week ends

For a while, I turned into
ghosts and scarves and mirrors

a ghost of myself, who has forgotten my past
who slides in and out of rooms, uncaring:
scaring people, who don't believe in me
with a persisting, tugging yearn for flesh and bones
to be held, even though my synapses don't fire
and I can't even comprehend I am ethereal

I would fall inside of you before you could hold me

A scarf tied around a boys head
or a pretty girls waist
just tied up in knots
or sometimes flowing
blowing in the spring wind, up into atmosphere too thin to breathe
a ghost could dance with me up there

It's too bad, the only ghost I know, is me

Mirrors, plural
reflecting each other, cascades of repetition
into infinity
mirror, singular but never alone
you can stare into me, and always find something, always see a reflection of yourself
I'll smile when you smile, I'll frown when you frown
there is nothing more than that. I'm not going to lie to you
but I won't tell you anything you don't already know
I won't protect you from your imperfections
I will throw them back at you, it's simply what I do.
For your own good, don't try to break me.

You've had enough bad luck with me these days.

Be-bop. And Rocksteady.

I wonder what blind people think about the concept of reflections.

If I wrote a book it would go like this

A worm caught in a birds mouth
about to be devoured, maybe alive
nothing to do but paint it out, wait it out
and stay away from the dreaded telephone
it's so much easier to picture you in my head when you're not sitting beside me
I would swoon but swooning is overrated

***
'we had something good' he said.
he was fucking drunk.
for a second I felt a little bit special, and when that was taken away everything hurt a bit more

'fuck you', i said on another occasion, to another someone
my mouth has become dirtier by the week and may get worse still

***
I dreamed a few night ago of Andrew Keith- we were at a party sitting on a bunk bed talking about the stars and the moon eclipsing. His hair was not dreaded but braided instead.

Last night I dreamed about a boy. It was actually the boy I said fuck you to, as stated earlier. In the dream I climbed up onto him and said "I think you are very good looking and I want to kiss you." I then he kissed me, but very very slowly (how I thought I would like to kiss him) and I found myself impatient with his slowness, and I couldn't kiss him back.

Unreal

Sitting in a waiting room
Occasionally holding hands
Because blood work is scary
I will watch you leave with the nurse
And once you’re out of sight
Let out the shivers that have been building

I’ll creep out of the plastic plant, library-quiet, color-neutral, blank room
Into the street, the street which is always awake
For a cigarette
Get lost for a while in the smoke,
With thoughts of cancer cells, timelessness,
Calmness and old souls
Wondering if the smoke smell permeates my jacket
And where the molecules I exhale will diffuse to
Antarctica maybe

I’ll go back into the warmth
To fidget, to wait
When you come out, white-faced
I’ll feel toxic with my thoughts of medicine and sickness

The last time I felt this polluted was not too long ago
In a white-washed house where there were too many people

All I wanted was to grab your hand
Lead you out of the room like a child
To somewhere quieter, to spoon and whisper and eventually sleep
I’ve been growing up lately, I feel very old

I lost track of you at some point. I kept my head down for too long
And you drifted away without a thought of goodbye
Probably not thinking at all
I woke up later
Tangled in the gauze of a canopy
With a similar gauzy-white feeling in my head
In cold sheets, by myself

I had to get out of there
Walk around, ballroom dance with the fresh air
In ballet shoes, maybe on the roof
So I crept away, from that room where I didn’t realize I had been waiting,
Even in my sleep
Always waiting

Dancing away the blues, the whites, the grays
With stolen sunglasses in the silent dark
Eyes shaded from the cold, eclipsing moon
Just a blank mind
In a blank world

I wonder if you can hear the pitter patter of my feet on the roof
Or if I am dancing on air
It’s hard to say

I don’t believe in heaven
But I believe in dreaming
And sometimes I dream that my soul escapes me for brief moments
It feels like I am dancing on air
Above me and also in me
This is what heaven would feel like

I am not afraid of my death, just yours.

afternizzle.

put a red bow in my hair
put black paint on my hand
put a pink pillow on my bed
put the stench of incense in my nostrils
admire my lucidity
despise most everything else.