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.

Obliterater

O how I want to peel your skin off and wear it like a shroud. I want to pop your eyes in my mouth like marbles. I want to spit your blood into secret language patterns on the sidewalk that only the two of us will understand. I want you like only lovers want death; hot, sticky and seeping into the dirty mattress beneath us. I want to rattle your teeth around like gambler's dice. I want to bury you in my crawl space. I want the bugs to whisper in your bloody ears. I want the worms to make a home in your empty skull. I want to make a shrine out of your shining heart filled up all hollow with flickering candles. I want to be your voodoo poet. I want to use your body to write my greatest and most violent art. I want to make musical instruments from your thigh bones. I want to make a bowl from your hips. I want your muscles stretched out for strings to pluck as the night turns starless. I want to plant your genitals deep in my garden beneath a big rose bush. I want your body spread over the ground so I can pick up the chunks and sew you back together all crooked. I want your lips sealed in a great glass jar set up on the highest shelf. I want your fingers under my pillows so I can sleep close to you every night. I want to eat you for breakfast every day and throw you back up every night. I want your body miles from the place you called home where you can only be mine in the face of a cripple dawn down in my deep dark hole. I want them to never find your body. I want tears to be the only time your name is ever uttered again. I want your love cut into little pieces all around me. I want you as only a obliterater in love can.

Black Tequila and Blood

You seem to have taken issue with my ability to find purity in violence. I care very little for your religious guilt that still seems to be rattling around in your head long after you should have put it to sleep. I understand the beauty in nude skin bruised by my own hand. I see scars as a form of love.

A little blood, a little black magic, a third of a cup of tequila and suddenly the world is spinning. Swimming through my head like falling stars all swallowed up and burning through my stomach lining. You should come back to me, bright eyes.

I say we go out dancing tonight. Put on your best jacket and I'll wear something much too revealing. We can go crane necks until they snap. We can let the music pry our eardrums open. We can whirl about like spinning dervishes and husha! husha! we all fall down!

Come on, you little fool! Stop letting your fear hold you back! Come run with me. Come sing with me. Come burn with me!

Come take a taste of my liquored witchy black heart and let the world be enough...

The Night You Gave Me a Name

We sat on my porch over looking the alley in the dark with only the sickly orange of the street lights illuminating our faces. I lit the pipe in my hands inhaling the hot smoke waiting for the druggy effects to leaden my limbs just a little. As I passed the pipe to him he said, "Maybe we should get naked and roll around under the covers for a while." He took a deep drag, coughed and sputtered, "I think I'd like to run my hands over you."

I let the cloud of smoke I had been holding in my lungs out in one large huff staring at his face in the dim light. It was too cold really to be sitting out there in nothing but my underwear and a t-shirt with the nearly-winter creeping in but I huddled in on myself feeling suddenly hungry and just a little bit horny. "I guess I've heard worse ideas," I said watching the flash of a bat swooping into the edge of the light.

My eyelids grew heavy. "You know," I started suddenly feeling a tangent growing,"I've sat out here on nights when my belly was so full of worry I thought it might split open. I've paced these boards when I couldn't get my ideas to come together and the keyboard seemed to be more of a torture device than a instrument of knowledge. I've watched the local scavengers troll the garbage cans for smelly cashes of easy money from my perch over this alley. I made friends with the junkie hooker who lives down the street and comes to feed the stray cats everyday. Some days this few feet of space on the side of this building will be the only time I step outside of my apartment. On those days I just can't handle the world and the people milling through it. I don't bring many people up here."

He smiled a little looking at me like I was some sort of alien. I was sure I was about to get a laundry list of my more unattractive traits so I stood. I stripped my top off letting the cold air turn my flesh to goosebumps as I walked past him to the railing at the edge of the platform. My neighbors would have a clear view of my semi-nudity, as would anyone walking the road below, but at 3 in the morning very little life stirred around us. For a moment you could believe that your were alone and that the city wasn't crammed to the brim with people. The wind turned my nipples hard as I crossed my arms over my now bare chest. I sighed, twisted my face into the wind as my hair streamed behind me and waited for him to wrap his arms around me. I thought to myself, "Really... what would the winter be without at least a little heartbreak?"

A Heart Is a Sinking Ship

Even in the rain I can find your shadow and stand in it as you list off my unpleasant qualities in a fit of love. This is an iron heart with rivets of gold shining in the dark. The rain may turn all to a rust colour but if you look beyond that I might just be glittering under the edge of the covers with my arms wrapped around your chest. Your blinding yourself before the dawn even comes with something choking what could have been suffering in goodness.

I have been twisting under these clouds pressing down on me. I would take you back to those golden fields I came from so long ago to run down the hills of dust and crickets far from this damp city squashing a wildness I once had. I still hear wind rushing through the pine trees calling my name as the moths came to dance against the window frame every night. I want to add your name to my dry and cracking desert lips. Take you from here; let the sun write a new message in intricate tongues on the edge of the river bed in sight of a violet forever even for a little fleeting while... but you are pushing. Away and up never even letting it happen in the dark of the night.

I have drowned myself in the oceans throwing themselves up against the city walls. I have run through wet tree branches and felt the sting shock me back to the world. I have let the sand burn between my toes standing naked as the sun set. I have felt the waves lap at my breasts as I searched for sharks freezing in the deep. The ships took my soul to sea and left it there. You swam out to them and maybe you saw it there but you never brought it back.

I have held the broken in my arms setting them free and hoped they'd come back to me. Every night I open up the windows and let the rain in. I ask the rain 'Where have you been? Have you seen them? Are they coming back to me?" But the rain only drums cryptic answers against my skin dragging me further into this darkening landscape. My questions remain unanswered and I drag my grandmother's quilts out to sing her song under the canopy of this city so far from home with stars blacked out like missing teeth.

I think I'll set fire to this sinking ship and see if it can burn in the rain. I had my eyes all boarded up before you came around and ripped the nails out. Maybe I can make a raft out of the left over planks. Maybe I can set those on fire too. I want to know if a heart all flame can illuminate the darkness down by the ocean so I can see my way. So I can follow those burning ships into the night and sink myself below the waves to a kingdom of floating seaweed and dashing seals where I can drown much better than in these small increments in which I am drowning in your rainy shadow.

Fuselage

There are steel girders in my chest holding up the rusting fuselage of my heart. It creaks ominously when it takes unsteady flight every time I cross the threshold of night into your tentative arms. Is it strong drink and heavily lidded eyes that drive you to pull me down to your side or has something shifted to a shaky place in the glare of the overhead lights?

They are laughing. Cackling through the walls, giggling at us in a teasing way before returning to the wine bottles scattered over the table. The conversation turns heated unnoticed by you as your breath turns soft. Drifting as your fingers drift to the place where my shirt meets my pants and the skin shines through.

Soon the drink does its heavy work and sleep takes you over. I, however, stand to take my fuselage out into the night to see if I can start uneasy flight to the cold moon on a clear fall's frigid wind. The cockpit is filling with smoke and the wings are flying apart but I move forward anyways. I stretch my arms out and flap. Start running down the street. Just a little faster and I can get my heart off the ground.

Sex and frustration make strange bedfellows with night coming down like a curtain to make hearts in stumbling flight lose their way in the dark. They say all you got to do to fly is throw yourself at the ground and miss. The only trouble being that no matter how hard I try I just can't seem to avoid the ground rushing up to meet my face.

Ruthless

It was all just a dream but somebody needs to die for it.