They Won’t Love You Less If You Don’t Make A Mess

all the skeletons
sitting quietly in my closet
piled one atop the other
neat and organized
collecting dust in storage

are others
as orderly as mine

or
are they a haphazard mess
femurs and fubulas
tumbling tibias
scattered scapulas
avalanching out in a chaotic cacaophony
whenever someone
merely
jiggles
the knob

not sure
but the idea
bothers me

no

its best to keep
these things
trim and tidy

should a stranger
peek in

They’ll see
only
winter coats
rain boots
and stacks of
nothing
important

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She’s Gone a T’ch Crazy Again

Sometimes
I want to dig into my head
claw and scrape at the spongy wetness
scoop it
my tapioca brain pudding
and smear the pulpy bloodied mess
across the pristine white walls
of everyone’s preconceived notions of conformity

while I laugh madly
stupidly
wildly

and then
i want to shove it down their
reserved
plastic
lemming
throats

“eat it
swallow my chunky parts
choke on the tough chewy
bits
the unpalatable
the inedible”

But I can’t
and they won’t

I guess I can
spin spin spin
until dizzy
and I vomit
up
my mania

(she’s in hysterics
with eyes on fire
and her obnoxious
cackling
bouncing off their
stony
dismayed
faces)

….

Do you know
that most nights
I sit quietly
and knit?

The screaming in my head
turns to a song
a light melody
knit one, purl one
knit one, purl one
knit one, purl one

until I forget
about what was disintegrating
my thoughts in the first place.

Well.
Institutionalization
takes
many forms.

The New Year New Diet

20151016_113750-1

I really wanted chocolate.
Maybe even some jolly ranchers.
Candy.
I wanted some fucking candy.

But all I had were apples.
Healthy, crunchy apples.

As I stood in my kitchen,
taking unenthusiastic bites
chewing with resignation
I realized

What a poor substitute.

Like going home drunk and alone.
But still horny.
Having to fight through inebriation
for an unsatisfactory climax.

My apple was a sloppy masturbatory attempt at satiation.

*sigh*

Happy New Year.