Thursday, February 17, 2005

my writing changes
over time
it beautifies
mystifies
and opens up my
changeling eyes;
"come to treasure thesauruses,
come learn to adore" it says
and with a keen ear i will
listen to the pen.
*bettie* at 1:29 PM

circular comfort
means there is no stopping point
beneath the
short worry lines of his forehead.
and so,
i draw my conclusions
from the composition
of his expressions-
the creases will smooth over
but
his favor will be neverending,
i wish.
*bettie* at 1:28 PM

i section off my dependency,
funds depleted
and no attention to pay.
you couldn't have been
more right
about my tinfoil nature,
or more suspicious
of my seclusion.
hateful,
selfish,
bitch.
you couldn't have been
more right
about me.

i pop off my top,
dripping questionable quotations
and
minimal appeal.
violence rests
in my fingertips
and conceals
under silver
glitter. how
long can you
love a girl
with no steady
eye color?
*bettie* at 1:26 PM

our love was
knee-high
at the fourth of july,
no longer head
over heels.
it didn't take
a month
to drain you from
my stalk-ings.
*bettie* at 1:25 PM

his speech spills sooth
on my hungry sedation-
oh dear,
is it happily ever after yet?
i surrender all my loose ends
and split hairs
at the altar i built
in his pants.
myself,
the ultimate sacrifice.
oh god,
am i in paradise yet?
*bettie* at 1:23 PM

predict an addict,
plot her flaws-
abuse.
a huff and puff to
intoxicate her
absence
with my last
breath, betrayed.
she calms what
calm cannot,
but can she save
herself from frenzy?
we better not take that
chance,
they say.
i'm miserable without you.
*bettie* at 1:22 PM

i submit to the square
angles, tri-
a fuck myself over
three times to be fair.
a minus
for my mind's rest
and a sobering attempt at substanceless,
but i fail all my credits regardless.
extra.
*bettie* at 1:20 PM

my clothes are a chameleon,
radical-reformation.
spin-cycle,
how i tumble in thee.
*bettie* at 1:17 PM

symbolism
is not going
to save my hidden
meanings from
taking over my life
outside of the canvas..

i do not appreciate
displacement,
displeasing.
in fact,
i am not fond of
the decomposed,
depreciative.

there's a symbolism
in our symbiosis,
financial fornication.
i'm sweater-clad
and sweating tears,
imploring your and your casual crevices
as to where the implication
might lay down and die.

i stand unsure.
the only thing i know forever
is how good you smell
in the morning.
*bettie* at 1:16 PM

recess,
i regress,
has come to ruin me.
any time spent
sans soulmate
seems useless
in that there is no
comfort in time without
love.
a lone, long hour
is every one
now that i am
long alone.
*bettie* at 1:14 PM

our daily routine
deceased
decreased
into a dilluted dullness.
i ask,
does comfortable gray
constitute my acceptance of
your disgusting and destitute
attitudes?
probably not,
but i will continue to play
if you dillute me right.
*bettie* at 1:13 PM

he fucks me
because he hates me,
fucks me when he's mad.
it's a rough-love principle,
he explained to me,
in that i like it rough
when he loves me
but i am just too rough
to love.
every night i sob to myself,
"he should've just been another notch
on the bedpost!"
to which the bed replies,
"you shouldn't have let him
make holes in your heart."
and so i do what any
bed-postal ex would
and fuck him in my dreams
to forget how rough
reality is.
*bettie* at 1:11 PM

this is the meaningless existence
i once sought so relentlessly
to escape.
i want to be as beautiful a person as
you described me
in august,
to be as captivating as
the way you used to dream of.
there is nothing worse
than being sexy and useless,
to have so much hope in myself,
the impossibility.
often do i regret
the way i let your love
fool me into believing myself to be
a fully deserving party,
for the grounding of that high
could be the one that
takes me under.
*bettie* at 1:08 PM