my wickedwitch heart melt, my green skin
disappear into a laundry pile of black robes and
silence.


firefliesFireflies dancing in graveyards blink as they grin green graveyard smiles, flashing greenyelloworange through the weeping tombstonefaces, and I walk past, breathing in june twilight. dusk touches white fingers on the horizon, and greyfireflies
smoke-clouds lie low like ghosts, clinging to thin
maple branches, filtering through leaves, splintering the dying sun into papercutout patterns on capner street.
fireflies dancing in graveyards, like your bluegreenblink and your tooready smile grinning greenly to the long grey stones: the corpses of hopes long dead and notforgotten


may thunderstorms.may thunderstorms. I wish it would rain, the kind that threatens to tear themay thunderstorms.
world in two, the greysky thunder, grumble of dry earth
and birches screaming as the wind rips at their pale trunks. I wish the world would break, crumble into dead tulip
petals, sweep up and throw itself out,
and recycle fresh. you told me to cry. I told you that it would make my wickedwitch heart melt, my green skin
disappear into a laundry pile of black robes and silence.
I wish I could make him go away in a puff of
purple smoke and fairy dust. I wish I could scream hi


my dead daisies.white splatters across this stone: it's white like the way Id imagine littlegirl hearts look right after they see Mommy hit down with one red hand, cheek to cheek with wet Maine soil: littlegirl hearts laid out like spilt milk,my dead daisies.
like torn lace withering in the wind, like clouds drifting drunkenly across a grey sky.
sunlight splits into the hungry ocean, turning it green and tropical in the cold April breeze. I tell you I regret all of it: my littlegirl heart smashed right with the taste of warm red lips: beer and heat mixing in with the sweet pineapple rum s


age, wisdom and other thoughtsage, wisdom, and other thoughts she doesnt sleep anymore. Her hairs faded grey like stripped electrical cords, and used Kleenex piled up like old laundry by her old, creaky mattress where he sleeps next to her; he sleeps all day with those thin tubes snaked up to his nose and slipped into his anorexicblue veins.age, wisdom and other thoughts
and while he sleeps, quiet and thin like cirrus clouds she whispers into her cold-cotton pillow never live past 85, past 85. outside, the sky is a sharp, iced blue and the naked trees mourn their barren
fingers. January bites hard into th
Blanche

psychosomatic sicknessdo you know why babies cry when theyre born?psychosomatic sickness
i shook my head, as if to say no.
its because they dont want to be born.
you said, answering your own question.
and it scared me.
-
you once put your hand prints on
wet cement and i asked why.
you told me it was so no one would forget you.
this is proof that i was here.
you said, while writing your name in it.
-
with lightning bolts and low wind, you kept breathing in cancer because it would help.

--
Cry with me, Ill dry your tears with my
Dishtowel soul and maybe
Hope might visit at your doorstep
With a basket full of babys breath,
And that soft smile
Mothers get when they watch
Children sleep.
~a. l. h.
Thanks!!
Glad ya liked it Haha
:]
--
Cry with me, Ill dry your tears with my
Dishtowel soul and maybe
Hope might visit at your doorstep
With a basket full of babys breath,
And that soft smile
Mothers get when they watch
Children sleep.
~a. l. h.
--
Robert walkes on moonlight haze while the banshees cry to their sioux witch
--
Cry with me, Ill dry your tears with my
Dishtowel soul and maybe
Hope might visit at your doorstep
With a basket full of babys breath,
And that soft smile
Mothers get when they watch
Children sleep.
~a. l. h.
--
Cry with me, Ill dry your tears with my
Dishtowel soul and maybe
Hope might visit at your doorstep
With a basket full of babys breath,
And that soft smile
Mothers get when they watch
Children sleep.
~a. l. h.
--
Cry with me, Ill dry your tears with my
Dishtowel soul and maybe
Hope might visit at your doorstep
With a basket full of babys breath,
And that soft smile
Mothers get when they watch
Children sleep.
~a. l. h.
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