Archive for ‘SuAn’

August 26, 2013

under the influence of giants

by suicidallyanonymous

Bleed summer out with
empty hands like broken bottles,
and a shoe that never fits;
crickets don’t play their songs
on plywood violins, anymore.

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August 25, 2013

and she dances on the sand.

by suicidallyanonymous

She scrapes bare
the ugly artists, exposing
tunnels of velvet veins.
Stripping meaning from
whimsical things
to breathe new scars
and give disease an acronym.

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August 19, 2013

the hurry and the harm

by suicidallyanonymous

Dipping your fingers into her chest
like knives piercing the skin
of scalded milk,
a desperate drum
thump-cracks its way

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August 16, 2013

save your scissors

by suicidallyanonymous

Some die like the trees,
with splintered bones
and too many wool hats
to keep their dreams safe,

beneath a swollen sky
of broken glass stars
jingling like keys
in lint-lined pockets

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August 12, 2013

four sticks

by suicidallyanonymous

mother.
With an obese world
crimping your shoulders,
you shriek
at your delinquent son.

He could’ve been a tower
but he’s burning,
because you didn’t build him
with sincere hands
years ago.

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August 9, 2013

not for real, but what else do you call it?

by suicidallyanonymous

He gave love a name
and tucked skeletons
under the stairs to rust.

Using too-big words
in order to taste asphalt
was almost as cancerous
as saccharine rhetoric.

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August 5, 2013

burn piano island, burn

by suicidallyanonymous

aurulent.
Medallion eyes
and pasta mouth;
a tree of chipped stardust
to hold your face
together like hay.

citrine.
The sunlight shines
upon your calves
through windowed walls.

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July 25, 2013

my darkest days

by suicidallyanonymous

porn star dancing.

Clotting the gossip columns
-subways thick
like watermelon veins;
a thousand words
for tomorrow’s shame
[of bathing topless]
with the grim reaper

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July 21, 2013

what swims in my vodka

by suicidallyanonymous

They click around
old quotes
and melt heavy-lidded records
in convection ovens,
in remembrance
of half-baked crooners
that serenaded
the aliens in your pocket.

Within foggy spaces
between the lips

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July 18, 2013

The Pieces of Something Pure

by suicidallyanonymous

i.
Sunrise stains
her eggshell dress
with butternut and violet,
while the birds collect
stardust and wishbones
to give to the dreamers.

ii.
The gentle scrape
of human flesh
across a braille cheek,
shook me up
-I bubbled, carbonated

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July 14, 2013

the golden age of grotesque

by suicidallyanonymous

walk in the park.
I am a greedy flower,
craving drops
of self-entitlement
and hot sex
to make me pure;

to forget:
melodies so repetitive,
my veins will boil,
and then I’ll die
-a kite, desperate
for wind
in a flatlined sky.

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July 10, 2013

Standard Shedding

by suicidallyanonymous

i.
She can’t touch the sun
without breaking it’s back.

ii.
She tastes like damage,
breathing black and white
nostalgic symphonies
for broken homes
that bleed soap
behind sandpaper curtains

[they murmur her secrets
in fever pitch].

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July 2, 2013

Kickstart the Funeral

by suicidallyanonymous

Children are screaming
bloody murder
behind the curtains
of a rundown playhouse.

I can’t help but remember
dandelion summers spent
trying to convince Ken
that Barbie was a slut.

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June 24, 2013

Reach and Kiss Ass

by suicidallyanonymous

Reach and Kiss AssRemember,
unexpectedly amazing times;
it’s like months cast feelings
into words
regarding inferior capacity
for hilarity,
in the diagram of tuberculosis
intersects basic math.

A particular manifestation
of the p-versus-v argument
douses the bed in gasoline
and sets it on fire.

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May 31, 2013

Interlude: I’m Not Angry Anymore

by suicidallyanonymous

I’d melt my disgust if I could,
and pour it into their hands.
Maybe then they’d find
another train-wreck back home,
so I don’t crave
the way they suffocate themselves
in buckets
of low self-esteem.

[It’s not my fault
that I can’t hurt like them.]

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May 24, 2013

They Vomit In Acronyms

by suicidallyanonymous

They’ll kill to see you
convulsing in shock
on the cold bathroom floor,
praying to porcelain
and cursing shower curtains
for being motionless.

Your limbs clink
against each other
like hollow wind chimes,
because they’re trying
to tell love stories
about the bonds
of cartilage and bone.

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May 13, 2013

dollar-store condoms

by suicidallyanonymous

There’s watermelon sunsets
in my peripheral vision,
but I’m far-sighted,
and it might be
four-twenty clouds
and a nude Mary Jane
tucked between my thighs.

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May 9, 2013

It’s Alright, Ma (It’s Only Bleeding)

by suicidallyanonymous

In the infancy
of a paper mâché sunset,
your parents shuttered
the horizon,
so that the sun could shed
its skin alone.

But while you let him
panic in peace
after she left,
until he forgot
how desolate you felt;

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May 3, 2013

river rocks and golden guns

by suicidallyanonymous

xxvi.
Elephant spines
-skinned and baked-
curl neatly
like the burnt pages
of your
guilty conscience.

Smoke spirals
through your every
trapdoor;
whispering hoarse words,
heavy
like river rocks.

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May 1, 2013

Heart-Shaped Box

by suicidallyanonymous

I don’t want gratitude
fluttering
from accusatory tongues,
because it stings
when praise is whispered
in desperation.

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April 23, 2013

the way you make me feel

by suicidallyanonymous

There’s a purity
weaving it’s fingers
through your hair
condensing thoughts
into legitimate reasons
as to why
you should love me.

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April 16, 2013

scrub. rinse. repeat.

by suicidallyanonymous

She’s going to break you,
she’s going to break you,
she’s going to break you.

It’s just that chunk
of bitter repetition
stuttered
in symphony,
in harmony,
in melody,
with your strep throat
and cold shoulder.

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April 9, 2013

tripping up the stairs

by suicidallyanonymous

There comes a time
when gravity yanks you down
and just tells you
to stop
and look.
I didn’t mean to stay
so long,
but the cold granite floor
felt more like home,
and the windows
pained to see me
standing tall.
I couldn’t resist
looking back,
and I think that’s when
the walls started
getting annoyed.

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April 3, 2013

how soon is now?

by suicidallyanonymous

Sleep
burns my eyes
like coriander soap,
and I know
I cannot wash the dirt
from my corneas again.

And I heard
the swooping rush
of audio adrenaline,
and tasted
bleached bones

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March 30, 2013

nails for breakfast, tacks for snacks

by suicidallyanonymous

i.
Torn ligaments
and hairline fractures
nestled in the floor
of heartbreak;
somewhere
just beyond avenues
of cheap driftwood
and sidewalk prophets.

ii.
It isn’t every day
she hits rock bottom
with diamond fists;

swallowing words
like flammable vomit.

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March 24, 2013

under the shadow of our steeple

by suicidallyanonymous

i.
He is God,
and you are man,
and I am girl
for just a moment…

struggling to keep afloat
when hammock arms
let the biggest pieces
slip.

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March 20, 2013

Something Desolate

by suicidallyanonymous

i.
Open my heart
as if it was wrapped
in deteriorated receipts
and strands of raven hair.

Regret left behind
papercuts
and soy-based ink.

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March 6, 2013

Pastel on Paper

by suicidallyanonymous

i.
I need to breathe with skin
scrawled with yesterday’s regret,
because hollow reminders
are only good
for mother’s phone calls.

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