2009

Bad Excuse

All accidents and this is not an excuse rather an explanation.

Abusers. I have nothing to give them. I say it too. “I have nothing to give you.” But they follow and then lash. I give them everything, like quarters dug from couch cushions to buy a few forties so you can forget just how broke you are. I give them that. It is all I have. they beat me swift slap and ask for more. Blue Velvet. Right? I am not a mess. I just want to escape my life. Or have everyone evacuate so it can just be me again. Riding a train with earphones stuffed into my head I want them to melt into me so I don’t have to take them off. Listen to Diamanda scream in my head, and her voice tremors the way I wish I could speak. I asked where normal was, and Boy said Minnesota.

Doubtful. Then she said that I was Venus with a heart like borealis ripping open the night sky and kissed me. We made fuck love till five then slept. I dreamt that I was a Satanist who believes in good. Lilacs shoved down the barrel of loaded guns. I am standing on a mountain of discharged shells. When we woke up she remembered she had lost her wallet. I shrugged with a plume of smoke and said “so what, go get another id.” she said she cant and threw her bag on the floor. She said she cant because she is on the Lam, arson. grand theft. possession of illegal firearms. and like felonious poetry I thought I was in love.

she raged on my kitchen floor with boys tears stuck in her eyes, and a line from tegan and sara came into my head.
“I would go to jail with only boys, just to prove I was as tough as you.”

When I told Boy all of this he smirked “you need to find the key to their heart.” he explained to me through computer screens. “then you own them. maybe you should stop thinking its so exciting, or ya know, ask yourself what’s wrong with being a felon?”
keys. keys. locks. chains. words. fucking so hard your skin looks like camouflage and when I sit down I can see all these veins. No one can touch those.
On the train speeding through tunnels I stretched my arms out and traced those veins that seemed to not even be a real part of me. like magic marker that is nearly dried out scratched against chemical white paper. I wanted Boy to see me cry because Boy still closes his eyes at night and wonders if I exist.

I still close my eyes at night and wonder if I exist.

I want Boy to see me cry. I want Boy to lift up his shirt and show me his back and expose the scars that sit evenly apart above his shoulder blades. But we together- it cant all mean this when this is ripped open. The land laid to waste and there really was nothing left. I cant help but wonder if maybe this is what Boys body looked like scaring over, the wounds holding hands as flesh pulled taught and renewed, re-birthed from the crusted old puss.

at night I close my eyes and wish for sleep.

She calls me up while I am writing words that will soon amount to a portrait of her. She is broken and I imagine her curled up in boxers and a shirt. its hard to picture her sad. When we fuck she smells like fire and earth and my orgasms are dreams of campfires. Her energy is celestial and I believe we call into existence something that didn’t before when we touch. Fire and Air. Polars.

Boy is polar to me too. But boy is my angel that I can not touch. She is everything I can touch, she is evil and perfect, brilliant and bad.

And my therapist said that something dark like oil ran through my veins. I stretched my arms out to show her these mapped out canyons that lead to rotting heart and I believed her. She also said that the devil runs between walls. whispering to me in sleep and one time I opened my closet door and he tumbled out looking like a faint shadow but I knew it was him because when he stood I could see he wings spread expanse across my room. As a child I saw this. I knew then nothing was right and everything was wrong. In my head he slides between walls and he will not drown.

So now I have that memory and two polars that when cross examined make up the same picture. She is the shadow and Boy has the wings. She beat boy to the punch and punched the ground this morning over a lost ID. a lost Identity, a warrant, and did I tell you she can siphon gas?