Tag Archives: spy

i n k.

i am giddy
with the thought:
pierce my skin,
release the ink –
again, again, again.

this addictive pain:
let them see it
saturate my bloody
and scar my skin –
again, again, again.

i am giddy
with the thought:
a secret life,
of torture and release and secrets –
again, again, again.

the spy lives on.

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heat.

back in the hot room,
she remembers:
it’s been 11 years
since he walked out;
10 years
since she ran;
7 years
since he begged her back;
6 years
since she was home again.

back in the hot room,
it all came back:
as the warmth
embraced her body,
so too did the sweet
memories of a love
once unknown
and similarly suffocating.

just like the hot room:
you let it break you,
because you think it’s worth it.


loose.

i wish away
this life
so often;
in favour
of the one
where my hands
are warm,
and my skin
is clear.
and your shoulder
never gets tired
of cradling
my head.

my fingertips
so trained
in the art
of sculpting
your scalp;
your eyes
imprinted with
my tiny face.

my eyes
are aching, boy.
my hands
are cold and cracked.
i am trying.


when.

when it finally
happens;
when it finally
ends;
let my body
crumble
to dust.
let my heart
emaciate with
a final shudder.
let my hands
stop shaking
and my voice
stop breaking.


silence.

walk with me
to the edge
and grasp
my wrist;

as we free fall
into the bliss –
we have waited
all the days.

i told them
i don’t care,
and you stood stoic
and warm;

walk with me –
i want your hands,
and eyes, and brain –
hold me in our silence.

do you trust me?
when a single tear
from a week alone
holds all the weight.

i slept last night
and you weren’t there,
but your hand was in mine.
and we slept.


rubber.

sometimes
you smell
like blu-tac.
it makes me
imagine
your veins
as twisted,
malleable,
rubber.

sometimes
she sounds
like rubber.
it makes him
recoil
and remember,
she was raised
on a farm,
with pigs as best friends.

sometimes
he looks
like music.
it makes me
imagine
his veins
as twisted,
charred,
rubber.


smirk ii.

i met this boy.
and he smirks
like you.
like you both
knew a secret
and the secret
was me.

only you would
never share
and never tell.
i didn’t mind
your smirks
and i let you
keep the secret.

i met this boy
after i had
met you.
now i wonder
if you met him
would you let me
love him
like i loved you?


dam wall.

i walked into
the roadhouse
where we stopped
that one time.

i needed
the bathroom,
and you bought
drinks and candy.

you waited while i texted him,
and you looked at me
like you knew
i would hurt you.

did you
ever tell her
the real story
for your panic and rage?

did you
ever wonder
why you changed,
and why you terrified me.


persecute.

why do they
need to be heard
straightaway?

when does the line
blur from assertive
to narcissistic persecution?

if it doesn’t change
in that moment;
pain is all you have.

it’s like the more hurt
suffered by one, the more
they need to hurt the other.

regardless of fault,
or circumstance;
the moment is just that.

why do they
need to be heard
straightaway?

especially when the
only response
will be silence and disappointment.


222.

like cricket,
except more
like golf.

is it okay
to hold
you up?

i see
your face
so vividly.

is it okay
to draw
my inspiration?

i see
it everywhere.
i see you.