Collective--

[Lovers Never Tell]

My Necrophilia Addiction

I hear the horror intro on the radio,
an alarm hatching puss-filled moans of things
remembered. A clenching below forces veins open-
air escapes these aging lungs- desperate
for the warmth you promise under
the moon's romance, that beat

I crave. My nails dig, beating
my grave in the hard-core thrashing of the radio.
My arms rip though, letting yours crawl under
this body claimed by post-mortem. Spectral things
declaw, finally releasing me from the earth. A desperate
soul crashes, fluttering my stitched eyes open.

Baby, I will be your living dead-girl, opening
me to a whole new world of you. Your heartbeat
fills my chest as my lips close over yours, desperately
forcing gasps in my chest as hips move to the radio.
Your hands trace boiling heat up and under
the rags I bare. You show me new tricks-n-things.

The smell of chicken blood and otherworldly voodoo things
lofts to my nostrils, filling them with your lust, opening
the door to gor[e]gous need. Will you let me take you under?
The idea of this raises coagulated blood to grey cheeks. Beat
me harder against you, making the rhythm, match the radio.
This desire is making my new-found breath desperate.

Ignore splitting skin, the smell of rot and dust desperate
for the dark it spooled from. Your senses won't recognize things
like an arm missing and the bullet hole in my head. The radio
takes your mind off raw skin flaking, as I scratch open
your back. Only listen to this raspy beating
of broken vocals as we slowly rock under.

If I'll be your living dead-girl, will you be my under-
taker? Taking me over and over, desperate
for what's left of forbidden flesh. I'll be a persistent beating
in the hollow of your mind, forever a reminder of things
that go unsaid even in your journal. But I'll always open
my casket door, lulled by our song on the radio.

This "Living Dead Girl" beats in you. A thing
always there on the radio, a desperate
scream you can't keep under the covers. So keep it open.

[Lovers Never Tell]

Vestigial Love

Fingerprints?
1111111111Smudge marks?
11111111111111111111111Love bites?
Let's try you fuckin' BEAT ME-
mashed this hurt past skin
until my mental bone broke.
Your presence pounded worse than
migraines against my brick head.
H(e'll)
A(utomate)
T(he)
E(nd.)
is comfort medication to
keep me from b1u1c1n1111f 1the walls
111111111111111111111o
1111111111111o1n1i1g111f
'n' drinking down your toxic disposition.

Baby, I love you
but this,
1111111this hurts.

[Lovers Never Tell]

Coffee Shop Romance


Sipping my coffee, it’s all I have around-
so selfless I gave out everything.
Yet I am still too cynical for your cloud.

No need for money, friendships abound,
I walked away trying to forget the feelings;
sipping my coffee, it’s all I have. Around

the corner you waited with her. Found
me hiding in a coat I sold for your dealings.
(Yet I am still too cynical!) For your cloud

floats above consciousness, mounds
of forget-me-nots, but you’re still walking
sipping my coffee. It’s all I have around,

and you took even my last comfort, bound
for some said distant starry shore. I was everything,
yet I am still too cynical for your cloud.

And still I waft in the st(r)eam crowned
in your vestigial glory. I wanted to be anything
sipping my coffee. It’s all I have around,
y.e.t... I am still too cynical for y(our) cloud.

[Lovers Never Tell]

I thought it was you

Mister, be a dear,
and shrug off your clothing once more;
the itchy fabric ruins the caramelized skin.
I tugged at it's frayed edges in hope of exposure,
but it knotted itself snugly at your hip,
where my fingers dare not dip under.

Such sweet eyes - avert them.
Their earthy depths make me want
to lumber up those limbs
and pick freckles from their irises
creating a bouquet of muddied words
and gestures. How do you stand so tall

and think of it as looking up at me?
Those hands seek enlightenment,
but the scripture I spread is less
than what you're asking for
when I keep expecting the door
to creek your closure.

Sometimes, I just want to go home.

[Lovers Never Tell]

Dear Wartime

How do you fare in that golden ocean
wading for miles; that Sun baring down
on you witness to the footsteps
being engulfed in changing winds
I wanted so badly to follow?
Do you miss the color
and sweet smell over the salty
dripping down your chin as my
did just last month? He basks in the
your letters can't tell, that
heating my thoughts so I can better
the path you traveled. Just one
behind. Just one step closer. Do you
the Mother grow pregnant and birth a new
each month as she lulls you to sleep? I
feeling your lashes skip on my
It's sweet, so I outstretch my arms wanting
for it to be an embrace only She could grant
Your touch tracing my shoulder
and down my spine as your breath
heavy and hot against my
She whispers for you, I'll see you soon.
And I know,
oh, I know,
I'll see you soon.

[Lovers Never Tell]

I'm feeling a little soupy;
like run-off after a warm rain on a cool day
[Yeah, that oddity].
The sun bubbling me up and out
of the form I grew used to.
It's a free-bird kind of thing. I can't fly,
but I know what it means.
And the day shines better
than anything I knew before
I broke the brook --overflowing
until you captured me.

Your sail cuts down the horizon,
waking some fever pitching a fit
of its own. Siren-like, it promised
sunrises I could sink
finger-painted picturesque scenes
polka dotted in satin wild flowers
perfect for bare-footed escapades
my senses had never known before you
[- an innocence I lost soon after you].

[Lovers Never Tell]

I
find the
drippings from
your slapping lips
fill my stomach better than real feasting.

[Lovers Never Tell]

I forgot what it was like to be passionate-
to have heart-swept conversation
lightly drizzled in deluded decibels
pounding out directions for migraines later.

Tip-toed prints spotted floors
leading to the trashcan
where I left my breakfast today
after smelling you in my sheets again.

It's morning's like these
that I miss the me you fell in love with
and often plan to make a trip soon.
Maybe I'll even let you hold my hand when we arrive.

You remember the way back, right?
My memory has failed yet again
and we're making too many lefts.
There was never a margin for error,

but I swore the lines had blurred
when the gloves came off after the exam.
Maybe I didn't pass after all,
or maybe I was too caught up in the moment again.

[Lovers Never Tell]

I hate so much of this...