blow. this blows. blow. the bubble juice is running low. doesn’t blow. this blows. soapy soup. mucus. huff, release. this blows. doesn’t blow. no fun. out of stock. a bore. a bliss. day punches it’s low blow.

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Dear, Geniality

Your heart dimples when you laugh. I open every eyelid-curtain to audience. All my reply is refuge. My finger-tapping lust is always onto something. I centipede, I send a love through peach perfume. I mail it, I ship it, and sail it. I fold, it’s origami! My good news. That we are worthy, us, together of a date invented. A day unyet. A place unset. A new, mysterious something. Oh, vagueness and her tranquility. Oh, blindness and her rust. Oh, purpose and ambiguities. Do you trust me when you must? By the way, never mind. Always part your seize in twos. Never fours, never blues. I don’t always matter so loudly as I do when I white and wither in pursuit of you. Wispy peach porcelains on its voyage to my nose. You are so backyard, doghouse, a treasured, buried bone. Since I have to look for you on in the shadow of my curiosity. Long for you in the baggage of my bones. Costly, costly, costly. You are too expensive. Afterall, in the aftermath I’ll offer explanation for my shortcomings and longcomings and overboarding and overzeal. I know this is not poetry because it makes me feel ugly, but before the wound takes over me-I’d really like to heal.

-Max

îll

I know she is my sister, but you are her mother and you are so vile, so hanus. I think, I dream of every escape from you. How you lullaby a myth and you kill an angel and you organize your treason and you QUIKT YOUR SKINNY ANTHEM! IM LIVKING IM SCREAMING!!!!!! WHO MURDERED MY MOTHER?! TELL ME WHO MURDSRED MY MOTHER?! I WANNA KILLL THEM! I WANT TO KILL!!!! SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO BADLY DO I SEEK THEM! THE MAN WHO KILLED MY MOTHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

because no one can hear me. I scream into a void. No one understands.

“She’s only kind to you because she’s guilty.”

No, you are only kind to me because you are guilty.

I HATE. I HATE. I HATE.

i’m quiet, small and powerless in the absence of sense. i know what my mother did to me was robbery and i know you want me to jet, but you do not know the width of my surrender. the shape of my demise. i think of all the ways i tried to love her, but still she fled. i think what did i do to deserve this? i would do anything to unbecome. i just i can’t even think without a stutter since, there is, this can’t be my life. i want to forget. i want to pretend. i want so badly to pretend and everyone to play along, but you sit there and you remind me. you sit there and you remind me. you sit there coaxing your bratty daughter and you REMIND ME.

I once had it. Had it all. Pride truly does come before the fall.

It would be easier to swallow, but I know it’s no good for me to pretend. My motherless conviction. I say WOW. Your mind is chained to lead. I really disagree with you. I want so badly to be there and here all at once. This hurt is ice. This hurt is cold. Runs so deep. SHACKLES. Mold.

man I just wanna-float.

I was gonna say die, but want to be light.

I’d say you’re getting to me, but you are so so so so so so so far behind.

If I wanted to be your prisoner, I’d enter your mind.