I'm starting a story...don't judge this too hard.

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The prettiest girl I’d ever met had blood raining down her neck. She ripped her skin while looking up into the face of puberty’s sky, and she cried on my shoulder when I begged to know why. Her heart was stitched with barbed wire, and the cracks were filled with scratchy cement. Too her the world was someone she met once, an aquaintence nothing more, but certainly nothing less. She waved at it’s patterns, and social rules, but her socks didn’t match and she thought perhaps that everyone should wear a silly hat to funerals or when they thought they might cry. Her eyes were mostly dry. It was the rest of her that wept and tempted me to wrapping my soul around her shoulders, and nailing it there. I wanted her to find an alien place inside me, and make it her home. I wanted to be her home on planet Earth.

The perfect place for my twisted little stranger would never be a mansion or a shack. It would have to be something weaved from the eyelashes of warlocks, and grown with the liquid of a dragon’s melted toenails. She required nothing less than a two year old’s imigination. I was beneath her with reality wrapped around me like a quilt in August. Without my crazy lady the trees were green, and the sky was blue. There were no transitions between the horizon where the sky and the hills met to produce a swimming color. Everything was green, blue, and covered with tar. The city had no magic in the sewers, and there certainly could never be passion in a sky scraper. When it rained the raindrops would never have looked like millions of tiny happy suicides joining the bigger picture when thrown against the broken glass of rushing river. They would have been rain drops. Pieces of water producing an umbrella in my palm. She taught me the magic of the tiny sounds a fairy makes when it changes a traffic light from green to a hustled red.

How dull life would be without my fairy tale, and now I sit here with a book, and wonder why she’s bleeding from her neck. Why are her tears pouring from her purple fingertips? And why does the pavement sparkle when stained with an oily paste?

Fiction Space Division

Class Five Launch

Attempts to Avoid suspension

Failed

Negative

Captain

…. We … ARE …. GOING TO EXPLODE!

Autumn feels like a crack whore all wasted and abused.

The tree outside the window

She’s trying to get naked

Waiting

The cold will bury her

and brake off a few twigs.

She won’t care

Though it makes me sad to see drop her leaves and surrender

Another cold embrace.

Maybe she thinks she’ll find love in the frozen crystals,

and shiny pieces,

but it happens every time.

The piles of pure white shimmer will abandon

and the roots will notice last as the tips begin to cry.

Her love will find that laughing sun

That pretty witch

With her warming kiss

“Goodbye my precious nature

Look how warm and welcoming.

You were nothing more than an observation…”

but he’ll come back again next year. Bury her beneath the cold and sparkle,

and she’ll think this time we’re going to make Alaska.

It’s night and cold

Could this last forever?

Pretty little tree

Too bad she’ll have to put her leaves back on again

because that smiling melting diva will come and convince him it’s time for something better.

Press play and then repeat.

The seasons come and go, and she’ll never forget what it’s like to be alone.

The petals on a fairy tale rose fell. Scratching clawing at the air and I just watched. I wanted that red dried story to fall at long last to the floor. Maybe sometime in the near future a vacum will come and eat the petals of my once upon a time, and perhaps I’ll forget the middle and the end. I’ll be the Beast and fall in love just before my beauty’s wasted. My heart feels lonely here. An empty vessel with a shaking sea to ride. Who knows when I’ll tip, and drowned.

I get lost in the morning with steam crawling and clawing at my face bitten and hardened with hate. I can’t stop reeling and feeling dealing, and wheeling

I’m beginning to lose it like stock in the market

My worth is depreciating

Constantly fading

Losing more weight

I’m trying that dieting

Dying

Boil me in laughter

I’m not doing what I need to do.

Taking these classes

I’m like women with hot flashes

My passion is filled with observable trashes

She thrashes

Menstruation crashes

 let fall another egg

To the bucket

Waste me

My poems will disgrace me

Blah …