8 poems. one body.
a chapbook about the things the body does (and the things you don’t want it to do) available for $2
the woman’s eyes flit over to you, traveling up and down your spine like a nerve impulse. “new here, huh?”
“what?” a little black cloud floats out of your open mouth. it’s got sparks of light like black opal. that’s strange, you never thought your soul would have color.
the woman smacks her red lips, “that’s what i thought. well, if you insist on dripping into the carpet you might as well make a show out of it.” she snaps her fingers and cold air barrels against your bare skin, thick and oily in a way that winter never was.
you look down and see your shoes have already melted all over the shag underneath your feet, your legs wobbling to follow in their footsteps. the tips of your fingers are dripping black drops like candle wax, and, unlike the shimmery breaths you keep exhaling, there is no color here, only darkness.
your clothes are gone, and in there place are thick rashes covering your body in the shape of expectations. so that’s why you feel so cold. the woman has started clapping out a beat that sounds like your favorite kind of headache, pulsing in its insistence. she has yet to smile.
“a show?”
the woman doesn’t speak this time, only nods a head and twirls a finger. a show.
you reach for the knife carefully positioned in your ribcage, mindful of the gap where your heart should be. it is made entirely of silver. you forgot to ask why.
knife in hand, you spin a few times until you’re almost too dizzy to stay upright on dissolving limbs. you cut paintings into your wrists, then your thighs, then your chest (mindful of the gap where your heart should be, always mindful)
“a show.” you say, with a finality that seems to surprise the red lips standing across from you.
with that, the woman smiles.
a show | a.c.d
yourself and the stars
a poetry collection about my personal experience with mental illness (mainly psychosis and suicidal ideation) and my personal experience with stars
available here for $2 usd
you can find more of my work on my writing twitter or my gumroad!
violets in your blood by a.c.d
20 poems by, for, and about wlw and what it means to finally have a fairytale where you don’t always die (but sometimes you do)
it’s available here for $2 usd!
you can find more of my work on my writing twitter or my gumroad
excerpts:
cupid is a women and a lighthouse / that breaks herself / don’t let her break you
the her that looked inside you and cracked your bones one by one, pulling marrow like taffy
remake your grave an altar, Her, the patron saint of love