UglyBones

i notice first, not the coldness of her, but the sharpness of her body against mine.  the ridges of her shoulder, scraping on my collar; the angle of her elbow resting on my hip.        their shouting winds its way up the stairs, clawing at both our ears and grating on the delicate flesh within.  i felt her draw away -impermiable to my pleads. with no power to stop her, i watch her go.      in the darkness of the room, a silhouette is a phantom in front of the dim star-light.  he has woken up.  i hurry to him and press my hand to hi

the ocean of chalked lips that exhale not but stale air when the chest collapses, multitudes of the gorged; sanguine, green and pallid flesh.   the bloated bellies bursting  the flies feast on the decay. you fear to breathe; the sky carries heavy clouds that bare down on flowers that blossomed on festering wounds; this beautiful disease. . . . . . death calls for you.  beckons you with bony fingers and hollow eyes.  his hood ripples in the wind that sweeps the corpses around you.  he waits; asking for your soul.  he wants you to hand it over without a second breath.  y

"...and why not the broken one?" she demands.  The question catches him offguard and he freezes, just halfway to putting the doll back on the shelf. "Because it's broken?" he answers slowly.   "But the broken ones just as good!" she insists. "It's broken," he sighs.   "But it still plays music."  she looks up at him pleadingly.  "shes broken but shes still smiling." "I'm not buying it," he says firmly and puts it on the shelf. When he turns around he's startled.  Her eyes are brimming and her nose is turning red.  She sniffles and wipes with the back of her arm.   "Ann's not going to want to buy a broken doll," he persists. "No one ev

left my heart crawling on the floor. ... howling faces and lolling eyes and insane, bottled screams are echoing in my ears.   those ghosts inside my lungs, breathed out and claw around my neck. until the world becomes nothing more than a inkstain of colors. my fingertips are raw and bleeding words. i've nothing left but nounsadverbs--adjectives. words of nothing frothing at my lips. take those hollow words from my tongue, dearest, and cram them down my throat. they've no right to be in the open.

tripping,falling,stumbling, neverlandingintherightplace. so tired. so veryvery tired. walked a step, felt a mile. opened up, felt a tear. things aren't going as we planned, are they love? we're not happy and joyous and carefree and whimsical. we're black and mottled, stained and bruised.  our stitches are popping out. our seams are falling apart. we're black swans beautifulbutnotreally. theres only so much grace you can have when you're collapsing to ruin. (and you were never a dancer.) theres a crack in your toe thats creeping up your leg, splitting white skin and splintering ivory bones. straight up the middle to a crook

you're chasing white rabbits with those lies of yours. the red queen is baring down on you with a cheshire scarf and the mad hatter has become your best friend, trailing cakes and mushrooms under your nose. you've created a wonderland around us that i'm only pretending to see. because i see those white rabbits for kleenex tissues and the red queen is the one you readily fall in front of but you mirror the smiling cat around her neck without fail. you've become the mad hatter; it's easier to pretend the nonsensical one is someone else. i see the hole you've dug for yourself and decorated with croquet mallets and duchesses. it's not a