“Let her die.” said the rat…


Can you believe it? Her whole being exploded and changed shape. Her constant smile turned sideways. I’ll never hear her laugh again. My beautiful babygirl, my little burden, my round little monster. I will miss you. I will beckon you with altars heavy with your favorite foods. I will carry your picture around my neck. The one where you’re mid-laugh that first time I took you to Ireland. 

I wonder where you’re at now, that you’re not here, laughing next to me? You always wanted to die. You always thought yourself unnecessary weight. I hope wherever you’re at, you’re as light and the timbre of your laugh. I’ll miss you eternal baby. I’ll miss your voice, the way it sounded with a mouthful of chocolate.  Show me you can hear me saying these things by breaking something. That wherever you’re at, you’re still sweet to the taste. Make sure you melt and reconstruct. Make sure you remember how malleable you are. 

(Dead Wife)


I spoke of this in parks while high and crying. 

I spoke of being tap water. 

Of being lukewarm.

Of saying too much.

Of being too much.

Of eating too much.

Of crying too much.

I spoke of this as I ate.

As I cried.

I spoke of Satanism, Buddhism, Nihilism, Love.

I sat there, always in every room I ever sat in, and felt that tender warmness saturate.

I hated everyone because everyone was always way more everything than me.

More able-bodied for this life.

More equipped. 

So I hated. 

Spent days & nights hating everything & everyone.

But babies—here’s the thing. 

Now, I stand in my mediocre and remember that hate was only the beginning.

I remember all the terrible things I’d dream up in order to convince myself that if I killed someone in my head, I could treat them as if they were dead in real life. 


I was petty.

I thrived in that  perpetual hate. 

The lights had gone out decades ago, and I stabbed at the dark. 

Am I here for all the times I refused to smile?

All the times I remembered something and refused to let it go because it felt too good to hurt?

I wanted to be good.

To remind myself who I was before the darkness set.

Before the sun-set.

Instead, I indulged in all the lack. In all the mediocre. Dissected nothing. Felt enamored by the mediocrity.

Exploded with delight at the chance to hurt myself again. 

I crack my ankles and wait. for the light to pour out of me. For the cracks to set me free. For the prayers of every man & every woman to come to me at once, and smash me into the beam of light I always knew I was. 

I stand here naked in lukewarm bathwater. Cascades of shivering regret. I pee in hopes that  the hot urine will warm this hopeless river. 

Only mediocrity pours from my guilty orifice. 

She is done with succumbing. 

She is one of every woman who was fabricated into something unloveable. 

Some whore-bitch with a nice smile.

Some handful-slut with a quirky laugh.

Some loud obnoxious woman-child with a penchant for thick cocks.

I am reminded of all the times your hands, filthy with work, ran themselves across my body.

I never flinched. I held myself captive in my own desire. 

I didn’t want to love you, because that meant that I was allowing you to love me in return. 

There it was.

I became a mother.

No longer did I feel desired.

And desire is what I craved.

I pined.

Instead I got your devotion.

And you kept your desires for the ideal—the non-mother.

The one that wasn’t me.

I longed and yearned to be seen, as both—which now, looking back, made me lukewarm.

I let myself cool in my waning siren.

I wanted to be everything—impossible.

I wanted you to see the galaxy of my walk.

The divine-energy of my breathing.

The tsunami intake of breath—the levee of my exhale.

I felt the swelling of my EGO—because of course—it was deflated.

I longed for too much and now, here I was—in the in-between.




Dim lights filled my eyes.

The taste of you, seven days ago.

Your voice, inaudible.

Your laugh, inaudible.

My laugh, impenetrable. 



Why didn’t you let me love you?

Why did you unravel at every corner?

Why didn’t you let me love you?

I need a sign to know you’re ok—

To know that at the very least, you can think back and know that I tried to love you every single day.

Your marble glaze hid all your warmth. 

It’d cook you on the inside.

The outside.

You’d eat heavy and greedily.

You’d feed  things that were already full—sloths, gluttons—

You purposely fed them more than they needed.

You wanted to hurt.

You knew the tools were here, ready—

But you hid them.

From me.

From you.




Now, I’ll sit here


in the middle of the life we built,

where you dwell

where you sing,

where you laugh,

where you cry?


(Dead Wife)

Keep praying my love.

Keep praying—

  Get me to the other side. 

Prompt: You have died. You’re in purgatory. Discuss.

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: