Tell a Trusted Adult

Fast track to escalated emptiness
Relapse of enlightenment
Old habits die hard because they feel good
Cycle of comfort and control
I can't TALK to Stonehenge


Any soft burning
Of familiarity
Premonition saliva excited

From eventual to hot and fast
And thick spit acid drips
Psychedelic esophagus
Totally better

Three winters worth of rhyme scheme
Wearing your old clothes
Scarecrow of a fleeting savior
Go through the pockets
Try to figure out where I lost myself

Point with a finger
Give a direction
Downward spiral staircase
It's all reruns and sequels
Vomit sequins

The acoustics of the bathroom floor
I thought you could hear me purging
From the other side of the highway
The way a twin can feel when the other one is in pain
I just wanted to feel you
Peel back the cheap foil stars
We had attached to my skin
Cooperation and completely secret
Anecdotes that I've grown too exhausted
To retell to strangers
We'll take it all the the grave with dimly lit
Eyes and names that don't match
I should apologize for every tear-filled heart
To heart that I untangled with my bleached claws

In one arch of a back
Hissing cat or a body bent with orgasm
Choking on an instrumental
The earth is not
Something inconsequential
Backwards map
Make it happen
Seahorse captain
A joke of a throat
Bleached bone skeletons
As bare and as shivering as undressed skin
The very first time

No Offense

I'm making a to-do list all I have so far
Buy rain boots
And I have a scarf in a suitcase
And a beat in my heart that I can hardly hear
Nothing catchy or glamorous
Aching
Soundtrack for my clean escape
The scene

Last night unbearable
Blockbuster horror
Monsters in uniforms
The same fucking stringy hair
City lights from far away
From a teenager make out cliff
Internal bone marrow scream
Bandits burnt out bulbs
Traitor-serpent eyes glaring jaundice

You are not stars


Keep my soul in the corner
Out of sight out of mind
Focus on the fact
That I came I saw I smoked three cigarettes
For no apparent reason lack of purpose clearly
Theming this party decorated
Vets were chilling me
Stone cold sober
Swallow sins
Disregard that I have ever been nostalgic
For a time in my life
In which I wasn't even happy

Escape artist Extraordinaire sudden sonnet Volta    

Wish you were here words now non-existent
These shivers couldn't fit in a paper cut
Shaky bloodshot phone call to a fogged bridge
Or a forest
In a bloodshot moment of desperation
Treating you as a doctor
Please give me your signature
And get me the hell out of this town
Begging politely
For the way you blanket me
With your skin of warm Sunday flannel
And I'm not sure if I want you
Or if I am just tired
Of hearing the same drugged stories tired
Of the garbage fashion show
Tired and wanting to breathe something clean
Sleeping beauty up the stairs
In the house you made of pine needles

Knee-high Knee-jerk-reaction

 My blog isn't letting me update the bottom of the entry. But the dress is by LIP SERVICE.

www.lip-service.com

Currently I'm watching an episode of Season 3 of The L Word, and the gang is in Canada for (2006 spoiler alert!!) Carmen and Shane's wedding where Shane leaves Carmen at the altar. In the scene immediately in front of me, Alice is zip-lining for the first time. I imagine it would feel exhilarating and frightening as hell (per all the most superlative things in life), but where I'm really going in my head... is I'm trying to imagine ice cold wind on my face again. Because that's totally a thing here. And I'm getting antsy waiting for it. I always do.

Winter is a romance I will always miss when it's not around. Maybe I miss it more when I'm sweating in a fever staring at a calendar, but I do miss it. Winter is the lover that was always there, even when taken for granted. There are little things one can still hold onto when living in the wrong season. I still wear stockings in the summer; it's a little secret nod to winter, to let winter know it'll always be my favorite season. A wink. A cryptic, messy, cursive love note.

I want to only ever wear sleek, feline black dresses. With opaque black tights that hardly protect me from any freeze. That's where I'm comfortable, locked inside three jackets, nothing able to get in, but still looking like the coolest.....

We always want what we can't have at the moment.... but is still in our grasp enough for it to salivate and meow over like feral alley-cats just starving for something that feels more visceral than any contrived emotion we made up in our heads over the past few months. Or is that just me? Stockings are sexy, and simple, and its exciting to wear something that isn't what it looks like. Garter stockings and garter leggings were given to us by nylon gods and now we have... faux knee highs. They don't slip. Ever. Tight, gripping and only kind of warm, they hold up. Because its just what they do. While pretending to enjoy the season.

Also, here's a fun article about how apparently faux-knee highs are "enraging" men:

http://en.rocketnews24.com/2013/04/23/fake-knee-high-stockings-enrage-men-of-the-internet/

Got mine from this site, which has a bunch of cheapies, but also mine were sent in from China, so they took about three weeks

TOTES WORTH IT;

http://www.aliexpress.com/store/group/Women-s-Stockiings/424242_250922011.html

Japanese sunrise dress, by Nikki Lipstick from Dolls Kill

http://www.dollskill.com/?gclid=CIGO08rCsrkCFUkS7AodLjQACA

http://nikkilipstick.bigcartel.com/

Knuckles Un-broken

I like you was a death
Sentence I like you
Was a pair of corpse-stiff jeans
That fit like someone's else parents
Offering me breakfast
But I bought anyway
Just to get the hell out

Of the store there is something
About speeding
Down pitch-street the windows
Down
My hair a blasphemous  scream-kite
The moonkissed orange turning blue
Wrapping itself around my bare

Shoulders like a sweater
Makes the music
Feel like Meaning
Violin guitar violin cymbals
Symbols crashing
Silhouette of one locked
Ivory and Body of goosebumps dividing

Fistfuls of reasons to revel
In the ether of middle
A denim gray area
Unruly splitting law
That flightless birds would never

Navigate witch-sweat passion
Is about finding
Someone who can dig their fingers into
My skeleton's patchwork overcoat of Tired
Grab vicious handfuls of my naked flesh
And tear apart my soul

A body of ice Pacific-borne water
Still sore and dusty-rose
Vintage pink, vintage aching
ICARUS SUNFLOWER
Craning a cricked neck towards
While simultaneously
Summering away from
Candlelit feelings
Trembling to be put out