The girl in the mirror,
Why do you desperately want to be a bag of bones?
“bag of bones” (2024)
we're not kids anymore.

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@muscle-museum
The girl in the mirror,
Why do you desperately want to be a bag of bones?
“bag of bones” (2024)
I once loved
the way a mother loves
a child.
But she never loved me
the way a mother loves
her pride.
“the map of my brain in the red book” (2024)
She was all alone,
because she wanted it.
I was all alone,
because she wanted it.
“demolition lovers” (2022)
hollllll. oil painting, 2020
In my head, there is a never-ending war.
In my heart, there is a spot of smear.
In my hands, there is blood of the ones that I love.
“give up what you love before it does you in” (2024)
How do they not feel the blood in the air?
The ironic taste of the crimson?
Is it only in my head, is it me that makes up this prison?
“suicide note #776” (2023)
“broken body on the examiner’s table” (2024)
I smashed it again and again:
a hundred pieces of new mirrors,
laying around,
and I tiptoe around them,
as if I’m scared to get a cut
that wasn’t inflicted by my own will.
“over exaggerating friendly ghost’s service” (2023)
“Why did we have to start a war,
in order to form a connection?”
“why did it have to be this destructive?” (2023)
“atelophobia: an excessive and persistent fear of imperfection” (2024)
“introduction” (2024)
antheon ii. gouache watercolor
I’m made of poetry, but no one reads me.
Your body is something straight out of a nightmare.
That is why for every occasion, you overdress.
As the fire takes away your nightdress,
I can see all the flaws you despise.
Each bone sticking out like a prize,
each roll of fat that brings a plump demise…
I express, I needed an affair,
to run away from this promise, this swear.
You are too thin, but too full like a pear,
your cries are like the rain, you wear me out with finesse.
“wise man’s despair” (2024)
The only thing I am for you is a tool kit (for you to use me as you aimed),
a crime that you fear to commit (because you would be jailed),
a hypocrite (just because you said it),
a building permit (so that you can mess with it),
a doll you have to baby-sit (because you think I am without wit).
“‘bir tanem’ is what you call me” (2024)
Alanis Morissette, Sorry to Myself/Haruki Murakami,1084
Fyodor Dostoevsky, from Selected Prose; "The Double,"
SOPHOMORE SLUMP (& the lyric mix-up) Bonner Springs, KS | 6/24/23 | x