guilt is a comfortable emotion since I've learnt to swim at midnight pleasant daggers, safety pins to my internal organs aka the unseen team of jelly-beans that make me a real boy. ...but really, is it safe? they dial nine-one-one asking for an ambulance forgetting that there was a stabbing and the criminal is still in the room.
the door-bell moans today he wants my elbows and i am worn from distributing body parts but i grumble to the door plaster on his favourite smile 'cause when he stays away my eyes tend to leak and the plumber thinks it's the pipes clogged with self-regret and self-disapline and self-dioxide but when he opens the door and I see how much he wants to be a man i want to invite him in but like my phone I'm sixty-eight percent dead
Warning, this one's a bit grewsome. It's a horror for more than the usual reasons regarding my poetry. XP
Spoiler! :
it started when nana refused to refer to Eva in past tense then we all started referring to her in the present tense now she sneaks into bed with me at night to protect me with a knife. i like knives and so does Eva. sometimes she has to protect me from herself, stabbing herself while we sleep i know because the bed shakes and some of my stuffies fall off and Eva cries sometimes so loudly i think mummy will come but she doesn't so i go to get her and she doesn't wake up when i nudge her or when i say her name and i realize i want to wake up but it's not a nightmare Eva came too and brought her knife
it was the rain that left the water out today the rain blamed the sun and nearly convinced the dandelion stems that the rain had a VIP pass to summer this is why the weather changes because she's often exhausted from hearing them argue about who gets to play outside
anchovies bite me as I sleep- chat dorthy says to say hi everytime I call her fingers melted to the cell golly, she got the wrong number again heaven knows that she knows I know she's faking introverts; figures jammy time, she still isn't hanging up kangaroos ducking under my armpits lonely while I listen to vibrations miniature lady-bugs that carry the message never lying, never lying, never lying otherwise our conversation would be lost particularly dangerous considering the dwindling panels quilted in our companionship relationship-wise still, it's chatter talking, even until we fall back very slooooowly where reality becomes a dream xoxo young as we used to be, zoe
fifteen was the number on his heart cardiac arrest isn't common at his age you arrested it regardless. marbled-blue when you finished dead as the daffodils rising between his toes
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