Sometimes, I dream of you hiding tents in my trunk. Surprising me with pancakes in the morning, and singing songs to me while we shower. And then I wake up. And I see your smile reflecting in my mirror. at a blink of an eye, I make my bed.
a picture is a thousand words.
these are the bags we came to the US with. what a throwback.
Hey you, dragging the halo-
how about a holiday in the islands of grief?
Tongue is the word I wish to have with you.
Your eyes are so blue they leak.
Your legs are longer than a prisoner’s
last night on death row.
I’m filthier than the coal miner’s bathtub
and nastier than the breath of Charles Bukowski.
You’re a dirty little windshield.
I’m standing behind you on the subway,
hard as calculus. My breath
be sticking to your neck like graffiti.
I’m sitting opposite you in the bar,
waiting for you to uncross your boundaries.
I want to rip off your logic
and make passionate sense to you.
I want to ride in the swing of your hips.
My fingers will dig in you like quotation marks,
blazing your limbs into parts of speech.
But with me for a lover, you won’t need
catastrophes. What attracted me in the first place
will ultimately make me resent you.
I’ll start telling you lies,
and my lies will sparkle,
become the bad stars you chart your life by.
I’ll stare at other women so blatantly
you’ll hear my eyes peeling,
because sex with you is like Great Britain:
cold, groggy, and a little uptight.
Your bed is a big, soft calculator
where my problems multiply.
Your brain is a garage
I park my bullshit in, for free.
You’re not really my new girlfriend,
just another flop sequel of the first one,
who was based on the true story of my mother.
You’re so ugly I forgot how to spell.
I’ll cheat on you like a ninth grade math test,
break your heart just for the sound it makes.
You’re the ‘this’ we need to put an end to.
The more you apologize, the less I forgive you.
So how about it?
happy.
My ego could swallow the world whole. It’s always a race. I have something to prove every fucking time I open my eyes, and all I want to do is just move slow, and walk lightly. It needs to quiet down.
| — | Dostoyevsky. |
life is good.
replay.
dextrocardia. on time and underweight, i was born with my heart on the right side of my body. one lung refused to open, the other overcompensated with a hearty cyst. doctors said it was emphesyma, pneumonia, influenza combined. 3 months young my parents were given a choice. operate with high chances of losing a newborn. refuse operation and gauranteed death before 15. mom agreed. dad signed the papers. 5th surgery of its kind in russia. i am the baby that lived. when i learn these things, it makes me feel like i am destined. like there is something i was left here for. i hope i don’t go before my work is done. i’m in search for that perfect wave.
