Oh how the boat drifts...

I am waxing and waning.
Changing with the Moon's pull, I luminesce and then blacken in steady cycles.
Turning with the curves, singing in circles of pallor and shifting with the tides I pulse with secretive rhythm. I soak up the glow softly spilled onto the hollow points of my body. The inside of my elbows, the hollows of my throat, the curve of my spine all overflow with cool resignation.
A partnership with the ocean, all screaming waves and jagged rocks.

Silver Metal Lover...

Under this gun metal gray sky, with the pressure and humidity enveloping me hungrily, I can only sit and wonder when I'll turn into a real girl.

Letting go of Andromeda.

I just came so hard I saw stars...

I wait as long as possible to touch myself. I'll go weeks, months even, letting the tension build. I'll wait until the last possible moment, until I'm vibrating with desire like a taut guitar string. I imagined I was in a sumptuous Bedouin tent, with glittering sharp diamond sands just outside almost within reach. I was crushing rare and expensive flowers with my body...and now I am here, in my loved but slightly shabby surroundings.

Brittle around the edges. Tender in soft spaces. And terribly empty. The emptiness inside me is vaster than anything I can fathom. It yawns open and out of me, a magnificent void. It's like an endless night, quiet and stealthy.

And it all started when I woke up tasting poppies. I tasted poppies and was reminded of him...I remember the taste and smell of his skin. Poppies, from the soap he used. II taste him when smoke and alcohol mix in my mouth. But it's not really him I taste, not this shade of a lost love from over a decade ago. It's loneliness.

I taste the rejections, the bitterness souring my breath. In my mind I was once the princess in a saccharine and perfect love story, but now I'm not a main character anymore. I'm the serving maid. The wise aunt. The potion mixing witch even, maybe. But definitely not the princess.

Duality? Or is just a craving...

I think I'm going to take hallucinogens soon. Things have become too sharp, too grating. I look forward to placing that tingly paper square on my tongue, and feeling the miniscule liquid movement that is the beginning. Melting and inverted, I'll collapse into myself. With a quiet sigh, and a secret smile, I'll ride the razor's edge.
Shifting and seamless.

I'll squeeze my eyes shut and see singing crystalline pinwheels imprinted directly on the backs of my eyelids. I'll suck my tongue and savor the tiny piece of industrial strength brain wash that assimilated itself to me. Through me. I imagine the intricate network of nerves and spinal fluid recoiling and ultimately being dominated by the alien compound, which will be feeling it's way blindly through the passages of vertebrae.
I'll have belladonna eyes, a slight sheen of sweat, and shaking hands. Delirious in my comfort.

I hope it will be like hard-booting a computer. I need to press my button. The restart button. It's spring cleaning in this bitch.

Can a soul gasp for breath?

Can an actual soul yearn for sunlight? There is a song lyric that I always identified with. My words are snowflakes, meaningless and melting. And it has never been more true.
Words pour out of me constantly, falling from my mouth and pen, tapped into my keyboard. I can picture them all in a confused and jumbled pile, shrieking that I betrayed them with my lack of care, for not polishing and selecting them gingerly. Instead they are flung out of me with abandon and tinged with a slight touch of insanity.
Madness used to be considered a curse, laid on the unforgiven for unknown sins.

I may be an unbalanced and unfinished person, but...

My secretions are beautiful.
I do not speak softly, nor am I gentle.
I am passionate beyond belief, to an inner level that frightens me at times.
I hide behind my brashness.
I am secretive.

Ghosts in another room...

He's been gone for forever, years. Yet I can still feel the sickly contamination he left on everything. It clings to the walls like cobwebs, and clings to me. It coats my teeth like flat soda.
I will scrub every inch of him from this house, from me. I will scrub out my chest cavity with sharp and sparkling glass sand, and put my ticking clockwork heart back in it's place. And I will start once again, tenuously, to breathe. Really truly breathe.

Of First Loves and Ventricles Blown Apart

There once was what I thought to be an angel, his white hair spread boyishly over a black pillowcase. I remember fragments sharply. The sound of a car door opening and our bodies spilling out, tangled and nervous.
The smell of cigarettes and desperation, searching for everything but admitting nothing, our faces smooth and seemingly untroubled.
Empty opaque bottles clattering down steep stairs in that shitty goth club...

His long fingered artist's hands spread toward me, open. His broad palms spreading me open. Cool pale skin, so very like expensive paper. I called him my Stardust Angel, and he called me Laura.

Our long sticky summer was over as fast as a shutter clicks...red wine and dancing, stealing glances and snatches of his face, I couldn't look into it, it was like the sun. I withered with love and undefinable teenage lust.

When he left for England I was broken. I imagined all of those watery miles stretched between us. I sent countless letters, poems, paintings, none of them clearly saying how I felt. How I was consumed.

I still have the three letters he sent to me, postmarked on thin air mail paper, worn with age and tucked away with care. East Anglia UK 1998.

How can I stop now?

Push me up to starry skies lover...if you can.
I'll burn on one side and freeze on the other.

I hope the dirty rain colored gray tendrils of my mind wrap around and cradle my loving thoughts...I hope they are tied in so many strong and slippery knots. Hold them fast. Wrap them in spasming bows of blinking neural love patterns, so that I do not forget when my mind fogs over like a car window.

Emotions begin as a tiny seamless split, granular and pixelated. I feel the quiet desperation as these unwanted emotions push their way upward out of my chest cavity, all venom and seething salt, to be replaced with softer and plusher things. It's an insidious cycle, and one I am painfully aware of now that I am smothering myself inside myself once again.

Hurry up please it's time.

The end of Winter. It is officially Spring, and has been for some time now. I am frozen.
It's not that I stagnate purposefully. I am encased in sap. Covered in a thin layer of frost. I wish I could whack my soul with a piece of rebar and let it know that Wintertime is over.

I long for Summer. I very much enjoy the deliberate and semi-hypnotic clicking of my heels on hot sparkling pavement. It is deeply satisfying, a visceral sort of satisfaction.
I imagine that I am in some way dominating those pin pricks of sidewalk.

Tap tap skip. Crush crush crush those tiny molecules under my merciless heels and pink feet.

Beginnings

This is where I'll come to brain vomit.
I'll finally force myself to put all of the things that I would mostly scribble secretively into various hidden journals into a place of actual accessibility.

We'll see how it goes...

Or if I'll even bother.