Hey yeah. Music up so loud in my headphones now.
But the neighbors can hear.
My stomach, it knots. I would like to retract and swallow myself and live there, huddled, safe and nurtured in warm acid sizzling my skin away, leaving only bone. I want to be a bone person, slick in a safe stomach, writhing all over itself like worms. No brains, no heart, no nerve endings, no eardrums, just bones. Wet bones. Juggling in the muscles that move, that can’t get away, sheltered in the black and silence.
It will make me feel protected.
I want a big boyfriend with hairy arms and an angry face that will fucking punch you when you are acting like a hateable asshole.
1 day ago
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4 comments:
Two things (of which I am kidding about only one):
a) How about a girlfriend with a big hairy snatch and an angry face that will fucking punch anyone acting like a hateable asshole to you?
b) How is this a poem? (Not that I care, I heart it muchly but also I am eager to be schooled.)
Jesus. This makes me feel raw. So the opposite of what you say it will make you feel. I want the opposite of bones. I want plump flesh in which I can hide my bones away.
how is it a poem?
because i said so.
Bitch, I asked how not why. ;)
And Ellie: Awesome, ain't she? Feisty, too!
Don't nobody neglect to get your fill at http://notimetosayit.blogspot.com/.
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