blood and steam

Quiet deep melancholy

Hot drops of water course down my body

Sound blurs

In my head grinding- rock on rock.

 

Alone

On the page of this life

Blank staring up waiting for

Something to validate its existence.

 

Nothing but blurry ink

Dark questions

Self hate-

Wonderment at the way life grabs us up

Holds in a tight breath

 

Only to drop

Shattering glass into flesh

And dark scarlet

Swirling down the drain.

 

life

This blog is about my life and what I write. I don't think that I am super super interesting but it's my life and I like it. So therefore I share it. 

always,

Lindsey

untitled

Staring at channel 11-

footage of bomb dust flying

everywhere and bursts of orange.

buzzing of helicopters and tiny figures

making their exit.

And into the clouded mirror in front of her

at Darlene's Parlor.

"did you hear about so and so's daughter and that boy."

echoing in the background.

dizzying clouds of chemicals 

move around her head,

get caught in her throat.

nights of tv dinners,

sleeping in curlers-

their pins maddeningly

pushing into her scalp.

one afternoon she gets her husband's

rifle from under the bureau,

stands in the backyard

and shoots at birds as they fly by.

bed linens strung on the clothesline

whip in the wind

like little flags. 

Putting on her lipstick-

the bleeding scarlet paint of it

covers her mouth

and she watches them fall.

one after the other.

because he crossed the place where

endings begin and

noticed the tiny coils that accumulated on sidewalks

he was desperate for small things-

the way bits of gravel dust clung to balmy shins.

the void that overtook at night,

blank walls, empty parking lots.

a quiet comfort of sinking

into beer bottles and folded up into sheets for days.

and shopkeepers

that greeted, staring making him

self-conscious. 

the nothingness that made up 

distractions, the brush of a stranger's shoulder.

the darkness and how he blended into it,

an indiscernible figure.

night sounds

the little sounds at night 

echo in my ears 

taunting me making me

second guess why it

is i am trying to go to sleep

anyway.

drip drip- drain leaky under the sink

rattle rustle- rabbit chewing on her cage

creak squeak- floorboards give way to downstairs neighbor's feet.

at times...

- I wonder if weird stuff like this happens to other people.

untitled

wind sweeps past my face 

I catch you
sitting across from me on the porch.

tangled up in your own thoughts-
they seem detached and simple
like the dead leaves getting carried around by the same wind.

soon it will be fall and we will still sit out here and
I will try to behold you.

search for you beyond
the way you graze the back of my neck with your lips,
push on my hips.

But somehow-
I can still feel that brush of chilly wind
and a question too deep for you to answer.

even on the longest of porch-sitting days
and me watching, trying to find where you are.