Dudes with Pens

April 23, 2006

HELLO MORNINGS

Hello mornings, robust hollow places
Stretching through the open spaces
In hopes of stopping the choking sounds
And licking the table of coffee traces

Do you dare me queens of spades?
Wicked chips pull slight-of-hand trades
In a game of 14-muscle charades
They're gnawing out their serenades
In the railing of the stair
To the ceiling in the air

There's always a seat on the piano bench for you.

-Robin, UHill



LOOK AT HER
Look at her.
Look at her long black hair and
That mouth.
Maybe it's so full because she
Sings too much, always singing,
That one.

She's pretty.

You can't help but listen to her
Singing small, sweet song with an unearthly voice.
Wail.
Tiny little voice.
She glows when they acknowledge it, you know,
And it makes everything worse,
Because then she's even prettier.

Look at her go.
What did they say about her body this time?
It's beautiful, it's weak, it's
hers.
They can't have it.

She's blurring around the edges,
Her insides seeping through her skin.
There's a tepid stench swirling around in her pretty perfume,
But I can't smell it anymore.
It's in her head.
It makes pictures and calls her names, calls her no-name, calls her
Nothing at all,
And her mouth is full of balls of blood -
She's coughing again,
Rocking and digging her nails into her
Knuckles and wishing someone were
Dying to be there with her,
Splayed out,
Spread out,
Someone scream for her!

Look at her.
Just look at her.

-Robin, UHill

posted by dudeswithpens @ 10:36 a.m.