No more lies

Poetry/ everything else/ personal blog

Thoughts on Death and the Deceased

Death is a weird thing. When someone passes on, suddenly you seem to remember a hundred things you would’ve never remembered about them while they were alive. Vivid memories, and meaningless gestures they gave to you suddenly mean so much more— they are hints, they are keys. That book your loved one told you to read, the one on your shelf, you will now read because now it holds meaning. Facebook comments you ignored because they embarrassed you, you now look back at weekly, wishing you’d replied. You think of their life, their lifestyle often. Your love for them will not be easily dropped. Life is so fleeting when you’re faced with death.

Try to describe:
Your brain, displaying fireworks
Your mouth turned up at the corners for no reason
Your body, feeling lighter than helium yet so dense you cannot move
Because all your feelings will just spill out in the sky

Try to describe that look in his eyes


Full body ache and
I wanna peel my skin back
like an orange
Pick out the rotten parts

One female for sale
In bad repair
Requires lots of sleep
Breaks down easy

Sometimes I wanna
Crawl under my bed
Hide there where it’s dark
When the sun just hurts

Lost kid in the dark
She knows her place
Argumentative, but make her cry
And she won’t talk anymore


And if I bite the blue
Out of the sky
Will the clouds taste like dreams,
Will the texture be sunbeams?

If I saw words in the air when
They left your mouth
Would it feel any different from
When I see them in my mind?

If I lie down in the grass
And close my eyes
Will I feel the faeries flying
Just above the tip of my nose?

And if I tangle my
Fingers in your hair,
Will you care?

I toss and turn in sleep
And so,
I fall asleep in chairs,
Fall over into toes.



So I’m tired,
Is that another side effect
Or just an appetizer
Of all these things that ail me
When the entrée comes
Should I take OxyContin with it,
Or a glass of water?
I toss and turn in my sleep
And so,
I fall asleep in chairs
Fall over into toes.
I am not depressed,
I’m no insomniac,
I do not need a low dosage disguise of heroin to calm me into a better state of being,
I do not need another side dish of nausea,
I am diagnosed everyday,
Psychoanalysed and pricked and beaten down
So I’m tired, so I’m not happy.
So what?

All the footsteps

I don’t know what it is about today. I guess when I’m bored I have time to think. I’m thinking I’m not good enough.

Your body folded into sleep,
I whispered it to you
My body folded into yours,
I yelled it to you
Like the sky without her stars
You clouded over
With rainclouds but no storm
And you said nothing,
So I was cold again.

bite my lips until they’re raw,
A nervous habit. Bleeding,
skin shedding like it was meant to.
It makes the taste of hot tea
sharp and bitter
And kissing you hurts a little more than yesterday
But we understand
There is a bad to every good
And there are flaws inside my head
I couldn’t carve out with anything

part one

He said, “let there be light”

I rolled over and looked through foggy eyes at the Eastern horizon, and there was light.
“I need more sleep,” I said, “don’t let it rise yet.” My toes were cold, but the first piercing rays of the sun found their way onto my back. The afghan I lay on had grown damp with dew in the night, and the beads of it were visible on the fringes like a fresh rain. I shivered internally. A cricket near my face retreated to the wet ground from a blade of grass. I took a deep breath. I stretched in such a way that my entire body trembled, and my fingers swept the undergrowth behind me, knocking large droplets of water into my face.
Had it rained, after all? My body was thinly coated in moisture, but I wasn’t cold. I sat up gingerly, stiff as a plank, and grabbed for my cooler in which I kept my necessities. His hand came over mine. I drew in my breath, I did not make a sound. The hand had wrinkles so engraved in its skin they were no longer wrinkles, but dents. The hand had fingernails that grew longer evermore, dirtier evermore. I looked at His hand, but by the time I felt the little warmth it had to offer, my mind blinked it off the face of reality.

He whispered, “let there be light”