brokengod--veins

& ran out of memories. you know that way i would forget all the bills and loans and rent and utilities and water and air and and    and i cost something. i cost a fucking fortune and i am defined by how much i pay and refuse to pay. my bones, my lungs, my body, fingers are nothing but insurance lists and black market costs. we're all walking stock brokers. this is the essence of humanity paperweight, maternity leave to funeral costs, we are liabilities from birth to death. this is how it was. this is how it will be.

You will be mapped and marked and manifested, unmarred and bare through the days where my heart burned for the sea to uncoil itself from the tides and bury you skin deep fissure thick when your lungs learn to surrender. And you will stay in the silence. Ruins. Nothing but ruins the scorching summer sun won't wash clean. The architecture of your bone-wrapped frame will not be the pillars of your heart, but the downfall of your embodied spirit, a soul left to wander through the sediments of rain and dust and sand while Time whispers an ode to every inch of hairline falling from your scalp (you will be valued for everything but forgotte

i. Let the sky melt, ash scattered like the stars that burned when he lit a match from the moon's cratered surface. (he's the guilty traitor who rubbed sunsets on his wrists and use comets to cool his wine, leaving us hungry for an ice age.) ii. Witness the clouds condense, rain showers turning to heavy downpours where storms are born and bred. Savor each moment roses wilt and fruits dry in your lips: He'll bring sea water with his bare feet and soak the world into floods where seaweeds turn to grass. iii. Spare the continents for travelling like ships on a voyage made for three days. Sea water and stream rivers Would soon quench his engul

I am not defined by the way my eyes flutter or stutter, or the way my mouth cups blisters instead of flowers I am not a word lost in a dictionary or an unspoken writ trapped in the chambers of your unrequited mind. I am not defined by the way your words roll of my tongue or the silence that comes without them this is the definition of a legacy: veins dripping with blood seeping through the valleys of these papyrus bones and raven feathers unfolding the beauty of their afterlife. The spine-sewn pages and their only story unraveling fast like a motion picture, the art of ink staining vast oceans of whitewash to fill the memories of fragmente

on the day you were buried it was warm and sunny out and little children played all day- how ironic. it’s also ironic how they handed out flowers to your bones beneath dirt when they couldn’t do it with your bones intact with pumping blood and warm skin the cycle of life turning to death is being thrown at your face, petals counting off the days you wasted drunk with regret wishing you kissed her or how you should never have given away yourself so easily so fast or how you were never suppose to die alone with your heart tiring itself out from giving you all the time you will never get back the stem bent toward you like a big

    the world's  whirring trapped   in summer skull ears bloated &   the spine's interstitial fluid in a heated  frenzy with prickly   skin and    cruel        sun  the body is heavy   with the weight  on wobbly, bruised   knees  the air thick with breathing the   head     imploding & these ears  oh these    ears trapped needles  & bullets & the pain of  stumbling the art of     fainting am i    spinning or  is  the  world   s p i n n i n g around me?