Yes, your are a monster. Read these words and know they are true.
For now. Somehow. Till we and all and you and they and them (can) can break them change them.
Make them, shape them, take them for another time, so simple and so...you, they...true...I
rot as all the hairs on your upper lip do, fall there as I did, for your heart to cut to sift, I...I...its true...I..
So hey love, I read your last messages sent, remembered how terrible you have
treated us, the world at that time and place and it was (they are) such awful things.
You called out once before as night fell you are
you are you are you're, this is
a horror in the night, a list of several wounds opening all at once, the pretty girls all still looking at
their facebook feeds, dressed in hiking attire climbing who knows where to
piss off the high peaks, raining death on every mans life you encounter, that slithering down forever to
I hate these words, I hate the type script they meander off of, I
hate now the best of me and the lakes, the nearby oceans best for drowning in, I hate
type them as they beat at me, I write them as I know they aren't true as I then
fall apart when I saw the sentences you thought might be best strung
together my throat holds a belt for a tightrope a séance on high, falling soon. (Forever?) I
Dangerous things, choking myself there in the dead of night, the dream you call of
death so close as to steal what little breathe I care to call my own I, you didn't try I
Its the things we string ourselves together for you and I and we and they and...someone...else...
...something there? Women. Do you know how to hold them close? Do you to laugh at us as
they fuck in the dead of night, they break us in that house you and your husband sought, broke, bought
Do you know how you look, lined up right? The same 1940s stunning, turning tired thankless red and
the shaking of a bed as you crawl towards me, thighs high on each side of a face as mine BREAKS for..
You are a monster, I so close behind, this mirror I (we) there
falling apart, I just being the same as you as are, snuck behind at least
woman to woman, not soul to bound hand to hold, not
soul to fold, not arm to dice not, everything that's turned out so very wrong still
such fragile things, the stupid teacups that we never bought, the vanity turned close the
art your house holds up for naught, the way the heat
sneaks in through all the smallest pains, the way
in the basement you'll find my love, my heart, the breakings of my brain you then there left you
you have that big house your husband's paying for, I
falling further, a circle spiraling, thickening, turning round.
The kettle is still warm, yes
the kettle is war(m).
Break it now before the thick; soon as the tepid crème it...it can rise.
(A UFO, now hovering close - so black this thing. So dark)
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