most things I do out of boredom
are destructive so I decide to
change all the lighting in my house;
perhaps the pitch black 11:00 pm
is destroying me mentally.

it’s all shades of blue now. with hints of teal
and pink. lots of warm orange light.

I’m dressed in white. clean
and smiling. with someone else’s hand
pinched into my spine so I can hold that feeling
of being held the right way that right time.

Im coked up
& color coordinated,
green & gold alligator chain
around my neck;
her long snout reaching out of the emerald glass,
beast emerging from her swamp.
a pink wig and tan eyeshadow.
nude lips. big hoops of
snake.a cat that wants hours
of pet unreciprocated.

I can meet my needs
but my wants overtake me.
And so I begin to list them:

I want to be free.

“Libra”

Glamour Magic: the art of aging backwards isn’t hard to master if you (make them give you their magic), set the places & practice.

I set the altar. burn the candle and think of my bright smile, my naturally auburn hair;

long, thick and become more Cheshire.
face full & fresh

spectral yet ebullient in flesh.

my place, cracked and full of red: 
a carnelian web. 
you see my long legs
dangling before you 
see the rest of me.

“heart” or “Arachne”

May the Earth take my shame and
make me a boastful garden.

and I  keep recounting this old ending
of A poem I wrote:

and when they ask what you are
tell them you are humbled

I did it.
I built an empire and let myself rise with it.

 
generally, I go against my best intentions
for sport. learned how to read maps by getting lost
in the woods. thirsty, right leg numb,
shoulders could be fried from sun
or luggage and
it’s not death I am  afraid
but  of  re-emergence.
I dont know how to end or
describe things.
Or know what to tell them
when they ask what I  do for fun.

There’s a garden wrapped around my arm
with Lilith’s name etched into it.
The giant purple flower is datura.
determined to scare off as many passersby as possible,
i ask if they can draw Baphomet on my thigh.

snake, spider, centipede, heart shielded
by my handsome scorpion
both in black ink and in real life.

I quit kratom so my hair would stop falling out,
I say as he etches the outline of my dead’s cats eyes
into the back of my right arm. bright green and
they won’t tattoo you if you tell them
you havent eaten and i think
oh fuck
I’m about to faint.

and the little girls that like to yell at me
start laughing.

My mottled skin stretches
across my lower abdomen
stopping right above the navel.
thick red tree branches
begging for warmth,
water.

let’s see what we’ve eaten this week:

6 adderall, 14 cups of yerba mate,
15 cocktails, 4 cigarettes,
some toast and cracker
and grape. I take one iron supplement.
exactly one glass of plain water.
and I don’t even count the heart stretch
of the weed:
the rising pulse,
or her pressured breathing.

I’m about to faint.

no, youre fucking not, they say. you’re just fucking really thirsty
and constantly anemic. close your eyes.

make it go away.
make it go away.

“the dopamine series”

I don’t want anyone to know me. 

“limerence”

“and while we wait in silence for that final luxury of fearlessness, the weight of that silence will choke us.”