ade

christ, the low brow
blinds the brown,
murky waters make
hardships for the
coy—

some luck? he has
none. eleven, eleven
he cries - what’s the time?
wet weeds

they loiter, no beauty
in these snakes
grapply at my heels
seethe and spit,
seethe and spit.

it rises like an
intangible mass of
dew holly—
is it october already?

an then it is gone,
that fat red coy
is in the sky again
but has it changed?

i remember blue,
has it foresaken me?
the clock, the crystal
eye of my grandfather.
am i sixteen again?

not so pure, my skin
so pale. a golden
eel of sin, a serpent
with eyes.

this is no eleven year,
no spring, this is
the descent - the mayans
rise? has time gone?

i ascend, at the beckon
of the snake charmer.
strong grip, quick tongue.
O, do i please?

eternal, i know you well.

and eating for the sake of it then wanting to have the body of a god and not reading or writing but wanting to be a writer and complaining about my lack of skill but i’m just an uggo so it doesn’t even matter anyway cause life’s just hilarious like that ain’t it guys ain’t it.

don’t be fooled,
bed sheets don’t
always make
lovers.

and don’t fall
prey to the charms
of someone who reads
plath.

just because he’s
in a church, doesn’t
make it any less
dirty.

if you reply to
that offer, then
there’s no going
back.

you say you like
it rough,
but you mean rough
love.

he says he likes
it rough, and
means a kiss and
a punch.

you give yourself
morals, and enjoy
the thrill of
breaking them.

but they don’t see
the battle you
fought, hell they can’t
even spell it.

collecting ages,
and scenarios
doesn’t fill your
book

so give it a rest,
cause you aren’t winning.
you felt more loved,
when you were just
texting.

this dully ache, is too
comfortable and if
you rest your thoughts,
you’ll only get tethered
down.

there is an absence,
too slight a thing,
that no one even noticed.

feet don’t stop
but thoughts do,
perhaps the biggest pain
of all.

clocks move quickly,
but do you mind?
maybe tomorrow you’ll
get lucky.

but there isn’t a
full moon tonight,
and your dreams will be
darker.

i can sell ‘em quick,
help you pick the
perfect pair even in the
dark.

but can you, in
your audi and your
tan, find mine? i think
not.

you don’t deserve
to know of it, since
you did not even
notice it.

so don’t patronise,
and save the advice,
i am a survivor at
sixteen.

i have discovered
it, the way of life
and i have already
lost it.

 we’d finished for now and were lying side by side on the bed. first light had began to come in through the window and it missed our faces but landed on our bodies, mine was still pale and frail but i wasn’t bothered. i had my hands across the top of my crotch as if to hide myself away but i think that was out of habit because i didn’t feel self-conscious around him anymore like i felt i should. he, however, was as bold as he always had been — his legs were bent upward into the air and his dick lay about his stomach, flacid but wet. i so wished he’d clean himself up some but i wouldn’t do it for him. i felt covered in sleaze, but not the good sort; not the sort after a first love or after months of waiting, especially not the sleaze of achievement but more the sleaze of shame. that dull, hard shame. i would have to shower soon.
 ”i wasn’t expecting that,” he joked. “sixteen and such a slut.”
 ”i’m not a slut”.
 ”oh? then what are you?” he turned to look at me but i couldn’t see his face yet, the light seemed to be growing slowly.
 ”i’ve told you before, there’s a hole in my life and i fill it with men.”
 he laughed, and i laughed too. i sounded pretentious and silly but i am pretentious and silly, and i didn’t mind too much if he knew now.
 ”it’s always the case though, isn’t it? we’re just all constantly searching, and gathering. it’s like we each have our own irregular space and we go along blindly and unknowingly collecting things to add to that space. men, women, money, cars, or even children, collecting and always collecting so our structure isn’t so empty anymore. we wouldn’t want a fragile structure beneath our lives now would we? well i don’t quite know how to fill my space anymore, friends fill it with clothes and games and even you adults fill it with different games but they don’t last two minutes in my space. they just sit and collect dust and i have to toss them out eventually. so i fill it with men, and flesh. they don’t last of course, i mean if we all have something it’s flesh and skin and sex organs and tongues, and i can kiss your flesh and you can kiss mine and the sensations are well enough but we can’t kiss forever. i mean, sluts enjoy the tasting and the kissing and they seek it but do you really think any of this will make me happy? because i wont be able to feel your kiss soon and surely you’re not still so naive to think you please me. quite rightly if i wasn’t here i’d be at home alone and bored, so i’m thankful for the time we’ve filled, but i could be anywhere. i could be at home, i could be in school, i could be sitting in a court room on trial, i could even be the judge - hell, i could be the lover, and the loved. the afflicted, and the afflicter. i could be hot, or cold, i could even be dead but none of it would matter cause i could be anywhere and none of it fills my space and none of it makes me happy. so i’ll keep filling my life with men, changing scenarios till one suits me. i have you and our hotels, i have my older lovers and our escapism and i have my devoted and our romantic dates. i’m quite set for now, and one day i’ll find that something and it’ll be so great, so grande that i wont need anything else to fill my space and then i’ll be done with you men. i’ll be so very done.’
 ”god, you’re amazing”.
 ”is that the word?”.
 ”i wish i could make you happy, i do.”
 ”will you rememeber me?” i asked.
 ”oh i will, i think i always will.”
 i turned away to smile, but i still think he saw.

watch me as i descend,

a step for every string

broken, detachment.

there’s a hole in my soul and i’m gonna fill it with men.