A sleepy afternoon.

"Makin' tea in your underwear."



it's my favorite.



my absolute favorite.

an epiphany.

I think... I should just stick to smiley faces.

JUMP! in.

I guess, more than anything... it's the fact that the physical bruise won't go away. And that I have to keep feeling the lump underneath the discoloration of my chest. And that everytime I look down I see the deep purple.

I guess it's just knowing that once I stop internally bleeding it will all we be gone.

All. Not just one, or two parts, or things...But literally, all.

Don't be selfish, it's more than you think.

For the better, though.

It's always for the better.

HOWL.

"Who hicupped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob."

Who choked back the fear of poked holes in their skin.

Who missed the smile while walking quickly towards the sink.

Who licked the sweet sugar off the handle of the antique shovel.

Who sunk deeply into the cold naked dirt.

Who ran with worms hoping to slide through something endless.

Who lifted your chin and wiped away your purple tears.

Who nudged your shifting eyes to clearly focus.

Who picked out the old shit.

Who slept under overgrown grass.

Who kissed your neck as you swallowed those purple tears.

Who would like to punch a hole through the paint cracked door.

Who scribbled down old pictures remembering the lost earrings.

Who smiled.

Who ran...

Who struck out.

Strike THREE!

10:24

He stared at her. She kept looking away, but he refused to stop staring.

Her eyes were glowing that night. The moon light glistened over them creating an ever lasting sparkle.

He kept staring as she would look into his eyes and then quickly remove her glance.

She couldn't help but hold his hand.

"I can't find the moon tonight." She said.

He looked up into the naked, purple sky.

"It's beautiful you know. One of the most beautiful things I've ever seen...the moon." She explained.

He cutely giggled to himself.

"What?" She asked as she slid her delicate fingers between his gentle hands.

He largely shook his head like a little boy who wouldn't cross the street holding your hand.

His eyes never left hers.

"Tell me." She asked with a small smile which he adored.

He lifted her hand and kissed it.

His eyes still never left hers.

"Please?" She said in order to cover the lump in her throat. The lump in which she wanted to scream her smile.

He moved his eyes to her lips. His head slowly moved towards hers. Eyes, lips, eyes, lips, eyes, lips...kiss.

He smiled and laughed.

"What! Tell me, I want to know." She returned her eyes into his.

He took a deep breath.

Smiled.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He squeezed the words out of his throat knowing how completely ridiculous he sounded.

She gasped and laughed and slightly knudged his shoulder back.

Her head shook as she looked back into his eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I had to." He stared. Eyes, eyes, eyes.

She bit her lip, and his stomach dropped at how adorable she was.

He kissed her. Over, and over, and over, and over.

Her knees gave out and she fell backwards into the car, but he grabbed her before she hit.

He held her. They squeezed.

"It is though."

"What?"

"The moon. It's beautiful."

"I know."

She looked up into the endless sky and smiled.

He kissed her cheek.

She lowered her chin, and there eyes met. They locked.

She whispered a yelp of happiness, still smiling, pressed her lips against his, leaving a red tint, and quickly skipped towards her wooden door.

The air was whipping against her cheeks and her nose. Rosy.

He stood there staring at the pavement of which she just ran from. His mind was deeply in thought.

She opened the door went inside and as she was nearing the click of the closing door, her head poked out.

"Goodnight." She whispered loudly.

He looked up and was quickly drawn out of his thought. He found her eyes perfectly and kicked the cement from beneath his feet.

"You're beautiful." He whispered so softly she couldn't make it out.

"Huh?"

He got in his car. Smiled. And drove away.

She shut the door with a soft push.

"You're beautiful..." She said.

Solipsist.

"Somewhere someone is thinking of you. Someone is calling you an angel. This person is using celestial colors to paint your image. Someone is making you into a vision so beautiful that it can only live in the mind. Someone is thinking of the way your breath espcapes your lips when you are touched. How your eyes close and your jaw tightens with concentration as you give pleasure a home. These thoughts are saving a life somewhere right now. In some airless apartment on a dark, urine stained, whore lined street, someone is calling out to you silently and you are answering without even being there. So crystalline. So pure. Such life saving power when you smile. You will never know how you have cauterized my wounds. So sad that we will never touch. How it hurts me to know that I will never be able to give you everything I have." -Henry Rollins.

never again will I HIT the "second."

One time, I told you that 'I just hit the second' and you didn't know what I meant.

I hope you do now.

Because never again, will I hit the second.

I hope the cream soda tastes better.

Your Yellow Shirt.

I will wear your yellow shirt... forever.















It's comfortable. You're comfortable.

Although the scent of the horrendous smile is long lost.
It has been replaced with a plateau of comfort.

No matter how long it exists within my cubed closet.
No matter when I return it.

Whether or not what exists is quietly understood or angrily spat in our faces ... no one will ever place the ease that you do.

No one.
And, although I always say I will return your yellow shirt...secretly, I know I never will unless you yank it out of my hands.

You won't accept it back even if I tried.

You have looked past the reasoning and told me something.

Whenever I doubt the rush of exitment that jolts through my body, my memory replaces the fear with words of your pained heart.


'You're gorgeous, by the way.'
In return. 'P.S. You're adorable.'

No matter what.

Don't let me stop wearing it.


Please, don't let me stop wearing it.


Shhh..don't tell anyone but, I wear it whenever I think about it's color.
The color sits in the back of my mind.
At night, when the moon shines into my eyes. I wear your yellow shirt.


Promise me...can I keep it forever? Promise me I can.
Because I will.


(even if I lose it.)

A dark giggle.

She ran out. The gushing feeling that is now somewhat… or possibly completely unknown. She ran out. The tears flushed from her eyes while the snot continuously slid out her nose.
She sat alone on the curb. In the middle of the street. She glanced up and struggled to see the people strolling by, through her tear sunk eyes. One by one cars slowly rolled down the street, staring at the distraught girl, alone and helpless.

She hit that point where she grasped a definite feeling. She’s done.

She looked around. Unsure of herself, her surroundings, her actions. She sat there, empty for a while, staring at the street lamp that stood directly across from her. Nothing. Without even a glance, she waited for the small green car to proceed past her. Her eyes quickly blinked, breaking her stare.She lifted her right arm, curled each finger in one by one, took in a deep breath of the clear fog and with all her strength, threw her fist into the cement. The crunch of her bones to the pavement made the force even stronger. She kept throwing. Over and over and over and over. Each time her knuckles struck, her bones cracked, and the skin was ripped and mushed into it self. Endless pools of blood immediately poured, escaping every whack. She kept punching and hitting and whacking and screaming and crying. She cursed quietly to herself as more and more time grew between each throw. She slowed and eventually came to a stop. She allowed her upper body to go completely limp. Heavy breathes. Her face swollen from the eyes. Splattered blood dropped. Cracked knuckles dug in deep.Lying there. She felt the rush starting to relax. Her body coming to a stop. Her body slowing down. Her body in itself. She plugged her ears so to end the chirping birds screaming at her. And all she could hear was the pounding of her heart, the pulsing of her face. The breaths struggling to come out. She wanted to leave. She wanted to get swallowed up by the infinite, blue sky.

Slowly, her eyes slid up. A clear and beautiful blue. Birds soaring by. Off to someplace far, far away... some place to simply, be. 'I wish I was a bird.' She thought.

She imagined...a swarm of crows swooping down, whirling her in the air, and bouncing her up high. Up Up Up Up Up. Floating up to the softness. She sat on a cloud as her mind let her embrace the physicality of her surroundings. Smooth, pouring silk, surrounded her fingers and toes. She began to laugh. No, giggle...she began to giggle uncontrollably. It wrenched pain throughout her chest but she couldn't help it, any of it. She just... didn't care. She realized then that this pain, this pain from laughter is the best pain she would ever, and could ever possibly feel. A pain she could smile at.

She opened her eyes. Her mind slipped out of the cloud. Her smile dropped. And soon, she was asleep. Her whirlwind of thoughts took her to endless space, a blackness known to no one else. Dark holes after the darkest dark. The blackest black. The deepest. The lowest. The strongest pounding of hurt. The largest curl of a smile. She's out. And it won't be a while until..................The dark became lighter, softer, brighter. The light was almost reached. She slowly came to and blinked her large eyes. The light burned. She carefully pulled her eyelids apart, for the tears had stuck them shut. The light scorched. More tears came. They stung. She squeezed her eyes together to let the burning sensation loosen and carefully flow out.

She tried to lift her hands to wipe away the tears. She couldn't. It was then she realized the throbbing pain. Her knuckles black and swollen. Dried, crusty blood. pound pound pound pound pound!


They wouldn't stop pounding. The pain was intense, but she liked it. The anger was gone, and the mad man inside her was set free.

She forced her hands up. She forced the two lumps of dense weight that hung from her wrists that uncontrollably shook, as she wiped the tears away. Carefully, she flicked the dried blood from her hands.

Her eyes focused on her body for the first time, and as she sat up, she realized that the light that had just burned through her eyes, was nothing more than a street lamp.

It was night.

Panic... Panic Panic Panic Panic.

The breaths got faster and shorter. Faster faster Faster. And then she remembered. She remembered the pain. The wrenching pain from her stomach.

She stopped her mind and ceased to look into her brain. She was switched to the world that surrounded her within that very moment. She scanned the street.

Abandoned buildings.

A few lights poking out behind window curtains.
She tried to stand but immediately her head spun and her legs gave out as she slowly retreated back onto the cold pavement.

For the first time, she looked down at her body. Noticing how thin she had gotten. Her fragile shirt all stretched out. A few small holes randomly placed about. Her jeans… slightly baggy.

She looked at her hands. Still black and blood. She smiled.

A gust of wind whispered in her ear sending chills down and throughout. She shivered. Her eyes close and she lets the pulse travel inside her. She breathed in and let her eyes slowly, softly, calmly, and gently...open. Her knees suddenly locked.

A shadow. On the cross sidewalk.

She blinked.

It was gone.

She didn't let herself pay too much attention to it. It was just her powerless mind wandering in the dark. She wondered throughout the corner of her mind. Remembering, grasping. Finding open doors she wished to shut so that maybe, just maybe, another will fly open and suck her in without even being able to make the decision for herself.

But she can't close them yet.

They are way to heavy and strong for her weak, frail body.

Vapidity.

The house ran empty. It was silent. As if a siren had just gone off then suddenly was dead. As if your ears are still ringing and you can't help but feel the wrenching pain in your chest... as if something is terribly wrong.

The shiny, red, freshly polished, antique telephone sat numbly on the wooden bed side table in the middle of the room. A white dead flower lay crumpled on the floor underneath.

"Johnny? Don't go away. Please don't go away."

The innocent Maggie sat there, holding onto the short rope. She held on as tightly as she could. She kept repeating that line. Over and over and over and over and over.

Her hair mushed and messy which had started forming the night before as she began her bed time.

"Johnny? Don't go away. Please don't go away."

Johnny Junior.

Short, blue overalls. Red, tightly tied, shoes. Bright, blue eyes. Brown, thick hair.

Johnny stood. Grabbed the other end of the rope and started walking backwards towards the large, open door.

Maggie's eyes were tightly shut by now. Her neck fell with the weight of her head and it hung there as she held onto the rope. With all her strength, she held onto the rope.

Her white dress blew with the wind. Her long blonde hair wiggled along. And her tears dripped onto the wooden floor.

"Johnny? Don't go away. Please don't go away."

As Johnny walked he smoothly wrapped the rope around his wrist and tied into into a stiff knot.

Maggie held on tightly.

Johnny kept on walking.

Maggie took a quick deep gasp as she sharply lifted her head and opened her eyes in anxiety. Quickly, she took the rope and wrapped it around her ankle and tied her end in a firm knot of her own.

"Johnny? Don't go away. Please don't go away."

It started getting louder and louder.

"Johnny? Don't go away! Please don't go away!"

Her sweet voice rang throughout the vapid house.

Johnny kept walking. He got to the blinding sunlit doorway, and slowly turned around. Maggie could see nothing but Johnny's silouette. His empty hand lifted and struck the air with a goodbye.

"Goodbye Johnny."

Maggie fell to her side. Her eyes open in disbelief.

Johnny turned and walked out. The door slammed. It slammed the rope in two.

Maggie licked her crusted lips. Sniffed in the dusty air. And kept her eyes open for as long as she could remember.

"Johnny? Don't go away. Please don't go away."

The red telephone rang.

A short glance upon a reflection.

Her feet: usually socked. Or with tights wrapped around them. Red converse. The feet are usually dirty. The dance floor keeps them black with skin peeling off of the calluses.
The ankles: They are never seen.
The calves, the shins: never seen.
Everything under the knee cap: Never seen. The skin is scarred. And bruised. And destroyed. The knee caps are constantly swollen. Mushy. Discolored. Dry. The thighs: Sun-damaged, cute skin. Scarred again. Freckled. The noticeable muscle’s from the built up strength to jump. The widely set hips: with pudge. The soft stomach, and the loved tummy. The closed ribs. The scattered larger freckles. The few red irritation. The softly pressed belly button.
The hands: From the finger tips... peeled skin. Sensitive redness. Ripped. Dried blood. Dead, thick skin. Burning, smoothed skin.
The nails: Cracked, peeling nail polish. Different colors at different times.
The creviced skin: with the noticeable skin lines. The knuckle lines. Cuticles are non-existent. The left: The ring finger contains her grandma’s wedding band. Silver, with designs, and five tiny set diamonds, two of which are missing. The left’s pointer finger used to consist of a rose ring. Taken off to distractingly play with, constantly. It broke one night. She felt naked. He taped it back together. He "fixed" it. That ring was then replaced with a blue heart. Surrounded by intertwined silver vines. The beginning of the ring was worn with the point of the heart pointing out. Towards everything and anything. Eventually, it was allowed to face inwards. Towards her own heart. The day after she lost some of her heart, again, she pointed the ring out. She was playing with it, as usual, it dropped, and truly was lost. She then replaced it with a large golden circle with a pink stone. That broke and is now replaced with one of grandma’s rings. Golden claws holding onto red and white heads. The thumb. Silver vines surrounding it. The palm of the left, dry, soft...skin lines. To the top of the hand. The world lovely is retraced over and over and over again. To remind her...Right next to the word is a healing scar. Around the wrist is an old Mini Mouse watch. It’s dead, and doesn’t tell time anymore, but still lies there none the less. Under the watch are more scars. Slight, but still noticeable. Next, a sheer, purple ribbon with a silver heart locket. Then, a thick piece of cloth. Floral. Red-ish, pink flowers with green leaves and a blue background. It is held together with one silver safety pin.
The arm: soft and smooth with more scattered freckles.
The right hand:..more ripped skin. The middle finger with another golden ring from grandma. Three stacked ruby stones sandwiched between rows of small diamonds. The pinkie has a bent silver ring with an opal stone set in the middle. The palm, soft and dry. The top of the hand... clear skin. Then, the pink silky ribbon with sketches of chicks on it, tied in a knot. The rope with a tambourine on it. A golden ribbon holding Stiff, Pink dots within it. A circled copper bangle bracelet, and then the white lace ribbon. There are many white lace ribbons floating around out there. She gave them to those she was closest to at the time. None of them wear the white lace anymore. Just her.
Another smooth soft arm: Up to her rounded shoulders and her slightly noticeable collar bone. A sometimes, somewhat bony chest.
Her long neck: It adds length and gives her a stronger feminine appearance.
Her face:
The rounded chubby cheeks: set upon her lifted cheek bones.
The undefined jaw line: smooth.
Her cutely uplifted nose: with sun scarred damage.
Her lips: Stained darker than the rest of her skin. The upper smaller than the top. The two points that meet at the top are gently defined. When she smiles the upper lip slightly disappears. Her right cheek develops a little dimple as she giggles. The creases of the point where her lips and cheeks meet. She sometimes bites her lip as she moves them sideways letting her nose follow. Her lips moving left as she bites the right side. He thinks it’s cute.
Her eyes: Newly permanent swelling and bags weighting them down. The darker circle’s pooled underneath her lower lashes.
Her lower lashes: That hang like mini water falls over the perfectly cornered flat surface of her lower lid.
Her eyes: are smaller. The whites are very white and the blue looks like the inside of a cave. If you look close enough it’s like you can see really far. Deep into a dark cave, from top to bottom. Her eyebrows: thick and dark. And shaped to fit her eyes.
Above: her slightly freckled forehead that connects to her somewhat oddly lined hair line.
Her hair: Freshly died strawberry blond-ish color. It’s soft, and hangs just above her shoulders. Layered and swings as she walks.
She stared in the mirror: took a deep breath as her lips shortly curled up, and walked away.