Respond.
questions usually follow your statements
that slip from your lips, your hips, your stare.
soul sister or is it demonic twin?
yikes the ironic friendship
the synchronized sadness
and love-ness and loneliness.
i see your bunny and i raise you
a guinea pig named after the greatest
love story and a corroded dog
that fell upon my lap on a day
of bull shit 'thank you now pass the tators'. insane in what brain and where?
fever isn't my only excuse for aggression towards my mother
or my old apartment which burned down last week
in a dream of mine.
brown and icky and sticky lilacs are the most beautiful thing alive and dead.
revealing their age and the inevitable with each peddle that drops or dries
just like my fear, just like your reality.
dance in the mirror for six hours and admit love
but then spit on love because love is hate just as
breath is life.
never really knowing what i am talking about i respond to you
and you respond to me and so on and go on and keep on keepin' on.
hazel eyes that spin our brain until it's vomiting important information out and leaving only charming moments and then wait! shit.
anger. the morning after. fuck the morning! the life after him.
nuggets of light and life and love and truthful depression
pile high on the window sill when i smell
herbal conditioner and find dark brown curls on my pillow.
i'm a blonde. life's a brunette, kicking my ass and kissing my neck
and promising to never love.
up and down and push and pull and here we go a wandering
down the youthful path of elimination.
self loathing and self loving. it's all right and it's all so wrong. valentine's day is for the single people to be thankful and for the relationships to burn like california or beirut.
truth is i think about mars more than venus. and that, my imaginary friend, is just plain boring.
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