Aug 3, 2017
photo creds: @vouxes
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photo creds: @vouxes
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We fell together, just to fall apart. You left me in shambles, and still called it art.
HIGHWAYANXIETY (6/15)
I practice the routine of clenched throats, hitched breaths and hands that fall just short of the wasp. Last December you told me that my mouth on top of yours feels like wearing a gas mask and I burned sixteen love letters written in my saint’s name. Can you picture the recoil? This home was built on slave labor, burnt toast trauma, apparitions of starlit ghosts in the mirrors, thistle spills from our shared bathtub, you keep the fear buried dead bird-like within the open grave of your ribcage and promise me that we’ll be better for it. Awaiting the worst storm of the year once it’s been forecast is like slamming the accelerator & barreling headfirst into oncoming traffic. That summer I shattered the porch light and you buttoned your shirt with stubs of cherry, watermelon seeds, almond shells. That summer we were unnamed and gargoyled out front for our neighbors to pick clean. We left each other’s bodies unwittingly, like a soldier who’d gotten his foot blown off in the war & been ordered to return home. Why lose a limb for a lost cause? At night I swore I felt the shoulder blade of the moon digging into my spine. We left our baby teeth on a weighing scale outside with the sleeping cattle, repurposed the garden until it emulated the bruises that amble over your left knee & my proclivity for dirty sinkwater.
We left our dreamscape untamed & it ran wild.
the final stage of decay || j.r
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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didn’t matter, still doesn’t
don’t bother lifting the curtains, i’ve been evolving into a parasite. i’m a miniature of rome just before the fall & remodeled in bones. these days my body feels like those little plastic jars of neon green slime i used to buy off the dollar store when i was eight & had nothing interesting to play with.
i remember tracking the footprints of alleged cryptids in the snow and honey crisp evenings spent sprawled out in the bleachers, alice’s head on my shoulder and kevin’s hand in mine, we were urchins, we were prodigies, we were going to be america’s sweethearts!! a teenagehood romanticized within the confines of rose-tinted polaroids, pastel knee-highs and hidden tattoos.
(but now i’m 20 and i’m alone and i don’t remember the names of half the kids i went to school with and everything’s fuzzy and i’m convinced i live in the matrix and beneath my eyes are the darkest stars).
the reality of it though, i felt within the blurry daze of depressive episodes. what felt like staring at my own reflection through a rain puddle. those nights i spent watching anime and ignoring your texts, cold leftover pizza for dinner and getting out of bed but only after the whole world’s already ended its day.
i want to take my life back but i’ve been to the moon and back and still the fog doesn’t clear. everyone else is just, so far away.
i have to catch up, pull my face out of the dirt.
i have to wake up from this pipe dream—
but the alarm’s fucking broken.
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