Apr 30, 2015
so we bleach to stay clean I am not a ghost, I think, are you? if we were visible, I wouldn't know a year spent chasing a different kind of abuse has left my snail, pencil legs worn, fragile ankles known to stumble stupid into furniture and friends cos everything loved, i circle over to coat in a luminescent ooze. spewing bile from the pit of us, shit piss from black veins and salivate, love you into pieces i can chew but yack at the taste of yr mother’s dimples, shards of red they’re not there, standing in the doorway as if to say
“there’s place for you inside, but leave those pungent hopes, fears they linger in cracking basement window panes and central air”
