I just roll over and go back to sleep.

This one said he loved me under the mask of ear-shattering music hoping I wouldn't hear the confession. That one told me to stop looking at him like that. This one slipped away as we aged and moved on to other lives. This one wept in my arms until he hated me. This one told me he didn't love me anymore. This one came back over and over again like a lost cat. This one never loved me but could never let me go. I don't need you. You are see through.

I tell myself every night tomorrow will be different.  But the sun shines through the window in morning; I open my eyes in half wakefulness and nothing's changed.

Ending You

You should have never spoke to me in that fashion even when I called you a Fucker for throwing me through the coffee table. I had never seen a bruise grow that big and that black so quickly. It was probably too much for me to expect gentleness from someone with such rough hands and a dark voice whispering in your ear all the time. I wanted to be a different voice but you held be down while I squirmed.

When I licked your skin you tasted like an orgasm; sticky, sweet and violent. I knew I shouldn't have seen you again but something kept bringing me back here. Maybe my own dark voice was getting louder. Maybe I wore my bruises like badges of what I could go through and still be standing. Still be alive.

When I sunk that knife into your chest and you started to gasp for air, that's when I understood what had to happen. I knew then that I was here to stop you from hurting anybody else. I was here to stop you. When I twisted the blade and you screamed I heard all the voices of all the women you hurt scream too. I quieted them with your blood running down my legs, with your lungs filling up with dark fluid and your voice slowly dieing away.

I came here to be something rougher. I came here to be right. I came here to end you and the whispers of a thousand sad female cries filled up my ears and drove me on. The night folded me up and pulled me away as you leaked onto the floor to never be heard from again.

For a moment, all the world was quiet and no one knew what to say.

I Called You Apache Heart

I'm still waiting for you to pick up your guitar and play a song for me. Maybe you can tell me the truth through lyrics you come up with on the fly. You can sing to me on the beach while the sun dips down below the skyline on this coastal city; tell me what you really feel in the dying light. You can tell me why you only love me in the summer with skin as hot as Arabic deserts and eyes lost to a guilty god.

I'm always dying in the light and I'm waiting for the summer to fade. I'm waiting for the dead fall to come for me. For it's cold lover's arms to wrap me in the blackest nights drowning in starless skies. It's windy tongue to lap against my neck; raining down on me with heavy grey clouds pressing the heavens close to the earth in a wet grip on this darkest of kisses.  For the leaves to fall in my golden crown. I came here all dirty hearts and bloody hands to let the rain wash me clean. There is no beauty you can find in me and my kiss is as wet as dead leaves.

You should have left me here. I was quietly getting on with my life. But your fingers nimbly plucked my strings against my wooden constitution. I felt what you had in you pouring into me. Empty vessel that I am. The wind filling me up all vibrating on and on and on. I came back to where I first realized I loved you and tried to drown in the waves crashing over my head. The ocean spat me back out and the fall wouldn't let me come here anymore.

I traced the patches of your skin over your Apache heart letting the sharpness of your words sink into me. Your hatred of what I meant now becoming my song. You called me the silly pine tree girl raised in these mountains where only dangerous rivers run to the ocean following the trail to where my legs finally came to rest. He said he hated these cliffs just like you hate my bending will in dripping mornings and this stupid way to say a detached goodbye.

When they come for me, and they will, I'll tell them about you and that heart of yours. I'll tell them how you never spoke to me again. I'll tell them about how I held you in my arms in the softly fading light. I'll tell them how you occupied my mind. How I whispered in your ear as you fell asleep. How I whispered to your Apache heart the secrets of running away and kissed you goodbye for the last time.

My heart's a mess and I just continue living like this.

Flaming Underwear Upside the Head

Somebody better come up with a solution for this shit real fucking quick because I am starting to lack feeling for anything or anybody and that could be bad for all of you. If I ever figure out how to wire toasters to explode, your breakfast could suddenly be very exciting. I might be a breakfast food terrorist and start hiding in your jam with loaded weapons ready to pop out covered in sticky strawberry goo and lobbing grenades at you while you rub the sleep out of your eyes. If I had a nickle for every time I thought about fragging someone over waffles and coffee, I'd be a rather rich woman.

Maybe I'll train an army of carnivorous dust-bunnies to attack you in your sleep. You'll suddenly wake up choking on dust mites and having your toes nibbled off by sharp little furry teeth. That shit would suck. Or maybe I'll put venomous snakes in you shower drain and poisonous toads in your toilet. Maybe I'll set fire to your underwear drawer, rig your doorbell to electrocute you and eat the last piece of pie without offering you any.

The point to all of this is: I'm losing my sympathy for your plight. I'm finding I don't much care for your dirty socks or your morning breath. I don't really care what you think about... well... anything. And I'd really like my fucking comic books back. And my hat. It was my favorite. And don't forget to fall down the stairs on your way out, asshole.

PS; I rigged one of your sex toys to detonate the next time you use it. Toodles! :)

Freezing in the Deep

There are sharks out there. Big bull-headed things with gaping jaws and rows of ridged teeth. It's too cold for them here so they freeze in the deep and sluggishly wait for prey to come to them. The whales fair better with their fatty skin and massive size and they kill Great Whites in tropical waters much to the bewilderment of shocked marine biologists. The Killers come here to eat Steelheads impressing the tourists with their eyes glued to binoculars clinging to the railings of expensive boats.

I stood in the surf today letting the cold waves crash over me. This bay is too sheltered for such wildlife except for screeching seagulls waiting for garbage scraps from careless sunbathers and the occasional seal making it's way to better fishing grounds. I saw no sharks and heard no whale songs. The water was cool, murky and the big barges hauling god-knows-what shimmered in the distance against the horizon.

The breakers were bigger than usual flinging nude bathers towards the shore with delighted squeals and chirps.  It was these waves that caused so many shipwrecks once upon a time crashing ancient ships into the shallow beaches. I could have rode those waves forever. Set myself to sea like a Haida canoe. Just to stay out there searching for uninhabited islands and those big coastal Pacific octopuses. I could decorate myself in purple starfish, green seaweed and little shells. I could be a shark if I wanted to be.

There was a time when I brought lovers here but they have this tendency to try and drown my heart in these frigid waters. They like to see if it will burn up in the sunset and then silently follow me up the stairs with my now all empty chest and dripping hair. Here I am suddenly unable to breath on land. If I keep my hands below the water maybe it will all come back to me. That skin glistening and wet as he walked the beach towards me. Warm to the touch absorbing all the sunlight to it. Those eyes lost somewhere else, not here, not with me but somewhere un-described and dark. My own skin never actually warming but cold as milk and just as white. I think I came here to drown something of my self but the truth is I just end up floating and someone always tries to make an island of me.

Alice's Ass

Norman was the kind of man you could set your watch to. Always on time. Always reliable. Always impeccably dressed in dark suit and tie. His dark hair always worn in the same fashion, short and neat.  His shoes always shined and his creases always sharp. His world worked on a strict set of orderly rules. He got up at the same time every day. He ate the same breakfast. He went to his job by the same route and always got to work 5 minutes early. Norman worked as an insurance adjuster for the biggest company in the state. He always took lunch at exactly twelve o'clock and fed the birds in the park near his office. He came home at the same time everyday and rarely spoke to anyone he didn't have some sort of transaction with like the cashier at the supermarket or the landlord when rent was due.

Alice on the other hand was not the kind of woman you could set anything to, unless you wanted to set it on fire. Norman met Alice the day she crashed her car into a store front while doing over 90 miles an hour on a residential street. She was miraculously uninjured. A lot of things about Alice were miraculous. She explained that she had been drag racing some local suburban teens to teach them a lesson about what a real car could do and she wouldn't have crashed if one of the little buggers hadn't rammed her in an attempt to cheat to win. Alice sat across from Norman's desk in his neutrally painted office (the company said the colour kept clients calmer when the adjusters were delivering bad news) as she explained all this. She was wearing a extremely low cut skin tight shimmery red dress that stopped several inches above her knees, tall shiny black leather boots, and expensive looking leather driving gloves. Her lips were painted to match her dress as were her nails. Her hair was shockingly black, long and wild and her eyes were a piercing green. Norman thought to himself when she walked in that she looked like the kind of woman who was nothing but trouble. Alice thought to herself when she walked in that Norman looked like the kind of man that could put you to sleep in the middle of sex.

Norman told Alice that her car was a write-off and that the insurance company would not cover much of the replacement costs as the accident by her own admission was Alice's fault. After all, she was drag racing. "What kind of woman drag races?" Norman thought. This was the part where clients usually got very upset and started yelling at the unflappable Norman. Alice, however, did not get upset but instead wet her red lips and said it didn't really matter anyways. She had other cars and she was only in Norman's office as a matter of formality. "Yup," Norman thought to himself, "nothing but trouble."  Their business concluded, Alice got up and with a short goodbye left Norman's office with a swaying shapely rear-end that even made Norman notice as she walked away. He shook his head and got back to his paper work.

All that week Norman found his thoughts drifting to Alice's rump as it left his office. He could not figure out why for the life of him the thought of her swaying back-end would pop into his head at inopportune moments. While he was in a department meeting, there she'd be until someone asked him a question and snapped him back to reality. While he was driving those delicious orbs would appear in his minds eye until he suddenly realized he almost missed his exit and he had to quickly swerve into the right lane. Alice's ass was occupying a lot of Norman's normally clockwork mind and it was troubling him greatly. Sure he'd found himself attracted to pretty women before but to nice girls from good homes with nice parents. Not ludicrously dressed hussies with money to burn and no common sense. Eventually Norman even found himself thinking of Alice and her ass as he lay in bed at night not getting his usual carefully timed 7 hours of sleep with his dick hardening against his pajama pants. This is foolish he told himself and willed himself to sleep all week long but Alice's rear never strayed far from his mind.

Alice's claim was settled the next week and much to Norman's dismay she was across from his desk again. This time in a slinky tight horribly low cut top and even tighter looking pants made out of some sort of shiny black material that looked like it had been painted on her. She wore black patent leather stilettos and black leather fingerless gloves. She had on a silver necklace with a blood red ruby pendant nestled in her cleavage as a focal point for any wandering eyes to rest on. Norman tried to keep his eyes down and off her cleavage as he filled out the final paper work and explained the terms of the settlement to Alice. Alice nodded along to what Norman said, slowly uncrossing and recrossing her legs and occasionally running her tongue over the edge of her lips. Norman felt something stir in his pants but willed the feeling away.

"And I just need you to sign here and here and we're done." Norman said sliding the paper over to Alice. Alice bent over the desk as far as she could, exposing her supple ample cleavage as she picked up the pen and scrawled her signature. Norman's breath caught in his throat at the sight of those mounds and he had to quickly look away as he blushed to what felt like his very bones.

Alice pushed the paper back to Norman and said, "Thank you for everything, Nor-man." dragging out the syllables of his name over her lush lips, "You've been most helpful." She leaned over the desk and kissed Norman on the cheek and quickly turned around on her shiny black stilettos and wiggled her ass out of Norman's office once again. Norman felt light-headed.

Later that evening as Norman made his way to his car in the parking garage he still felt light-headed. The rest of the day had been a blur around him and Norman's world felt distinctly out of order. How the hell had one little kiss from a pretty woman fucked up his nice little ordered world so much, Norman wondered as he made his way through the parking lot. No one ever got under his skin. How had this happened? Fuck. Norman was walking with his head down pondering this new development in his universe when he heard a soft cough from behind him. He whirled around only to come face to face with Alice leaning against a sleek black sports car that looked fast even sitting still, just like Alice.

"You need a ride?", she asked with a sultry swagger to her voice.

Norman wasn't sure how it happened but suddenly he was saying yes and was now speeding down the freeway at ridiculous speeds in the passenger seat of Alice's very fast car with a very fast Alice sitting next to him gunning the engine in her ridiculously tight pants. "Fuck," thought Norman, "I'm the fucking ridiculous one here." She seemed to be one with car; it responded to her every little movement like they were on the same wave-length. She pushed the car faster as Norman clung to the dash trying to catch his breathe. "Jesus Christ" thought Norman, "what have I gotten myself into?" Alice turned to him and flashed him a smile that would set even the most pious monk's cock on fire. Norman felt the blood in his body rush downward.

They raced past exit 37. "Hey! That was my exit!" Norman said over the roar of the engine swiveling his head as the exit zipped by.

Alice turned to him, winked and said, "You need to loosen up, Norman the insurance adjuster!" Norman's dick hardened a little.

Alice drove them out to a secluded look-out just outside of the city. It didn't take them long to get there because Alice broke all of the speed limits and barely slowed down for yellow lights. Norman didn't take his grip off of the dashboard until they came to a full stop and Alice put the car into park.

"Jes-sus." Norman exhaled shaking his head, "What are we doing here anyways?"

Alice just smiled a deep red luscious smile and suddenly Norman found time jumping again and he was in the back seat of Alice's car with his head buried in Alice's cleavage and her ass firmly gripped by both of his hands. Alice was ripping his shirt off and kissing him hard. Norman soon found himself stripping her ridiculously tight clothing off and practically shoving his tongue down Alice's throat. Norman had never felt such sexual abandon or abandon about anything really. He realized right then, with his face buried in Alice's crotch, that he had never felt strongly about anything at all. Nothing ever excited him. All the sex he had ever had was dull and safe.  All the women he had ever dated were dull and safe. His job was dull and safe. His life was just one big fucking dull colourless moment moving to another one. His life was just a carefully measured march to the grave. Alice was alive like no one he had ever met. She was pure, unadulterated pleasure and speed and carelessness. She was living like Norman never had. Her writhing naked body underneath him set him on fire. His world was suddenly on fire.

Alice, for her part, was just pleased to find out that Norman was surprisingly well endowed, ate pussy like a demon and was an extremely enthusiastic fuck for such a boring looking guy. Alice knew from experience that dull men like Norman just needed a good kick-start and that the most repressed motherfuckers could be the best lays if you wound them up just right. And Alice was an expert at winding men up.

She left Norman standing on his front lawn with a deep throbbing in his well-ridden cock, holding his crumpled suit jacket against his now not-so-perfectly creased pants and with a stunned look on his face as she sped away in her expensive sports car with her wild black hair streaming behind her.

Out of the haze, Norman realized that every night for the rest of his life he was going to dream of Alice's perfect ass and wonder what the fuck had hit him.

The next day, Norman was late for work for the first time in his life.

Who Wrote This Crap?

I'm not dead. My cells live and breathe. They feed on me, not on you. I have light and beauty pent up in my dark little heart and sometimes... just sometimes... I let someone else see it. I got this love, you see, and I was hoping you wanted it. But I'll keep it buried in my dark chambers. It's mine. I'll have it and I'll keep it. I'll save it up like pennies in a jar. I think you're foolish to neglect such a gift but fuck it. I'll keep it all for myself and mail you little scraps of it so you can remember what it's like to have someone care about you.

Lessons I Learned in Leningrad

-Sometimes the worst Hell is the one you create for yourself.

-You can't force someone to love you even if you threaten them with a loaded pistol.

-Never trust a poet.

-Art created by the soulless and viewed by the eyeless rules the world.

-If you are not committing sin, you are not having fun.

-Drugs are more effective if you do them in the nude in a dirty hotel room on the bad side of town.

-The wrong side of the tracks is all a matter of perspective.

-Greasers always carry switchblades.

-Never let your lovers choose which side of the bed you sleep on.

-Never give your kisses away for free.

-It's only worthwhile to love the truly doomed but always be sure to have 911 on speed-dial.

Stupid Girl

I fucking fell in love with you and it was the worst thing that ever happened to me.

Gone Home

And that was the worst thing ever written about me. It still makes me cry to read it to this very day. After all there's no distance on a girl like me. Sometimes it doesn't pay to go looking for yourself on the internet and it can be a very bad idea indeed to fuck poets and writers.

One Liners

Love: what a terrible thing to do to another person.

If I had access to C4 there'd be a lot fewer people in the world and a lot more craters in the ground.

Never trust something that bleeds once a month and doesn't die.

The name of my cavalcade of she-vixens: the Cunning Lesbian Interracial Terrorists aka C.L.I.T.

Never write while drunk... it only leads to troubled letters.

'Go Fuck Yourself' is inscribed at the top of my stationary.

Fuck this... I'm going to bed.

Skin

I just want to spend all my time writing about your skin almost as much as I just want to spend all my time touching it.

Bad Art

I know I'm stupid but I'm waiting for you. I don't want the walls or the distance; the two feet you kept between us the whole time. I'm not sure what you are afraid I'm going to do to you but after this same thing happens over and over again with so many different people you kinda start feeling there's something wrong with you. I may have been frustrated and I may have been cruel but that doesn't stop what I feel about you.

Sometimes I am the perfect monster and all I want is blood and pain and weapons. Sometimes I am the perfect source of love in the center of a very bright world with skin like milk and breath like honey. Sometimes I am a terrible writer just trying to get a few ideas out before ennui takes me over again.

Yes it's love and I'm stupid to feel it. You don't want me and that's the way it is. I'm happier in my isolation anyways. Happy without human connection or the buzzing of a million brains around me filling up my skull with emotions that aren't my own. I have never felt someone's moods shift as fast as yours do. I've never felt someone more conflicted about me or felt the wash of disdain at my touch fill me up like poison on a beautiful sunny day.

Every moment I touched you and you didn't shy away felt small and precious. I wrote poems about it. I perpetuated all the bad art I could. But you don't know me. You've never even tried too. You've never tried to understand. Never even asked the story of where I came from. Never asked how I got like this. Never asked how I felt. You know only your own imaged fear at what you think I am. You only think of how I affect your life and not the other way around. I've been a whore to better men than you (and also worse). I know what they did to me when I was young. I know what hands shaped me. I remember those hills. I heard those ghosts. I know what I found in that ground. I know what I am afraid of. I know. I know what I am capable of.

I'm just waiting for the day when I don't have to feel this way.

The Jewel is the Anger

And that was when I let my anger take me over. It was perfect. It was bright. And it was shining. It was the moment when everything made sense. The only moment when it ever would. I knew then that my love was this divine furious living thing and if he couldn't take the pain or the heat that came off my skin then he never would. He would never feel the conviction of the moment. The truth that no one could love him as completely and with as much blind devotion as I could. He would only know the flaw and run forever until time and distance split him in half.

I had all the pieces. They were glued together all crooked but they were all there. They didn't always work but they could if I shook the wires and taped the insides and tapped the glass. It would work if I tried hard enough. He was only into easy ways and distinct creations of false regret. He seemed to live a life so full of guilt and dissatisfaction that it drowned him nightly as he waved his fingers above the tide and then slipped back under happier in drowning than in being rescued. I only love the doomed.

We came together and then we came apart at the seams. It was cruel and it was all too easy. Sometimes, just sometimes, I am a very stupid girl.

Run

If I can outrun the Devil, I can outrun you.

Monster

When he asked, "what are you?", I didn't have an answer. I rose up and straightened to my full height. I stretched my limbs upward. I filled the spaces in between with dark wings bigger than two of me. I felt my skin shifting like scales. My eyes two black hollow spheres. I felt my heart on fire with blue licking flames shining through my chest. Maybe I knew then I was a monster but I could not articulate the words. Couldn't put the sentences together to describe what was coming next.

He said, "I'm losing something." I looked down and said, "you're losing blood." and carefully ran my fingers around the edge of his self-inflicted wounds. I tasted those crimson drops on my finger tips and remember what it felt like to be in love. It felt like a violent past. Like someone come to do your dirty work for you. It felt like something I needed to know and just couldn't fathom.

He cried, "can I go with you?" I didn't have the heart to tell him that he already was. He was following me down whether he liked it or not. Love vibrated on and on as my hand tightened around the hilt. I drove that blade in until I was elbow deep. I kissed him harder than any human lips could have. If my heart burned blue, his burned a more vibrant indigo then I had ever seen. And the fires mingled as the pool deepened in it's red embrace. It took us over. Took us under. And it all went quicker than dark planets colliding between the two of us.

I whispered, "would you have it any other way?", my lips pressed close to his ear. And with a single clear syllable echoing between all the spaces and all the places and all the little darkened hearts, he replied, "No."

Chimera

I think I've been sneaking into your dreams again. I don't mean to. I just close my eyes and that's where I find myself. I know in the real world I'm snoring and drooling all over the pillow but in the ethereal ether I'm slipping into your mind and poking around at the wiring. You dream such strange apocalyptic dreams and you dream a lot about pretty girls and all the orifices you'd like to stick your cock into. It's weird to find myself in a blasted nuclear landscape and then suddenly watching two people have rather oily looking sex in a dry shower. And there always seems to be some sort of hammer involved.

I don't think you have found the door into my dreams yet. At least I haven't seen you there. You probably wouldn't like it much if you found yourself in here. There always seems to be something monstrous in the dark. Sometimes necks get broken and everything lives at an impossible angle. Sometimes there are a fuck of a lot of arms, or severed heads packed into the ground. Sometimes they are tearing each other apart.  And the sex is always interrupted and unsatisfying. A lot of people die and are reborn. And 911 never seems to work. And nothing is ever fucking quiet in here. It's never calm. Never silent and unmoving. I'd give anything for a night where I actually rested.

I'm drinking cup after cup of coffee right now. Trying to keep my jittery hands awake. I know I'll fall asleep at some point. And if you could maybe not be fucking such strange mutated girls in your sleep tonight, that would make this a little easier.

Hungered

I live for the taste of blood and skin coating my tongue. I dream of devouring you night after night. I'll eat your heart. I'll lap up your blood like spilled milk. I will spill you. I am coming for you and I want your nightmares filled up with me. Right to the brim and flowing over into your days. I want you. I want you dieing over and over again in my arms. You should have known this was going to happen when my finger nails grew longer and my teeth grew sharper right before your eyes. You should have seen the red seeping into my irises and known the hunger that was growing there. Getting deeper. Getting out of control. Little fingers down into my innards, twisting in insatiable need and want. So hungry. So very hungry. So very hungry and coming just for you in the night with your taste ever living on my crimson lips.

The Night They Lost Detroit

The city looms huge. Empty. Shards of concrete and metal as desolate as the souls who twist within them. These buildings. These shells. This wasteland of the human condition.

We saw the fires from the lake. I saw towers burning from the shore. I felt the smoke slick my lungs. I felt the heat sting my eyes. I knew right then what would come next. I knew how a fire can spread across a dry land, like tiny fingers reaching across the globe. They let them all die there. Turned their backs, stuffed their pockets and this is the people's revenge. Lost city so huge, burning like a tiger in the night. So bright. So bright.

I inscribed crosses on my ammunition and muttered invocations peppered with curses under my breath as I tighten my hands around the butt of a shotgun. The fires now reaching the sky. The black clouds lite a sickly orange. Screams from the edge of empty parking lots. Broken glass glittering like diamonds strewn across the asphalt. Broken hands laced in prayer. Shattered faces reaching for heaven.

This is our anger burnt on the face of the earth. Us lost. Us forgotten. Us angels in the skin of devils. This city is lost and our rage can only search out new homes in the hearts and minds of the truly forgotten.  The world burns and no one seems to care.

When Broken Glass Comes to Visit

My days are shattered. My body coming apart neatly at the seams. It's like a crack directly down the center of me. It takes the wheel and splits my mind in two neat halves. Everything moves exactly one inch to the left and I am undone. It's moving in my stomach, it's reaching behind my eyes. It's like a beehive under my skin, buzzing and stinging. Shifting me. Fracturing me.

Strangeness comes to stay. Steals all my pillows and leaves my head on the hard, cold floor. I'm crying. Reaching inside my self trying to yank my guts out, trying to pull this unease out of me the hard way. I want to bleed it out. I want to be normal. I can't think. I can't leave. Someone locked me in here and I can't figure out why.

It takes over and becomes control lost inside a huge vibrating jar of anxiety all rose coloured with splintering glass. I try to sleep it away but every time I open my eyes it's there. It's waiting like a big spider crouching in my mind nibbling at the wires of my sanity. It's waiting to pounce on me and I could sleep a thousand years but it would still be there. Ageless. Unforgiving. Waiting.

And I am always lost on days like this. No bread crumbs can bring me home. No lights blinking in the distance a warning to travelers. I'm out here. I'm out here. I'll be out here until the world finally cracks open and swallows me whole.

Sex Scene

He was sinking his hand below the waistband of my lace panties and whispering something in breathy French into my ear. I didn't understand the words but I felt the sentiment pressed up against my leg. He ran his fingers along the edge of my stomach and traced his fingernails around the outline of my hips. Soon my pants were migrating to the floor to hibernate for the night and he was pushing his lips against the black lace between my legs, tearing at it with his teeth as he eased those silky garments down my legs.

He slid his hands up my torso to rest on my breasts and buried his face in that soft mound of flesh before him. I gasped and gripped the headboard above me. His tongue expertly exploring every soft, aching fold causing me to arch my back and whimper in pleasure. I closed my eyes and focused on the spreading warmth from the center of my cunt taking over my body until it exploded into a thousand lights, a scream and a deep pleasure from the focus of his hurried licking.

As I was still awash in waves of pleasure he quickly pulled his naked flesh up my body and slipped his hardness inside of me. Again I found myself gasping as my body tightened around him, throbbing and aching in a most sensual way. He started rocking slowly, pulling the length of himself almost completely out and then easing it back in. Deep long strokes as he whispered in my ear in that same breathy French in between gentle gasps at the touch of my body. I flexed my internal muscles to grip him harder and his breath came out faster. He pulled my head back and buried is face into my heaving breasts, licking each nipple until they were hard and then moving his tongue up my neck until finally meeting my lips in a deep, penetrating kiss that mimicked the penetration between my legs.

The room began to blur as his thrusting increased in pace and need. I laced my fingers into his hair and sunk my teeth into his neck. He clasped his fingers around my throat, squeezing gently. The pace increased more. His thrusts getting deeper, more urgent. We both moaned, gasped and whimpered. I dug my fingernails into his shoulders, wrapped my legs around him and pulled him even deeper. And with one final series of frenzied thrusts he closed his eyes, moaning deep and long as he came inside me.

We both collapsed in a ball of sweat and tangled legs. The moonlight crept in the window and far off a siren sounded somewhere in the long, dark night...

Candy

It is just blood covering my lips, thick and sticky. Tasting of sweet rotting sugar and rusted copper pennies. It's staining my hands a deep clotted vermillion. A painting in gore splashed across my chest and neck. It's just your blood. So sweet, so syrupy. You remind me of candied apples on hot summer nights, the red candy melting down my hands and sticking to my jeans.  I want to eat you.

She won't want you if you don't have a heart anymore, old lover of mine. She might think she loves you but your sugared heart still belongs to me. I claimed ownership of it many years ago with my dirty hands and dirtier, twisted mind. And if I reach those filthy clawed fingers into your chest now I can pull your creamy center out for both of you to see. I can eat it like strawberry pie and suck those insides up like clotted cream.

I'm waiting to bury my teeth into the vein just below your chin. I can taste salty taffy sweat brought on by short gasps as I sit on your chest. I can feel your pulse racing against my lips. I can feel the blood singing it's sweet song to me, my flaxened haired candy man. I can feel you quivering like an opiate hardlined into my bloodstream. You are a chocolate covered gummy bear I just can't wait to sink my teeth into. And as I drip sour saliva down your soft chewable neck I can taste your fear in the back of my throat like hot chocolate too delicious to swallow.

When I rip sallow flesh away with needle sharp teeth and am met with a spray of deep marshmallow crimson and chunks of slippery flesh, I am awash in your regret and sudden shock at my threats become real. Your blood on my lips, yes thick and sticky and sweeter than any syrup I have ever tasted. Sweeter than all the candied apples at the carnival. With your blood painted across my twisted smile I can listen to your gurgling, eyes rolling back in your head like bright bulging gum balls and twist my fleshy smile even wider as I watch your sticky sweet red life seep out of you onto the cold, hard floor.

You are a candy wrapper, all eaten and balled up and tossed in the trash. Now I have to move on and find something else to devour.

The Truth

Sometimes you are such a judgmental asshole and you seem to really revel in it. It makes me want to smack that fucking smile right off your face.

From Hell to Breakfast

It's your touch that probably blinded me. This seemed like a good idea at the time. I can't say no to your fingertips and the way they dance over my skin. I can't say stop to the velvet touch of your tongue probing the edge of my lips. You jangle my nerves like keys on a loose chain. Like keys to my cell. I can't tell who's right and who's wrong. I can't tell where your skin stops and mine begins.

I was in the bathroom coughing up something vile into the shower drain as you made yourself a comfortable home in my sheets. When I came back you were stretched like a cat in the dusty sunlight pouring in the window. My stomach was turning, boiling up bile and my morning dose of discomfort. I was twisting my hair around my hand trying to stop from doubling over. You didn't notice. Didn't notice me on the edge of the bed rocking back and forth and trying to make the pain stop. You didn't say a word but turned towards the wall with a sigh and your eyes closed shut.

Someone should have probably got up and left but where did we have to go?

Bitter Wine and Sour Jam

You have inspired in us all a great and terrible art. Every women's life you have put your fingerprints upon now creates in your name with your face bobbing in their vision. I have listened to her songs, she who loved you for so long before I, and have deciphered her hidden meaning. I know what she sings for. I know what the others wrote for. I know the words because I have lived them only in a much more brief fracturing of moments but maybe much more vicious in my denouncements.

How does it feel to have so many words written about your touch, your glance, your end? Can you feel the syllables pouring over your skin like bitter wine. Can you taste those emotions dripping into the corner of your mouth each night to wash over your tongue, thick as sour jam? Can you feel the spear of foul language jabbing into the corners of your brain, quick like bee stings and twice as painful? Can you close your eyes without the letters tearing up and pouring over your delicate lashes?

You were my lover and I hungered for the syntax of your skin against my wrists; your hair laced in my fingertips as I slid closer to your spoken kiss. When you pressed your lips against mine I felt the lips of a thousand lovers who had set against yours. I felt their pain and their ecstasy. I felt their loss at your softly clicking painful hands kneading breasts and cupping ass cheeks. I felt the throbbing in a thousand soft places and the tears that followed soon after.

And I understand this fragile art and the need to create it only to destroy the subject matter that drove such fevered nights and bright stabbing mornings. I understand your flesh as only a true artist of scorned women can. I have come to mold your words around my open mouth until kingdom falls from my teeth and the world turns dark to your sentences once again. I have come to love you and devour you and spit you back up for all the world to see in softly scribbled lines on some crumpled page stapled to the black door of my heart.

Unfinished Thoughts

So my almost lover flew to the other side of the country and I barely noticed. He's sitting there over looking some industrial wasted land and I'm over looking the alleyway peering into my neighbor's backyard gardens. I couldn't think of what else to say to him. Anything that came slipped into anger. I was cruel and it came all too easy. He stood at my sink, elbow deep in soapy water watching me slip under the covers as he tried to alleviate his guilt with domestic acts of kindness. I should have cleaned the kitchen weeks ago.

I've been eaten up by something that hurts. I can't focus on what's important. I can't seem to work. I'm sure it will come but right now I feel guilty and it's eating me up. Stopping me from completing these tasks at hand. I wander the halls of an old hospital and the nurses tell me to scoot up a little closer. Breathe in. Now breathe out. It will only hurt for a second. It's okay. I've done this so very many times before. Maybe this time it will work.

Everyday I seem to feel sick. I feel sick. Something isn't working the way it should be. It should be working. Several years ago I stepped away from the arms of men. A few have slipped in around the edges of my armor but none liked what they found and did not care to stay. I swear I have never felt good and I would not suggest an extended vacation in my bed. I toss and I turn and I find myself uncomfortable all night long. Don't dip your hand below my waistband. I might take it upon my self to bite you. To nip at your fingers until you shriek and take your hand back from me.

There's a kitten perched on my shoulder and a big black cat across my feet. She is purring and riding the rhythm of my hands dancing across the keyboard causing my shoulder to shake. I'm watching the night and I'm thinking of all those almost lovers who have crossed my life. I'm thinking of how this city sometimes sucks the life out of me and how I want to see the countryside once again. I think about sleeping and letting the softness of quilts lay against my naked skin. I'm thinking about the time I almost loved you and the little fingers of insanity that seemed to creep up inside my brain. I'm thinking about just giving up and staying inside this little room forever.

Maybe I should go outside and go for a walk...

I Want to be Adored

And the audience stood gap mouthed and slack jawed watching the magician's assistant attempt to saw herself in half. If the stage hands hadn't wrestled the saw from her white clutching finger tips, she would have succeeded. The blood was pouring from the stage and pooling around black shoes and sensible black socks. Seeping into pants cuffs and making the floor sticky and slick with promise and entrails. Eyes stayed transfixed on the stage; no a single eyelid blinked or looked away. They watched as she sunk the teeth of the saw into her side. They remained unmoving as the blood started leaking from her; first in a slow trickle, building to a gush and then soon a river of red pouring down the stairs and into the aisles. The crowd breathed as one, in and out, as she stood silently counting each individual tooth in her head as it tore through her skin, flesh, and bone.

As burly men in black coats with Security written across the back tore the saw from her hand, a shower of blood rained down on them spraying from only one source. As they tore at her grip the audience stood transfixed slowly growing a deep red coat of her blood. She screamed, "I want to be adored!" as they pulled her away now holding onto her own guts and blood smearing a trail across the stage. She tore at the red, red curtains until they fell from their rings wrapping her in a red shroud, a messiah drug away by apostles of violence and order.

And the audience broke its trance and chanted as one, "We adore you. We adore you. We adore you..." over and over again. And the world split open into a red tide and in a wash of magic and blood drowned the masses clean.