“nostalgia never fails to reach me.
I never fail to remember the dates to every single important thing that happened.
I remember the date when we first kissed, I remember the date I met your parents,
and I remember today’s date last year.
I remember that day I was really upset about something and started crying on the phone and you with your goddamn sweet voice started reading that goddamn sweet poem I gave you earlier and I guess you thought it would make me stop crying because I did. and I smiled and I remember you telling me how much you love me and how I felt your comfort and presence even though I was alone in bed and I remember that night clearly and I remember. you loved me.
nostalgia never fails to make me miss you.”
I met this boy a long time ago
His eyes were Caribbean pools
And his mouth – a plump crabapple.
He moved through my forest like a fire.
I loved his cinematic swagger, an
Infectious confidence, heavy in the air –
He never mentioned he would always
Speak in code, speak in riddles –
I didn’t get how much it would hurt at the time,
From here to someplace where I would be
Standing over my own plaster heart –
Bones bare as chains, he was the light
In my bedroom on the nightstand that
I always left on, wishing I didn’t cry the
Whole way home – a light
That created all the shadows.
I met this boy a long time ago,
He was looking on this earth for a place to stand,
He was afraid but it was a fear that understood.
I loved the way we drifted away from the group
The day we first met, the day we fell in love.
We had a moment where our eyes met,
His thin arms around my shoulders.
The moment where we could have kissed,
We were both thinking it.
I cut the daisies at the waist,
The ones he gave me.
I put them in water, told them,
“drink up, baby, drink up.
Stay beautiful before you die.”
Each pang of need stifles the mind
The idea of food feels like failure
You want to be the skeleton in your closet
Thin-eternal and full of righteousness
Greasy, filthy, succulent, disgusting
Your plate is heaped with fat and disease
So you don’t eat anything
You can’t. You have to reach nirvana.
But eventually you get hungry enough
That you start to consume your own heart
The warm sticky ideas and feelings
It bleeds emotion and you were so numb before
You eat your own heart out and feel sorrow
A deep longing – a grief you never knew existed
They say when you are hungry enough
When you have denied yourself any kind of pleasure
You begin to eat out your heart,
But you will never be satisfied, never be full
The pain and loss overwhelms you
And the mirror shows a skeleton.
by me, xXx
We sat, huddled
On the dark path
Beside the train track
A sweatshirt-hooded tribe
Chanting over Amir’s
We watched his picture
Burn from the center out
Fanning the fire
And kindling it with grass
Until the very cardboard
Caught a lusty fire
And smoke choked the air
Erik pissed on the ashes
Completing our ritual
Of teenage badassery
Composed solely of “us”
The world was in our arms
Narrow and close together
Born again into members of
The secret society of eight
I’m in the corner of the classroom
Last desk to the right – near the wall
I am banging my head violently on the desk
As obscenities vomit into the air
I scream “Fuck! Fuck you all.
God fucking damn it! Rot in hell
You fucking dumbasses”
I am scratching, screaming
Pulling my hair out and jumping.
I am angry and frustrated
With everything and absolutely nothing
But really, I am sitting here quietly
Trying to control my heartbeat
And venting my emotions by
Drawing sadistic cartoon clowns
With Freddy Kruger hands
God, the students near me
Must think I’m actually psycho
I’m sitting in class, foot tapping the floor while I scribble aimless words, shapes and faces in my notebook. I don’t think I’ve written a legitimate page of notes in this thing all semester.
I look out the window and the trees burn orange and bleed red. They look like skeletons and the grass is straw-yellow. It’s only a matter of time before winter reigns. Everything is so beautiful. The colors are so much more saturated. My eyes are fixated on this one couple smiling and laughing. Everything is lovely outside… But ugh this class is so…
“… and that means what?” I jerk my head up.
The teacher is staring at me.
“Uh … um…”
“Pay more attention to class and less to the window!” she scolded me.
I try to reply but suddenly I’m drowning. I can’t breathe, my mouth tries to form words and my tongue is thick and heavy. Knowledge of my inhaler pops into my head. Inhale. Exhale.
And stop. The sensation goes away. Too fixated on themselves to notice, the class proceeds forward, dragging me along.
I sneak a final peek out the window before returning to scribbling nothings in my notebook.
“Late teen girl. Found unconscious on the bathroom floor. Possible overdose. Heart-rate sinking to 52. Very pale and diaphoretic”
The gurney sped down the hospital corridor.
“She’s comatose. We’re intubating her now.”
It must have been muscle memory that walked me down the stairs and out of the building because I have no idea how I got here. Yes, indeed it had to be muscle memory. The very same that put this cigarette in my mouth and lit it.
Two shapes are talking, over each other, to me – so I end up unable to decipher either of their words. Things come back into focus. Elaine stands in front of me, alone.
“What happened to the other person?”
“No one was here but me…” she replied as she cocked one eyebrow up and rested her hand on my back. I felt obliged to agree. All my questions seemed to melt into oblivion as she blathered on about her psychological medical science class which amounted to a mess of spinal cords and behavioural patterns.
She calls me “Lexi” like an old friend. She calls herself nothing and the more I look at her, the more unfamiliar she becomes.
She looks over the edge of the bridge. I hear the words “Wake up” whispered close to my ear like the voice of God. Yet, feels like an earthquake. My body resonates, my shoulders ache and my feet are numb.
I’m not asleep. I can see her perfectly. She looks like a pale angel. Then I notice how she’s not Elaine, far from it. She has dark hair, a frail frame, horizon-blue eyes descended from Caribbean waters.
She looks exactly like I want to. The more I openly dissect her features, the faster she walks and the more I come to realize that she is my vision of perfection incarnate. I am following a trail of valium, ecstasy, Xanax, speed to catch up, to push forward, and to be like her. I haven’t realized yet that she’s not real, that I am. I’m losing my mind as I try to walk as fast as her, but I slip and fall. Hard. Balloons lift into the air. They spelled things like ‘Get Well Soon.’ Something smelled like dead flowers.
“Who will think you’re beautiful now?” he said while his fist gripped a mass of black hair, arching her neck backwards. He forced her pink, soft mouth open and slowly dragged the blade from one corner to her ear. Repeat. A type of fevered paranoia had been slowly consuming him like a thick and bitter charisma. He saw her smile effortlessly at every man – all too impressed, thankful, and flirtatious – like she was descended from a painted china doll… It disgusted him. He gave her everything and she thanked him with the same smile, tinkling laugh and sparkling eyes that she wore for every other man. He dwelled on that permanent, carefully constructed blush in her cheeks. Then his focus shifted back and he narrowed his eyes.
“Now, show me that bee-you-ti-full smile,” her husband said.
He picked up her hand and broke her fingers until she screamed, ripping her face further apart. Her view flashed white with neon blue dots crowding her vision. Then, the world went black.
The above is my version of how the beginning of the legend went down.