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this is the future
the end the future was the children but we end them because school is so important when half of them can't read food and water become scarce humanity dies for the economy for airlines so much confusion or so they pretend these lies by omission kill us all there won't be anyone left to cremate anyone there won't be expensive coffins or funerals with finger sandwiches in the basement of churches just grief and death hello 2022 hello chaos don't forget to get your booster that your kids aren't eligible for because watching your kids die is on your bucket list if you are a cold hearted psychopath think of the economy those cruise ship stocks the airlines are suffering while you bury everyone you have ever loved remember that the news will only report that this was the year of sweatpants
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listening to leonard cohen
isn't enough as i tumble down this rabbit hole the world's destruction is the opposite of the world's fair there is no rose in my teeth there is no one to stand in my way i watch the world fall a house of cards so creased someone found them in a moldy attic and wondered why someone saved them at all we all die listening to old records in a kitchen with a stained formica table the marks of a pairing knife tell tale hieroglyphics someone cut apples here that you never ate this is the apocalypse and your fingers smell like mildew from trying to find hope in the attic you light free gas station matches just for something to do while your own light is dying the only one left beside you is your dog who licks low sodium spam out of a can you were too depressed to walk him amongst the dead bodies that line the street you wonder why you gave up smoking drinking all those people you loved still left you alone this virus has forgotten to kill you you read old journals written in diners when you believed in a future while playing with a filthy salt shaker the shake of your head is a eulogy to stupidity on this blue night Joan Didion smokes cigarettes in the dark her typewriter click clacks as she pulls the clouds down around her it is always night here she wears her grief like stars her daughter her husband have been waiting this constellation is a family again death just a warm manuscript that tastes of bourbon she dances in a black leotard tossing her bones like dice into the ether grief hidden beneath worn smiles lies gifted to me long ago my childhood cat chokes on silver tinsel the dead surround me their message on repeat no one will tell you what you need to know until it is too late it is too late the angel of death writes on my skin a love letter of loss clawed in cursive his scythe is a fountain pen ink as good as blood the key to the red door is beyond the self Azrael 's dark cloud whispers bloom in a sky without stars i dream about empty apartments furniture broken for firewood this ending is taking too long let's begin again i am planting the seeds of destruction tearing at roots too deep follow me into the dark the only place to breathe the only place to close your eyes sun is fly paper moon is my reflection in deep water mirrors are portals to other worlds my sadness strings maps to other dimensions red yarn tied and tied again this knot is my blood this knot is my protection memory is a wound i pick at a rusty thumb tack goes here at seven i spit grapes seeds on cement and the patterns told me where to go next there is nowhere to go now so i sit in the circle of the moon those accidental demons
i conjured while thinking of your lies this hell that you bring is nothing to the hell that i am going to bring you the suffering my daughter has endured for your lies every lie you told is a demon that rises up around me i send them to you an army that breaks you down blind chaos is what you will get tick tock goes the time clock until you are honest your life will be suspended upended sacrificing our child for your greed your lies your con is over surrender or every nightmare you ever thought about will become real it is one of those nights where i want to dance with the dead memories are just cards on the table that aren't mine i see a red glow on the stairs i think it might be an angel but is just this beat-nick girl smoking a cigarette she used to hang out in graveyards and read poetry now she is on my steps staring at me through sunglasses while i write my dead muse for the night flicks ashes on her jeans the dead and i get high on each other dead alive alive dead yin yang waking up is my downer i live my life at night the dead are my mourning no need for a buddhist just some dead guy whispering in my ear to let it all fucking go i never listen he died at a jimmy buffet concert i experience his death it feels like going to the dentist the beatnik girl who hung out in graveyards is shooting up in my bedroom and smiling she died peacefully in some street in san francisco the last thing she saw was the trails of an airplane in the sky she thought it was the tail of the cheshire cat her last memory was her mother reading her alice in wonderland she smells like spring rain and cigarettes when you die it is mostly fear and regret the man with a thousand faces
is still lying his lies are leaking around him like pus yet still he scrambles placating his wife with fictional tales everything costs a dollar in his world where all smiles are calculated and a touch means buying him a house he is willing to upend his daughter's life her stable home her school for a few lies he tosses around in his pocket like change my suicide is another link on his chain of lies the joy he feels at nearly killing someone is past the point of forgiveness he is still hiding not realizing the door is open all his secrets will bleed into his reality finally i can breathe knowing that nothing is left unsaid knowing that this ends is what i live for i had a feeling we were going to be more than friends i saw you when i was a child i was alone i had just scraped my knee after crashing on my bike i was picking concord grapes off a bush in a yard where no one looked out the window i didn't know you would follow me whisper to me in the dark tell me the future for the rest of my life i wished then i could close my ears shoo you away like a fly but your scythe was in my hand and i felt your cold breath on my neck you want me to remember how those grapes tasted more sour than sweet on that autumn day when your hand wrapped around my neck i only leaned in because i thought you were the wind |
AuthorMichelle Tinklepaugh Archives
April 2023
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