Poetry (11/11/18)

Here are some lyrics and poems I have been doing recently:

Finally, We Can Rest 

I decide against throwing out her

cigarettes and place them next

to the condom packets on the desk

messages are intimate and can cut

like long, spectral knives that twist

into the minced meat of my abdomen

the angel corpse they’re scraping off the pavement is not a metaphor

my carpet is moist and discoloured

as is hers because she stopped

shaving it off and bleached it

the cis girls at the party are all talking

about you and are jealous of you and

smile thru teeth whitened by penis envy

all the food in the refrigerator rots and grows into a beautiful garden

as for the meat,

I can’t carve an Other out of the nauseating

sameness of the Flesh of the World

“she”, for reference, is another disassociated ego stuck

in a web spun by a St Andrew’s Cross

I thought your sailor moon tattoo was tasteful, even beautiful

(song: https://soundcloud.com/uboatheflesh/finally-we-can-rest-for-eva)

Woman As Animal 

I have a womb and 

I am with child

I look like my mother -

pale and curly-haired -

when she had me 

I use scissors to tear her

out as I do not have a vagina

the pain is great and beautiful

the newborn girl has my mother’s 

eyes and my father’s teeth

I kiss her on the forehead 

before I resume screaming

Wombyn - Real and natural

and hidden behind trees

and bleeding out like

a wounded animal

Bouquets of Broken Needles

The spring flowers bloom and

their sweet scent sublates into

a fermenting-flesh stench as they are

unable to maintain their 

purity in their sheer

ecstatic enjoyment

Flowers, as cunts, are cheaper 

and are created in a way onlookers 

describe as “natural”.

oddly enough, we love cutting them off

as an accepted signifier for love



 

A Fine Fruit, That Girl (Misspent Youth)

I kiss you I can taste the girlhood I never had

after being dead for 26 years

There’s a girl who never lived

And she got called a tranny at high school

And the boys want her but pretend they don’t

And write her love letters concealed as threats

And she stops coming to school

And maybe has a quiet overdose

And drops out into camming

And she has a friend like her and she’s broken too

But even when we were assaulted, again and again

it’s better to be broken together

Even death is tolerable if there is truth

And we’re truth 

And I am so scared that all this possible pain

is still better than being a corpse in a closet

Waiting for right moment

Not for for me, for everybody else

And even more scared that I did know

But pretended I didn’t

A safe and slow rot

seems good enough

right up to the moment of birth

I wish I always were

me

because

hell is fine if I am woman there too

And hell is my truth

(Later used for 'Misspent Youth', in The Origin of My Depression)