AKL-Closer on Flickr.
AKL-My Room on Flickr.
My bedroom
once upon a time a girl ripped out her intestines and replaced them with a snake. this girl was named evelyn. evelyn did not like snakes but loved apples and the snake told her that if he was allowed to slither down her throat and curl around the space beneath her rib cage, he’d dye her hair black…
Once, we were more than the sum of our parts
than the workaday shackles on our gypsy hearts
or the trainyard graffiti they pass off as art
in the shopping mall gallery shows
where the dime-store da Vincis all hang on a wire
like the tightrope-act truths we were taught to admire
all spoken by…
her name was twelve and she liked playing chess
with the old men at washington square
(she was evenly matched and the winner always bought lunch)
and feeding the rats that scuttled under subway tracks
with bits of gyro and sometimes
when she was bored she would pickpocket…
This poem is written
in the form of an open love
letter to Taxi Cab Confessions
and Amy Winehouse’s tattoos.
A bruise is still a bruise
even if the lips are marbled
from sudden heavy hickeys
in the space between new strangers.
There is something to be said
for impulsive flights,
but in taking are not to be mistaken
for knowing something awhile.
I love this. It’s horribly creepy, but I love it. ha.
I found this saved in my pictures from a whileee ago. I don’t remember where I found it originally.
I love this. It’s horribly creepy, but I love it. ha.
I found this saved in my pictures from a whileee ago. I don’t remember where I found it originally.