sucked into a black hole on date night

when you slap my ass

in public i think:

SEXUAL HARRASSMENT

in bold black capital letters.

when you take me to the

new big summer blockbuster in theaters,

and make out with me in the dark,

i hope i have bad breath.

i hope you notice.

i hope my bad breath infects your good breath

because i haven't brushed my teeth in three weeks
and contracted gingivitis

exactly for this very special occasion.

when you tell me,

"i love you,"

i start to peel

strips of skin

off my body

until there

is nothing left

but a smaller skeleton

resting inside a larger one;
you don't even notice.
instead, you just talk about how
bad you want me.

when you get hard

i pretend i'm high on

heroin and crack

so i can get wet

to get through this.

when you're naked

and ask me to strip,

i plan to steal 

your wallet,

and shitty family sedan,

then drive off a cliff 

in the country.

when you're inside me

sweating and moaning,

i want to abort

your cells from my body
in a bloody nebula that
swirls around the water
of the toilet,
and flush
because i have
the ability to both
create and destroy.
and sometimes
creation and destruction
are synonymous.

when you come,
i realize i never
have fun when i'm around
other people.
i realize i am only squirming

because i have to pee

and am in the mood for pizza/chicken wings,
which you mistake for an orgasm.

when you are asleep,
i tell you i'm pregnant,
and ask you to marry me
because i will only marry
someone i don't love
and never will.

deal with it.

Underwear Project: teal silk g-string, black leggings, black mini skirt, white/mint push up bra, and dark gray low v-neck t-shirt.

i bought an at home pregnancy test from the drug store down the street from your parents' house, pissed on the strip, and waited 15 minutes.

two blue lines.

negative.

i still haven't had my period.

but we celebrate.

your cock is hard and warm, my tongue massaging the stress out of your sensitive skin.

relief.

i spit parts of our children: miniature limbs, fingers, bald heads, toothless gums, and crying eyes, into the toilet, rinse with mouthwash, brush their tiny bones, and soft sticky skin off the surface of my teeth, and flush.

i love you, but neither of us are ready for that responsibility, and i don't think we will ever be.

that's okay, because at least we realize that unlike so many other dumb fucks that inhabit this world, we don't believe that kids are the solution to all our problems; we believe that answer lies somewhere inside ourselves, if only we could find it.

neither of us have the ability to raise and control another human being, hell we can't even control ourselves, but trust me we're working on it, even though, right now it's not going so well, except for not being pregnant.

we shoot up our final bags, take a couple of xanax, smoke a joint, and then a cig out of our bedroom window, then eat some twizzlers, and birthday cake oreos for dinner, before you turn the lights off and put on a bbc documentary about creatures that live in the deep ocean, and their mating habits.

both of us crawl into bed, and kill the remaining seconds of the day with the words, "good night" and "i love you," until we slip out of consciousness wrapped in each other's arms.

tomorrow, i'll spread my legs, and it will be your turn to get me off, which shouldn't be a problem because your tongue is fully rested.

i don't want to sleep or go out today because i'd rather spend my time with you

i play with your body
like a 5 year old
with the teddy bear
that he was given
at his birth.
fingertips.

you hold me
like a newborn,
and whisper words
into my ear
with your tongue,
which protect me
from  myself
while we are
under
a spaceman themed blanket
watching cartoons
at 3am.

you tell me,
"we don't need the world,
we need each other."
and i imagine
falling asleep
in your arms
even after
we become
skeletons.

i never get laid because of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head

my stomach is full of plane crashes, derailed subway cars, and fatal automobile accidents.

things that malfunctioned.

things that hit walls and buildings.

things that hit each other.

things that are now classified as missing.

things in black body bags.

things being digested in stomach acid.

broken things.

disasters.

pieces of painted shrapnel covered in smudges of grease, and exposed wires, still shooting sparks, are stuck in the gaps between cavities.

my teeth are black nubs, and my gums are swollen/bleeding.

i am trying to become a better person.

the passengers' funeral processions march up the vertebrae of my spine embedding sad songs in the swirls of the wooden planks that make up their pineboxes.
 
they are:
former best friends.
deceased family members, who were coal miners that died before i was born.
and girls who wanted to hold my hand, and kiss me, then forgot about me because i couldn't decipher the signals of their bodies, voices, and words.

i loved them all, even though their faces are unrecognizable, and pay homage to them with a moment of silence before they are lowered, and buried in the wrinkles of my brain.
  
i am trying to get a girlfriend by brushing my teeth, cutting my hair, wearing a tie, eating wintergreen breath mints, and dousing myself in cologne.

but i never get laid because of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.

a fact about myself; a fact about ice cream; a fact about romantic relationships; a fact about sex:

 source.

i can't eat ice cream out of a cone without
smearing it all over my face,
dripping it on my clothes,
and having it melt
in my hands,
which makes my fingers
sticky for the next 4-5 hours.

i spin the cone around
to the sections that are melting,
but my tongue just isn't quick enough.

The Glow, Pink Pills, and Unused Condemns

I can be a good girl, but I'd rather bite deep into your lower lip like a mother bear in love with her cubs encountering a stranger in the middle of a gas station parking lot. The pitter patter of ruby pooling in a plastic cup;I will use your blood as a dipping sauce for my french fries. I will not share any of them with you because I had a slumber party with them last night. An all night fuck-a-thon. Now, I am covering the evidence. Chewing. Burning old love letters from high school in my parents' backyard garden during the terror twilight, I am creating a forest fire that will engulf all of Wilkes-Barre, and eventually the rest of Northeast Pennsylvania.

I have been inhaling fog late at night to forget about all the terrible shit that is about to go down in the next couple of days under a crescent moon. The glow, pink pills, and unused condemns on a three-topping pizza. Are we having a party? Or just fucking around like two dogs flashing teeth and snarling? Matted fur flying into the air, I hope you get a good grip on my neck because you owe me one. 

The earth will rotate from right to left scattering my thoughts into the whirlpools of the Susquehanna. Sucked down into the Knox Mine disaster, which we have completely forgotten about. I hope the effort of fracking the layers of my head for natural gas have paid off in net profit because our water supply is poisoned.

I wish we could fuck on a bed of nails without any trepidation. I have dwelled on this daydream for a very long time now. But it's withering. Becoming nothing more than a passing thought. I am unsure of my political affiliation, so I have stop paying attention to what's going on in the world. You can call it a hunger strike if you want.

And all my animosity and paranoia is condensing into a cloud floating through the sky: Indian Summer 2012. It will capsize and sink into the vacuum of space because I'm solidifying my place in history as the loneliest person involved in this city-wide project,which is failing. Because you're disinterested in studying the capillaries in my eyes. So broken and raw, you bury your face into the darkness in my shoulder. Yawning. Sucking it all in. Sucking it all in. I am brainstorming a list of animals that might exist, and I'm sorry, but a plesiosaur isn't one of them.

Try to perform fellatio on the erect barrel of a .22 rifle. Or eat out the remaining nuclear weapons in the world. Because I'm sick of the friend zone, and you need more practice, which is why I am joining a dating site for asian women who are christians. I am neither asian, nor christian, nor a woman. I am a caucasian male buddhist in a sweat stained wife beater bucking the trend on a wide variety of chemicals, which I googled online. 

You're in love with someone else; torturing the both of us in the process of revelation. Wrist tangled in shackles at four in the morning, all you want is the solitude of modern technology falling apart in your finger tips. All I want is a body infected with infatuation, and maybe leeches.

Untitled 8/31/12

"Black."

When your tongue is uttering syllables,
Which form convoluted sentences
Describing the both of us,
I am focused on whatever 
Image is on the TV screen.
I'm not really paying attention
But it's a good cover when imagining
A murder/suicide.

"White."

Slinking lower.
Spine crooked.
I am a victim
Responsible for the ulcers
Leaking blood on the floor
Of my stomach.
You are the catalyst
Erasing my chapped mouth 
With perfunctory statements.
I will never talk about myself because 
It's narcissistic.
I will never tell you anything about myself
Because you're not my biographer.
And never will be.


"Grey."

In the lull in between a smile and a frown,
I see a B-17 flying behind the backs of our eyes
Dropping bombs on strategic Nazi war factories
Located in our frontal lobes.
Avoiding flak.
Absorbing bullets from the Luftwaffe fighters.
Painted metal encrusted in flames falling from the sky 
Down the hole in your throat.
The resonance of self-defence
Is lost somewhere
In the acquiescence 
Between my mind 
And vocal cords.

"Duuuuddde, she's so hot." "Like the hottest fucking girl in the valley!"

When I am at work or a party or out with friends and someone attractive walks by and/or chats with us for five minutes and walks away, I can guarantee that a friend or coworker or random person who I'm next to will blurt out the statement, "Yo, she's so fucking hot! I would love to be up inside of that. Tappin that ass." as he/she points down at his/her sexual organ and humps the air. Or something similar to that. Then he/she will turn to me, and ask me, "Duuuuuudddde, like isn't she like the hottest fucking girl in the valley?" I think an outside party is required to confirm this fact for the local historian in order for him/her to record and preserve in the file cabinet of county records for future generations to enjoy.

Usually, I will nod my head in agreement like an intellectual attending a lecture, which he/she does not understand, and will never comprehend. Or I will just walk away, because questions or compliments using the word, "hot" to describe someone who is physically beautiful are fucking stupid. They also make the speaker look fucking stupid. Which means that the person who was humping the air a few minutes ago is a fucking liar. Because he/she is never going to get laid. Because he/she will never walk up to the hottest girl in the valley, and say, "You are the hottest girl in the valley!" Which is why they are talking to me about it in a secluded corner or on a lonely bench or in the next room, outside her earshot.

FUCK THAT SHIT! 

Here are some synonyms for the word, "hot":

Seductive

Addictive

Voluptuous

Ravishing

Poisonous

Potent

Symmetrical

Attractive

Stunning

Picturesque

Magnificent

Enlightening

Heavenly

Radiant

Comely

Sublime

Alluring

Exquisite

Cute

Ideal

Intoxicating

Fascinating

Astonishing

Breathtaking 

Pretty

Viral

Wondrous

Beautiful

Feel free to add more.