7/8
the sun is out and i hate myself, so i start to melt on mahogany hardwood. the moon is out and i still hate myself, so i turn my back to the mirror. the television speaks and i sink in the river. my boyfriend is asleep while i'm calmly dying, but the river shoots me out of his belly. my mother accuses me of ripping the threads that holds this galaxy together. mercury falls into my window and i keep him as a pet. venus and mars are having a wedding that i didn't even get invited to. jupiter is working at wal-mart in order to buy himself some new nikes. saturn is dead. uranus and neptune don't like my poetry. pluto prefers to stay in the background. my body is in, but la cerebra is outside of (globe, dimension, existence)
imagine what it's like to be an angel — to be gold and light and up in the sky. the girls slice off their hair and offer it up as a sacrifice. the boys throw all their coins upon the sanctum. it's all for you. just tape on some wings. learn how to fly. make the sun seem like a dim star. bloom your hair and make it a silk golden road. dye your skin with marble. learn how to sing properly. be pretty. let the river dry out. make a rainbow out of the damaged pieces that poke into my sides when i sit. only eat air. round out the edges until they become soft. become god's apprentice.
and fuck! i just want to rip it all off! i just want to take of this skin these bones these fucking organs! and maybe i can create something better! maybe i can reassemble into an angel. maybe i can cut off a fly's wings and stitch them into my spine and i'll fly around and be golden and pretty and bright and then the sun will want to fuck me and all the planets will orbit around me.
alas! a dream! a phantom! miracles aren't for you! just go back to bringing the End!
instead, i cut off the stars and eat them. i still can't drive because i'm afraid of the road. and whenever i see the monster, i hide behind the door. and the sun is so goddamn fucking yellow why can't he just shut up what a fucking asshole god there's nothing poetic about death or the ocean that threatens to devour the world or me or the fact that everything is too hot and my brain is melting and metaphors are drowning and i'll just fucking snap every single fucking thread.
here you fucking go.
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tb to my depression he hasn't visited in quite awhile
