Mary_writestheworld's profile

You’re like a knockout; clean cut, Shakespearean sonnet centerfold in a dirty magazine from the first row of a rolling, New York City, street corner, newspaper stand with chronic, heart stopping sparks like downtown’s biggest ticker-tape parade. The kind of girl who only exists on a pixeled picture; straight edged and glossy, two dimensional camera set, wearing a pair of eight inch, black high heels in an appealing position with the use of all her two hundred and six bones. But unlike you; sh...

Your hometown, green hills spilled a smoky shadow over the white face, drive-in movie screen like the sunset’s effect on window sills. With cars lined in holy war rows, ears pressed in an open mouth kiss to their teenage romance headphones. You left me alone in your father’s minivan to sell popcorn in a deadman’s float; along with swimming fish surrounding your two, blue lips-- a roped net gathering the insides that pour from your open throat. You rose to the surface like the rolling credits,...

We all showed up early to your smoke screen slide show- Undressed lenses tied infrared to distorted eyeballs with a heated light source from just one of your dead stares, burning up double time. We condensed the tight room with our open minds- Watched the flat screen, bare back of your decayed crust open for the bullet to the musket like your empty slot light bulb. It takes a minute to adjust. Lights out. Clicks alternate images with space for artistic pollution- A dead, center magnification ...

She kept creeping up on me with these nostalgic responses; holding her hypothetical, homemade, paper mache noose between her fingers like glue, contemplating human restraint and asking me, "Do you think I could be death proof?" Jesus; she just sat there in front of me, putting on its last few touches by her bedside. Innocent enough as an attempt to comb her story time, golden locks with sugar cane laces of mace; afraid one day I'll find her on MyDeathSpace or on the evening news. I spruced up...

I cocked my mouth in an unexpected, passive aggressive split second as she lies there second guessing herself. First; by the bedroom drapes she created a second layer of skin, I indulged in the vacant space of silence to tell her the atmosphere didn’t fit her style. Second; by my widened and dilated pupils covering her insecurities too easily as if I shot and aimed at her walls she determinedly built, I missed her kiss by the thousand miles I could see, but we still can’t touch our own bones....