xxxCelestialxxx

A boy named Michael ate his dreams while he slept. He always managed to vomit them back up…though. When he woke to the sun, all he would find were pieces and fragments left wedged in his teeth, a lingering bitter taste, and a better “him” just simmering below the surface; shown with a bitten, bleeding tongue. Fingers thoughtfully crawled along his blankets, his clothes, and through his hair, back arching to look over at the ringing bells shaped as a modern-day digital clock. His heart continuously pounded in his chest and out of sync with the background, as if recently jumping off a very high place, only to be stopped righ

I trip over the sex in your words it dancebeats each syllable into the rhythm of submission to your desire of thrusting or being thrusted plain letters draped in shades of sultry black only visible to the connoisseur of linguistic lust while virgin eyes remain blind to their deflowering the twist of your subconscious power to exude your curves in the guise of thoughtful genteel non-fiction I fall wantingly

You taste like decaying leaves and October's bad habits- when it’s halfway through February that still haunts these bones. I have allowed you to claw your love into my arms and chant into my uninterested ears for much too long. I wish I was one of those girls who could say wild flowers grow up through my nooks and my crannies just to tear through my skin, screaming. I’m just that dead eyed deer on the side of the road dreaming of shoving a pen down my throat and writing these verses inside out. I am no scribe, prophet, or spell caster. I know it. My skin knows it. My pen knows it too. Years and years from now my mind will d

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to spend those nights Watching the moon hang between your pupils Like a cadaver strung up high and dry In the brittle November air. But there’s something about that road kill smile That was too fast, too cruel You were intangible and indistinct In the way you’d shake your cigarette packet Hearing the contents rattle like a self-contained thunder storm You were always like that, So painfully self-aware you tried to suffocate yourself In such a way that it was neither poetic nor beautiful Rather disjointed in mathematics and skewed logic. You were not romantic or tragically beautif

I wedged the remains of your bus ticket veins And chloroform sticky notes under the floor boards Concealing them, out of sight out of mind, but I swear Sometimes at night I can hear them crunching Vowels like bones between their molars Aching for the flesh and thesis of pretty little girls Filmy and crackling like static between the slopes Of your shoulders, those quiet spaces between The short lived confessions and pulpits of your Half assed convictions and lovers trysts. Hardly left any room For the gods to reside in the pieces of heaven That you scattered across the carpet Of your apartment floor in hopes of catching angels between ash