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ilapen
my eyelashes are trying to construct a fortress.

There's nothing like a heaping spoonful
of isolation in the morning to remind you
how insignificant you really are.
Sprinkle on a pinch of humility,
and you have a recipe for top-notch
high-class
to-die-for
loneliness.
The taste will make you cry
until your tears dry up
and your mouth tears and cracks
and bleeds
and you pull off to vomit on the side of the road
to spare the passenger seat
because, in savoring this feeling,
you'll see that you will never again
experience such a sadness
such a sense of hopelessness.
Your heart that you taped together
that had a tendency to lose pieces
here and htere
but remained mostly intact
will finally shatter
and the pieces left will be incinerated
the ultimate heart burn.
You'll wish for death,
but you'll wish for forgiveness even more.
Because when you start to feel the resentment
building and welling
beneath your eyes
under your lungs
in your skin
you will pray for mercy
to deities you've never known, personally,
just to escape
and be normal
or just to be.
This one taste is the realization
that every wish you ever made
caught fire and disintegrated
before it could reach Earth.
It is the realization that when your tears
fall into your own empty ears,
you can't expect anyone to hear you,
much less listen.
The realization that the person who
was your shoulder to cry on
is really nothing more than an empty,
and broken
shell.
This taste is the realization
that you are writing a poem which
millions of people,
or just one,
could say they relate to,
but knowing that they haven't a clue.

Loneliness is the all-encompassing
discovery of disappointment in its truest form.

You may have had a taste of this top-notch
high-class
to-die-for
loneliness
but I've been force fed by the gallons
and my hypocrisy can only be blamed for so long,
my inclination towards self-sabotage
can only explain so much,
because it takes two
to fuck everything up

and now I'm just tired,
exhausted,
from all the digestion.
 
 
ilapen
they offered us nipples, but we'd rather take the ribs.

at 5:24AM, there is no sound,
just my heavy nightmare breath and
the hunger-pain screams from my fat cat.

I stand alone in the quiet, staring outside,
watching the void of space fade into the
lighter blue of atmosphere
and see the blaze of pale orange illuminating
the horizon lines.

the mountains are an endless stretch of bodies,
naked women laying head to toe, head to toe
writhing, each of them, in a pleasure I don't know
or understand.
their backs arch
and their knees bend
and their breasts are perfect, pointing upwards
to the cloudless sky.

if God exists, I know he created them,
but we come from something so much worse.
so much less pure;
sculptures made of fat and skin and
covered in dust.

my stomach hurts and I think my soul does, too.
it's hard to turn around,
and walk beneath a worry-free death,
down the shadowed hall and into my bedroom,

but I fall into bed and into a restless sleep
where selfish people die to take
everything for granted.

at 10:18AM, there is noise like a drill
digging for oil in my head;
screaming children and ten thousand cars,
Frank Sinatra belting it to the down beat
of a rapper I can't name.
my stomach growling loudly, a symphony
of keys jingling in pockets, and a cough.
a cough.
a cough.
a cough.
 
 
ilapen
13 October 2009 @ 08:16 pm
untitled.

My eyebrows are growing weird,
I think they're out of control.
I taste the topsy and I
smell the turvy and now
I'm tipsy and the world that
turns me on is careening
out of time and space.
And still my eyebrows grow
a plentiful bounty upon my face
"tell me what I want to hear,"
he demanded and she took
his hand
his trembling hand within her
own and said, "sorry
"darling,
"no."
because the world fell over
and time won't stop for a
Humpty Dumpty.
So, fuck you.
let's roll with the galactic punches.

I'll get the tweezers.

 
 
ilapen
13 October 2009 @ 08:09 pm
untitled.

I wish you could know the color of my insides
because they are not red like you think
they are green a little,
but mostly the color of light
and sometimes the shade of grey
between the morning points of white
and the blue mourning of blackness.
My spectrum is of sadness,
but it's not what you would expect
to find within this shapely shell of mine.
These colors remind me of humanity
this curse
this rage
this fear
this pain
this pain
this pain
those moments when everything
goes away, and all that is left
is our laughter.
Those moments when going back
in time
isn't impossible.

 
 
ilapen
13 October 2009 @ 08:05 pm
untitled.

I wonder if they can see
or if they can see the things I see
because I feel I think different things
than they would ever venture to
when I look into their eyes,
their eyes that see mine
and maybe wonder what I think
or if I can see at all.