(meth)enhim

I’m not going to lie and say this is my best work. I’ve had trouble writing for a while now, but I just needed to get some thoughts, some things out on the paper tonight. If you couldn’t tell, I’ve been reading a lot of Ellen Hopkins lately. 

 

Schllliipp

the noise of matches

in the darkest hour

of his existence,

crushed up against

the inner workings

ofa glass tube

hoping to find

the last drop of innocence

oozing in the empty buzzing space

that lies

inwhatshouldbe

brain matter.

 

Teenage doubt

is not the only stench in the air,

wafting from alcoholic lips,

emotional fingertips

and too much cologne

hoping to cover the sweat

of too many monsters

found under the bed.

 

There’s a party going on

in bedroom closets

where sevenminutesinheaven

has tick-tocked into

a life-time of regret

and the reek of need

is stronger than the

perfume of confidence

and holy things like

his lips on her curves,

toes wedged in floor cracks

as they rock back and forth

in the celebration of too many

canvas paints

spread together into one color.

 

Rainbows have come

from more haunted spaces

than the cavern

that dwells beneath

aching atriums

and twisted tongues,

clinging to the mass

of the last shipwrecked

dream

America fed him,

mama singing nighttime

lullabies between

tears,

trusting this time

willbe better,

that his smile

wouldwreck the world

wash wicked souls

into the ocean

of fire.

 

I wish I could tell you

that at least this part

was true,

butI still

have not found yet

who decides

what holes need plugging

first

when a ship is quickly sinking

into the sunset,

leaving memories burning

in the opening of your mouth,

shattered in the scent

of his high-

tened need,

crawling into the teeth

of the monster. 

 
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