January 2010
3 posts
2003
In the end what’s left Won’t be your feathered hair or your fake breasts or your fast food or your slow death. All the rallies and all the marches, All the fireworks and all the garbage. The politics of hate and your so called friends And I’ll stop now if you know how this ends. Last chance to dance and then slip away. No love, just sex. the American way.
no lies
It was in the march of the winter I turned 17 that I bought those pills I thought I would need and I wrote a letter to my family said it’s not your fault and you’ve been good to me just lately I’ve been feeling like I don’t belong like the ground is not mine to walk upon and I’ve heard that music echo through the house where my grandmother drank by herself and I sat...
accident prone
What’s the furthest place from here? It hasn’t been my day for a couple years. What’s a couple more? And if I go, don’t forget the one good thing I almost did. I learned your name without words. I used my eyes, not my hands. What’s the closest you can come to an almost total wreck and still walk away, All limbs intact? And when I go, you’ll be there crying out,...