a Woolf in sheep's clothing.

she’s a Woolf in sheep’s clothing.

she’s a Woolf in disguise.

she’s a Woolf in sheep’s clothing.

she’s a girl with morning glory thighs.

you are the river that calls my name,

and my ink is your eyes so blue.

this is the color that runs through my veins

and the eyes of morning glory you.

oh god, those morning glory eyes of you.

i’ll take your sad and haunted stare,

and fix your eyes on me.

i’ll take your bruises and your bones,

yes, i’m as selfish as can be.

he is a rushing river.

he kept on his disguise.

he is a rushing river.

he’s a boy with morning glory eyes.

you are me, and i am you.

we’re both a little bit black and blue.

but my colors are a different hue,

a different black and a darker blue.

yes my colors are a different hue

a different hue for me and you.

the river of you that calls my name

is the blue ink that runs through my veins.

and my ink is the color of your eyes so blue

oh god, the eyes of morning glory you. 

she’s a Woolf in sheep’s clothing.

she’s a Woolf in disguise.

she’s a Woolf in sheep’s clothing.

she’s a girl with morning glory thighs.

rocks, stones, and pebbles in her pocket

and a mask, of course, to hide the frown.

try wearing one before you knock it,

and soon you’ll be sinking down.

his body of water’s a body for me.

but for him mine is not enough.

his morning glory heart is thirsty

for all six of us, readily roughed.

he fell into her trap for misfits,

she fell into his lost and found.

she wants just to keep him forever;

but he doesn’t care that she’ll drown.

he is a rushing river.

he cast off his disguise.

he is a rushing river.

he’s a boy with morning glory eyes.

you and i are selfish machines.

i want all of you, you take all of me.

and we said that i would destroy your soul.

i’d take your very heart.

but now, my dear, the tables, i fear,

have been turned from the very start.

i was a Woolf in sheep’s clothing.

i was a Woolf in disguise.

i was a Woolf in sheep’s clothing.

i’m a girl with morning glory thighs. 

hollow bones

morning glory eyes are gone

and i'm left here all alone.

i can see those flowers wan;

please love me and my hollow bones.

i'm just a lie-my bones lack marrow-

how could you love one like me?

i think i'll lie (to you!) and grow so narrow

that i can't even be seen.

morning glory eyes have faded

and i'm left here with my poems.

it's all my fault-we should have waited-

please love me and my hollow bones.

bones are brittle, bones can break,

break like the promises that we make.

but bones can’t trust, now neither can you,

you Morning Glory Boy of blue.

that Morning Glory Boy is sad,

he can’t see this hunger is real.

my darling, dear, please don’t be mad!

soon I will be ideal.

morning glory eyes gave up

and together my lips are sewn.

i’m pouring my life in a measuring cup;

please love me and my hollow bones.

my bones aren’t perfect, but i can be-

at least for a little while. 

and until that day that i finally crack,

for you i'll pretend to smile.

that yellowbird hasn't flown.

please love me and my hollow bones.

i can't make it on my own.

please love me and my hollow bones.

if we'll survive remains unknown, but

please love me and my hollow bones.

He is Me and i am D.

C is for He.
and K is for Me.
D is for Dorian,
and months ago,
Dorian was for D.
and now,
He is Me and i am D.
and D is also for
dirty, damned, (not really) drunk, douchebag Me.
so C-He weeps,
and gnashes his teeth,
and spills his drink.
and K-Me winces,
and i smile with my teeth,
and toss out my drink.
He is Me and i am D.
Oops.

you're like Winona Ryder.

you're like Winona Ryder
in that i love you, and you can steal
whatever the fuck you want.
(i don't care!)
except this time,
it was my heart.
you're like Winona Ryder
in that i love you, and you sure can act.
i actually believed you loved me for all those months.

receive/believe/grieve/leave.

it’s been long since i could count
our separation on one, even two, hands.
and yet, without fail, i find myself desperate
for a glimpse of what i hate to miss.

i’ve got to hold onto this cigarette
like you never held on to me.
this match has to light up
everything you never let me be.
and i still want to
receive you, receive you, receive.

you left me hanging in a tree,
tangled in its falling leaves.
you gave no noose or poetry,
just this terrible, tired disease.

i’ve got to hold onto this cigarette
like you never held on to me.
this match has to light up
everything you never let me be.
and i still want to
believe you, believe you, believe.

you+me=bad chemistry+tears=badpoetry=clichédheartbreak=you+me.

this is the point to which we’ve come,
the part when we stop and think things through
the part in the story i realized i’m done
and where you just kept on being you.

i’ve got to hold onto this cigarette
like you never held on to me.
this match has to light up
everything you never let me be.
and i still have to
grieve you, grieve you, grieve.

ashes to ashes,
we all fall down.
charcoal to charcoal,
we’re starting to drown.
fire to fire
we haven’t yet frowned
and i’m starting to light you up.

i’ve got to hold onto this cigarette
like you never held on to me.
this match has to light up
everything you never let me be.
and now i’ve got to
leave you, leave you, leave.

fuck-film knockoff.

i think that what we had,
what you said we were,
was nothing but a little lie,
just a drunken vodka slur.

everything you swore was true
everything we’d ever said
was just a fuck-film knockoff,
and like our love, is dead.

you’re such a prick,
a fucking prick.
you’re a little liar
with a pretty big dick.

“c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, baby,
c’mon, let’s fuck.
we’ll call it making love
and i’ll try my good luck.
c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, baby,
c’mon, let’s fight.
let’s make you cry again.
god, you’re such a sorry sight.”

everything you swore was true
everything we’d ever said
was just a fuck-film knockoff,
and like our love, is dead.

the porno of our love
didn’t even have a script
or a plot, a fuck-film knockoff,
starring a little shit named Nick.

iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou.
iloatheyouiloatheyouiloatheyou.

everything you swore was true
everything we’d ever said
was just a fuck-film knockoff,
and like our love, is dead.

everything you swore was true
everything we’d ever said
was just a fuck-film knockoff,
and like our love, is dead.

fuck-film knockoff.
knocked up?
never got off.
watching a film
while fucking me.
were you moaning at Paul Dano?
oh, i see…

mad, bad girl.

ms. Plath stuck her head in the oven,
ms. Woolf drowned herself in the sea.
with the fate of these mad girls all laid out
i wonder what will become of me?

i think i’m mad.
i’m a mad girl.
i’ve been bad.
i’ve been a bad, bad girl.

ms. Sexton was just a touch like me
the way she wrote right from her heart strings
she started her car, wouldn’t let it go free
‘twas carbon monoxide poisoning!

i think i’m mad.
i’m a mad girl.
i’ve been bad.
i’ve been a bad, bad girl.

my substance abusers,
my famous cohorts,
the suicide seducers
who’ve cut their thread short

they write a word,
then take a breath.
love&lies&life&death.
they write a word,
then take a drink
&taketake in that nicotine.

i think i’m mad.
i’m a mad girl.
i’ve been bad.
i’ve been a bad, bad girl.

Sylvia Plath
was under The Bell Jar
and wouldn’t let herself out.
Virginia Woolf
couldn’t swim To The Lighthouse
but she gave me something to write about.
Anne Sexton
went through a Transformation
and was encased in glass, no doubt.

i think i’m mad.
i’m a mad girl.
i’ve been bad.
i’ve been a bad, bad girl.

i think i’m bad.
i’m a bad girl.
i’m going mad.
and it’s the end of the world.