#lidlesaun

[marigoldreams-blog1]

my body is a hotel

not old enough to be historic, just old enough to be falling apart

neon VACANCY sign always always flickering

the kind of place nobody really goes to because they want to

only because they’ve been driving on the highway for hours and the white lines are getting blurry and this place is just

there

come, spend the night, not because you want to, never because you want to

come, spend the night and leave the second dawn creeps through your window 

come, and never look back again

it’s alright.  i don’t mind

it’s a hollow place, barely balanced on the edge of reality

like maybe it’s really just a desert mirage

a fever dream

like you’re about to be woken up by a horn screeching and metal screaming and a coppery tang biting the back of your throat

i’m the kind of mixed-up, broken down, car crash place slated for demolition years ago

(always condemned, never saved)

already falling apart every day

brick by brick by 

broken lamp by 

leaky sink by 

hollow dream by 

brick

g.s.s. // is it a mirror or a memory?

for @7-weeks february prompts day 3:  brick by brick by

[ivyburied]

// dear god, this is me asking for a softer ending | e.k.

[marigoldreams-blog1]

february has always been a soft month for me

muted colors, pale skin and a paler sky, powdered sugar snow, candy sweet love,

hearts floating in the air, lifted by the gentle breeze

february is pillow plush, teddy bear soft, wrapped up with a pale pink ribbon

satin sliding on skin

velvet slipping through my fingers – soft and quiet, and already gone as soon as it’s begun

tiptoeing out the back door before you wake up

one of those flowers that only blooms at night and disappears by morning

(anything sound familiar?)

ethereal, ephemeral

(you never thought they were onomatopoeias until you sat outside on a february morning, did you?)

and honey don’t you know, just on the flip side of sweet is cloying

cloying,

as in, he bought her a dozen roses and isn’t that scent cloying, isn’t that love

cloying, as in,

february is just a month of chocolates and roses and cheap cards and cheaper perfume and lingerie and diamonds (they’re forever, remember)

(other side of soft?  meaningless)

and that cloying scent chokes its way into my throat and makes me swallow my screams

and I’ve always loved the way bare trees look

especially dusted with that sugar snow

but sometimes I just wish red flames would lick at the branches

like a clumsy teenage boy licking a girl’s throat because valentine’s day is for love right?

(this, this is not love)

watch the trees and teddy bears and chocolates and roses and lace and the whole fucking sky

burn

grow red fire like sprouting red leaves in February

autumn come early till we all just fall

fall

falling down

g.s.s. // you bought her a candygram and a card and you think that’s love

for @7-weeks february prompts #4:  red leaves in february

[marigoldreams-blog1]

are you still there? i never quite know the answer / but i suppose the better question would be / am i still here? / because i am made of gossamer cobwebs / decorating forgotten rooms the kind / of diaphanous dress floating on skin that’s / made just to make you want to tear it apart / gorgeous only in the sense / that all i crave is to be devoured as you gorge yourself on me / let me see my blood running from your lips / how hollow can i be if i’m filling someone else’s throat?

g.s.s. // i’m only pretty if pretty means that you’re hungry

for @7-weeks february prompts 8:  are you still there?

[marigoldreams-blog1]

i don’t quite know what runs through my veins anymore

but by now it’s sure as hell not blood

i’d say it’s chemicals,

but isn’t everything?  

drugs, booze, love

everything’s got a formula

these days, you can make anything in a lab, my grandfather used to grumble

maybe it’s mercury, poisoning me from the inside out

(sounds about right)

maybe it’s lead, weighing me down

(anchor or chains?)

but i wouldn’t care if it was liquid gold or expensive champagne

it’s all getting poured down the kitchen sink anyway.

g.s.s // assorted reasons why i can’t donate blood

for @7-weeks february prompts 13:  kitchen sink

[marigoldreams-blog1]

i complain about not having my license

but even if it’s not those thoughts tangled inside my head

my focus is never on traffic cones

yield signs and blinking yellow lights

it’s on the oranges i watched you eat for lunch yesterday

that yellow sweater you said looked good on me

eyes blinking and lashes fluttering on cheekbones

i see you inside of everything

graffiti on highway exit signs

starlings swirling in the air 

clouds through the windshield

sunsets drenching the sky with fire

i can never keep my eyes on the road 

cause they’re always on you.

g.s.s. // things i think about in the passenger seat instead of listening to my mother or looking at the road

for @7-weeks february prompts #2:  traffic cones

[marigoldreams-blog1]

go ahead, ask me who i am

won't do any good

i used to know

but there's a stranger living inside my skin now

and i don't know who she is

i'll come to the funeral in all black

(the only part of a church where i ever feel welcome is the graveyard)

(i don’t think its opposites attracting this time)

planting headstones like daffodil bulbs and expecting something to grow other than mourning glories

i'll whisper amen, throw roses and dirt on the coffin

but i've always hated using the word late instead of the word dead

oh, she’s seven minutes late to work

oh, must have been traffic

she’ll be here soon

oh, she’s seven years late to life

oh, she’s never coming back

because i washed the old me away in the river long ago

(baptism or absolution?)

cut out my beating heart and buried it in a roadside grave and called it moving on

car crash, how sad

g.s.s. // home invasion through the fence of my ribcage

for @7-weeks february prompts 15: seven minutes late to

[marigoldreams-blog1]

you make my world spin

and i hate you for it

the flowers filling up my lungs

bloom just for you

marigolds and sunflowers and daisies and forget-me-nots

(please please please forget me not)

(i can’t breathe)

(i don’t care)

 christmas lights in june draw the moths out of the heart shaped hole in my chest

where i used to be able to pretend that their wings were my heartbeat until they left

(sounds familiar, doesn’t it)

 your lips taste light the stars we caught on our fingertips last month

burning too bright too fast and i live for it

i wish i wish i wish

if only you’d come true

m.s.s. // love letters to a ghost haunting the corners of my mind