My hero turned out to be a monster, it sinks further in my chest; frail leaves and empty words spill—spill
"...I am not even flattering you, she probably just glanced at you and decided what she would feel, like clockwork,” he snapped his fingers. “You need to end this.” "And how do you expect me to do that?” Mischa didn’t dare break away eye contact. Respect was the only thing she had left, if it wasn’t love. "You do it carefully, Koch. Very carefully.”
her lune, how precise and anticlastic as if each horror you provoked could somehow make me want you
I created a soundtrack for the most brutal scene yet in the ongoing Identify novel collaboration.
I realized this sounds apt for the holidays, so now its purpose is tailored for... that
like abandoned memories, recalled by my mother like when my grandfather said “I’m going to kill you” while counting money
with no thread of flowers to plant your feet on, and into morning air at a hotel room remembering that’s what home felt like.
O I had bad dreams; I was wooded into the sand, lady, I am dead from you all
I found a dead deer in the road at the same time my dad told me not to look;
Do not tell me what I was to redraw that cold war face, to see a woman of what I bleed
sometimes, I wish I were like that. don’t you. how do you break off from yourself do you ever think about it?
Note: I think I wrote this around a year ago. It was a nice diversion from the tension of those early times, while still delving into it. This is a satirical piece, so just a forewarning since the pandemic impacts us all in different ways. I don't take it lightly either as I have had distant family pass from it; back on point, I know this can be a sensitive topic so proceed with caution.
Through the smokestacks there is the death of me as I pass the hills.
Glassy eyes in sumac touches she waits for me or doesn’t
as if I held her hand, full of regret. A weeping willow rejects me breathing in my cigarettes, death’s in the traveler being left alone in Italy; from the garden, all bodied, all that red and bleak
I sit at her bedroom window an age where branches hung themselves Antigone.
Neurochemical duress, the labor of my body aglows, destitution in mental illness; a fragmented waste of sperm
the jagged teeth of a leviathan smiling across the nighttime line running low, above the clouded blue-black ink of deepest sea
Hope this soundtrack could depict a bit of weirdness, a bit of surrealism, and a bit of fear in the midst of it all too--I pretty much am looking at it through Lauren's perspective, how everything is fading in seconds before she believes it is her time.