Skin like heroin,
orifices blossoming on molted epidermis front.
A confident disease, rapturous imperfection
spoiling on the edge of dusk- a crossfire.
An indecisive time of day, bloody disputes
of meekness and aggression.
The sun melts backwards and
the willows secrete-
they thought their blood was music.
Like expression pressed upon wax paper,
the earth is animated, a canvas, emotive.
Meat ballerinas and male grease on
a stack of milk-spun lies... bacteria, breath slowly.
In my favourite dream, I'm coughing.
A tongue- thick, trivial, half-torn tail...
swollen, a worm to swallow quickly, that'a girl.
I've known all about broken throats.
Just as much as light bulbs,
falling in-and-out of usefulness.
Poise curtseys and exits through
jigsaw-bones, sketchpad limbs,
shriveling to a little voice,
so quiet I can't hear it anymore.
She's outside, rag doll mechanism,
symbiotic existence, today is beautiful.
But the scenery's all the same.
A portrait where angles scream 30 degrees
and strangers wrap up in baby pink-
excuses for everything, like I wasn't born.
Not of water, never a squirming, blue, blind-thing.
I doubt that it was violent.
More like an abomination,
though self-demoralization is way passé.
So pull the cello bow across the xylophone,
she's glowing she's so tragic.
Who needs a light switch?
An idle darling in the dark, dramatic pause...
she hates to talk. She'd rather stare out windows,
where the willows smile, vacate.
Burly vacuums deepthroating air.
Why bother with lungs- ugly blood-sacks, dual heaving organs.
She's not allowed to breathe... and she doesn't want to.
Author notes
i'm back. still crusted with remnants from a long ass creativity drought but i'm gettin there.
Written June 29th, 2006
What did you think
Comments
1 - 18 of 18
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oh, love.
ive missed your writings. i really have. and yes, i remember you. this piece was so raw. were any of us meant to live?
and what do we do with our lives? should we take it and explode, make every molecule of ourselves known? or stare out windows. doing as we please. and the life we were given, did half of us even want it to begin with? let's just take a moment to take in the moment.. look at the whole picture. let us live, as if we were meant to live to begin with.
lets be tragic.
lets be silent.
overdramatic and all that jazz.
oh, ive missed your writings.
__lid.. (and you should look beyond the one you read.. i have 4-6 writes you've missed. and they're much better.) -
Took a while to pull me in- You finally got me with the lines "...like I wasn't born./Not of water, never a squirming, blue, blind-thing." And the cello. I love the cello...
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Thank you for such the nice comment, I really appreciate it as well as your pleasant constructiveness! Take care.
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vivid filled with the mind made me read it a few times i like it
love the papa -
This was very nice- I liked the way it made me feel..I got lost on the point of it but i liked it just the same.
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I must get to know you
This poem totally rocks my boat and I understand it plenty well. You don't have to look at every word and analyze it to get the meaning. This poor girl is totally messed up and still out there, being consumed by whomever and whatever and is a big risk for contact. GADS this is a brilliant poem. I love it.
It's very sad, of course, but that is much of the appeal. 
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I don't know what to say about this piece...but I did click on the strange title and it IS featured, so here goes...it's like an attempt to see how abstract and incomprehensible you could get and still be writing in the English language...hey, maybe I just don't get it...yea, that is possible...maybe.
I'm going to go and read some of your other pieces.
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The title made me read it. The poem didn't disappoint! It's dark, physical, a system of imagery capturing painful decay. Some of the images and phrases are fantastic:
Meat ballerinas and male grease...sketchpad limbs...
...pull the cello bow across the xylophone
My only piece of *constructive criticism* is that it is very cluttered and lacks grounding in place or moment. Some of the less precise and killing lines are getting in the way of the good ones. These problems seem easy to remedy--
Excellent overall. -
some will some won't.
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true art
Haven't read anything quite like this. The title drew me because it appealed to my dark, sordid side right away. There are so many great lines in this piece, I was captivated all the way through.
Peace
Justine -
pretty darn awesome piece. the description was so nice and i like how it added to what you were trying to say. definitely very interesting. im a little curious as to why it is titled "piss girl"...ive been debating with my friend. i think maybe it about a girl who feels as low, disgusting, and hated like pee. i still am not sure...well, anyway kick butt job! rock on.
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Very unique and original piece. Stunningly creative imagery and raw expression. I loved this. Read it three times already! Great write and very well penned!!
~*Lori*~ -
Didn't speak to me. Sorry.
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amazing poem. i love how well you can paint a picture with your words. this poem was very well done and writers block can be really tough, but you seem to be a very talented poet so just try to do your best and im sure you will come up with more poems to amaze me.
keep up the work, and don't put the pen down.. -
I really loved it. Its sad 18 people viewed and only few commented because its really really well done!!
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I can't say i truly understood this poem but the language was amazing and the imagery really creative so i can't imagine that you're struggling with your creativity, be reassured, this poem is full of interesting and creative images and language. Well done,
Mim x -
if that is what you produce when struggling with creativity then all I can say is write on!
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wow this piece was amazing, this is a powerful piece, i havent read your work before but this is amazing ill make sure i keep reading your work , keep it up
Krissy
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