leonor dances on in her deep grave

 the ballad of the dead- us who quarrel with God end up in his collection of white sheet ghosts, a black sun rises over the tar river, as for us- we are passed along the chain like pearls, pierced and sown into a string.

he and i dance lowly on the constant pound of the black hearted, molded and corroded, real love into black lung. the beating of bloodied fists over a bulged bag of waxed pelt, bones to dust, hanging by hooks from the back to the ceiling, the bricks are stones and the floor is blood and fat tissue glimmer.

i run the flat of my hand over his sunken face once every million years, we hook our limbs into knots to avoid the punishment of God, if beauty was ravaged, the dermis pulled into the small abyss of his young deliverance, bloated lips of an inflamed lover, purple as rolling sea over and stretched at thin skin, holding on to each other by nails and into a braid of bodies to be pulled apart by the winds of the helvete- of hades, a rushing of tempest so strong it separates the skin from the flesh. the limbs pull apart and the bone reveals itself into a tease, reveals her ivory leg as the expectator screeches out a cry glee. we exchange a single quiet mutter of love in every meeting, as if revealing secret passions to call the day we were damned, a single year in tartarus equivalent to 10^30 years.

visit me tonight, visit in my sleeping cold; rocking on

 i keep having these visions. i make the most of it. i think, they feel, like memories. i dont understand. i come and go, in my dreams he walks out of his mangled corpse and into my space, he reaches into me through my air- i dont walk into it. he steps through and i feel his hair brush my cheekbone. standing before me with his collarbone exposed and its warm as if he had never gone from me. the void in my heart is filled and i prosper and relax my shoulders into his hands that wont touch me. looks at me in the eyes. and he was as familiar as a distant memory from another world. so as i try to conjure my voice i wake up into this place and i feel empty. and then i see him again and its not a lucid dream by any means.

aire soy. when i was a child i stayed over at my cousins house to sleep, to take care of my brother. they were close friends and i was the oldest and only girl. i stayed in a separate, moth bitten and dusted room. i found an old cd player and, in the earliest hours of the next day, fingered the numbers, the little disc on it, twirling the buglike antenna sprouting from it like a thin spore, looking for a sound. and it arrived into my quiet room, lit by two lights, both warm as a candle but one twitching. it was the most beautiful melody i had ever found, so i scrambled to look for a pen and paper to jot down the lyrics, or what i could make out through the fuzzy veil of the static. and i did. i went home and looked for variations of the lyrics on my family computer until i found it and it quickly became a staple in me, a nickel inside of the fountain of my mind, my ether.

im lost in an endless void, floating through airless space, a speck of dust in that old room i havent been in for years, after looking again a couple of times the cd player had gone. disappeared into the fabric of the space and time vortex that made up that world. everything else, exactly as i had left it. the bed made in the particular way i made them, with a flap on the top and the pillows fluffed over. the twitching lightbulb now completely null. the cd player was gone. 

i dont think he is real, i think he was years ago. i feel like it was someplace thirty years ago. maybe more. they mentioned it in my music academy- i was born to be there, sing for them, not for whoever could catch a slight resonance of my echoing growl.

he ran his cold fist through my back, upward over my neck. sunken eyes like hot stones at a rocky beach. the ends of that hair fine as mold fuzz. floated like silk on the wind.

i call for him to be back, listen to his voice. listen to his advice, to what he remembers i am, to what he knows of me so maybe i can make a return into that innocence. i dont think i can. i think innocence is not lost  but broken, or stolen and destroyed by a lack of knowledge on the care of such particularly delicate creature.

does he remember me? or do i see the vision of my own memory, an ancient language we shared but has now been forgotten to time by all but me, for death parted him from it and now i am the sole archivist, the lonely, mistress of our wuthering heights awaiting a ghost, the last botanist that knows about the correct care of the plants in this secret garden, where i buried my old love under an ancient strain of willow tree, under a strange valley flower the color of powder.

his name i barely know but its somewhere, an angel who keeps from me any power i could hold. to guide me and mock me. for now he and i keep rocking on, in the ballroom of my mind, or otherwise, old love, dear dead dove- may you not rest as long as i am living. you said i killed you- haunt me then. the murdered do haunt their murderers. i believe i know that ghosts have wandered the earth. be with me always, take any form, drive me mad. only do not leave me in this abyss, where i cannot find you, oh, God! It has been unutterable- i cannot live without my life, i cannot live without my soul.

beauty 1

 i only ever wanted to be beautiful, i was always so offputting and disgusting. my body is fleshy and my face is melted butter and spots. i hated it here, i hate it, always will. i wish i was beautiful. i feel like i have failed to create a home for myself. it is me who doesnt have a place, my pudgy limbs and soft torso.

oh GODDD

 anxiety about my boyfriends impending doom in a horrid plane crash is going to kill me. or him dying in spain of all fucking things. i miss him already. all of my friends are gone and i am at home decaying slowly. oh God oh fuck. Jesus Christ.

i am working on my next project- it will be called dirges for the living or something very similar. it will be a small meditation on the acceptance of death, specifically my cats. im done with one, just missing a rerecording of vocals and final mixing. 

i feel so upset and sick. there is no food in my house and i might kind of start tweaking. 

mother

 i have come to hate you, despise you, loathe the way you move through the world and raise yourself. you have made me unbearable, made me unlovable, made me afraid of my own shadow- afraid to love. you blame me for my miseducation yet prove over and over that the cold stone fist on which you raised me is still vigilant and ready to strike at my face and ribs. you show me, when i show you a wound and beg for nursing, that the cruel woman i came to fear in my childhood is still alive and well, waiting to pounce at me when look for my mother.

your bravado is your aura, your sad state of being. mother, how i have come to despise myself through you. standing up straight, practicing dinner etiquette, closing my mouth and legs, drinking my own monthly blood so it wont exist outside my body in the world i share with every other person. we have never been too much alike, but to me it has always seemed like you have cornered me into your cruelty, becoming into an aching freak like you have.

always a strain in your conversation, never a warm hug, never held, never wanted me to take a spot near you, always wanted to elevate me by throwing me into the ether and never being there to break my fall.

how can you be such a bitch, how can you not admit to failing.

laura palmers theme

 yesterday i went to the gyno and had a terrible experience- i would have rathered a slow death. the iud will be inserted at the end of the month, i thoughtlessly fought with my boyfriend then took him to get ice cream in some other town as an apology, we went to his home and we made up and then we saw friends. today i might do something stupid. my parents have not seen my tongue piercing. i think it turned a momth old yesterday. healed beautifully. i want an industrial and a garter belt tattoo next. and finish up my backpiece and sternum. 

i am as of now beating my anxious rattling by dying my roots. just got my brows done. (stop reading now if you know me) will be getting a vch and hch in five days. for gender affirming reasons, quietly. hope they dont hurt too badly. microblading soon. i want to start botox.

i want to be free. i drink too much when i do drink. twice a week at most.

im so tired of thinking of perfect things and not writing them down. im so tired of having to fight my battles in silence, only ever grunting as the air is pushed out of my lungs by a dry, cold fist.

child

again i come here,

in fear of outing myself i might just speak freely and in half abstracted prose- i have encountered a face that i recognize as a mother and an abuser, a face to face to face me over my sleeping body and i cannot ignore it, her voice spoke years back at me and barked years ago with me and now i see her face not through the thin skin of my curtainous lids but right through the sheen of my teary, burning eyes. i have awoken to find her telling me i may not be who i have been trying to be, she says this to me often in my dreams.

you have mutilated yourself over and over, let some man take you as wife over and over, she says, you are asleep for now, dearest, but in your sleep your chest is a cavity and your vulva is a mound of pale skin as white as your belly. you harbor no life, barren thing. to you, new life is a condemnation of the gifter and the giftee.

your hot mouth is cold and you are corpselike and in some wicked sense, dead already. from your sleep. when you breathe awake you will die.

i dream of a penthouse in a windy city and versailles and bowie, a love so deep it aches and pulls my spine into the earth. i am in opium amber oriental sunset delta of venus hazed seventies. i speak to my mother and father, my sisters in arms, i tell them love is cheap and vulgar. what i want, what visits me in dreams, a half man pearlescent that holds my face over me and utters. sings, a lamp, graceful, wont touch me in ways that i find repulsive and could never be seen, by anybody, as depraved. curls deep chocolate and lashes like spiders legs, nails long. fractured the sides of my swollen skull with his frosted lips, caressed the edges of my hair with the tips of his fingers.

and who am i then, dearest.

no, no. i am no woman. never was.

i tried to break up with my boyfriend in sadness and fear he might strike and i will get an iud implanted. im a virgin and have not felt any sensation of that sort. i dont touch and i ignore its there, its a road near my house that i think only leads to suffering. im scared but im more scared of man.