It rotsUnless forced and injected it fades,Juice dries,and leaves wrinkles behind,Bags under their eyes,Sagging breasts and guts.Dirty fingernails,Mucky cheeks,Heavy on dented shoulders,Brittle state of mind,Skidding on thin ice,Gripped shaking knives.It's easy for cracks to spread.Slammed down,Clearly solid,But ethereal when it's over,Like it never was,Faint kisses,Aches and painsCome and leave,Sink through the ice,Burn on the ocean bed for me.And the cherry on the icing,The icing on the cake,Sweetness doesn't last.
Dirty SheetsToo smooth voice at the back of my neck,Sounds delighted,Brimming satisfaction,Tickling the downy baby hair,Pleased with themselvesAnd the result,Hands on the wall,The killer and his sex.Call the carpet red,Red bush, red path,Red blood between their legs,On their hands,Under the red stained glass,Under white skies,Under weight,Crushed.Rapture and ecstasy and elation disappointmentAnd the rest,the dirty sheets at the end.
Never wasEasy drapes and chime. telephone,muffled words,About the thing that was never a thing.Raised voices after a hospital hush,The red carpet left behind it.the silences,all for an empty space,a lie, a tease.they got carried away,suitcases packed,and unpacked,folded.put back in old unwanted drawers.
SleepersFrom the big bad wolf,His big sharp teeth,The windows locked, boarded shut,Only chinks of light,Over the thighsHead, shoulders, knees, elbows,Spine.Make them run,Bounce off the walls,A leech and a venom,We sleepsleep with the dead,with the past, the present,the happily-ever-afterpromiscuous,Sleep with everything but,Carried off in boxes,The tins at the back of the shelf,With come-to-bed eyes.A gasp and a rhythmAnd lots and lots of red,an uncontrollableflash of white,Creaks of the floorboards, the beds.(Went to the top of the rock,Not a good man, not a good girl,Gold coins in his left pocket,We kissed the barrel,And disturbed the birds silence,With a bullet-chime birdsong,Still soaked wet.)
A room painted whiteA room painted white,And a red balloon,A black balloon,And gold balloon, floating,Bouncing off the ceiling,Pops,Makes me jump,Leaves me alone with the walls.My baby, Balloon,Pops, by my hand,My needle,One loud noise,One deafening silenceUntil there's nothing but the string,And me,Empty room.The wet sheets out the window,The blood on the floor,The nothing I knew I'd feel,And the tears, the shakes,The nightmares that proved me wrong.The pink or blue chest I made,Full of toys,Locked up,Hidden away,For no one no one to see,Buried in the yard.Threw my childhood away,Carelessly,Suffer little children,Mine no more,No one's no more.I carry my balloon with me,Still a child,With a childhood, dumped,Dead-beat, in my blank room,Lie on the floor,Stare at the ceiling,It's the same today, as it was yesterday,As it will be tomorrow,I, the only thing changed,More dusty,Less red-eyed,Black-eyedbaby blue,Jack and Jill, Jack and Jill,Pink and purple skies.