(no subject)

Where is my angel flying off to now?

Philadelphia.

The CITY of angels! Babe, your job is so exciting. So limitless.

Right. Would you put your seatbelt on? Traffic is getting heavy.

They were snail pacing down 91. Still, she dug her nails into the fabric of her skirt. Her own seatbelt dangled loose to her right.

I hope when I find a job I find something cool. Maybe I could become a pilot. We could travel the country together, move wherever we want, make enough money to have kids.

Flying isn't traveling, settling isn't living, salary isn't security, fetuses don't make families.

Would you put your seatbelt on?

You're right. These people are driving like animals.

With her fist clenched to the handle of the passenger door, she directed him into departures. He'd dropped her off hundreds of times yet always seemed to make a wrong turn.

Stop here. Stop I said. I said stop right here, that's my airline.

She shot him a look. Upon following his gaze, she pinpointed his distraction. Statuesque, neon blonde, starved but restored with silicone and skin paint. The artifice of her beauty left a void of frigid sexuality.

Sorry, babe.

She snapped the passenger visor down to expose its mirror. The vanity light was unforgiving and her face perched crows feet, dragged worry lines. She applied lipstick anyway.

He watched her.

So gorgeous today. So sexy, babe.

How was she yesterday. How will she be tomorrow.

Those legs...

He burrowed his clumsy hand beneath her skirt, inching up her thigh, fumbling toward her warmth.

Please, this thing is tight.

Mmm, my naughty girl...

No. My skirt. It's too tight. I have to go anyway. I'm late.

She swung the door open, stepped out, slammed it behind her.

Arching her frame and elongating her back, she took her time as she began making her way to her aircraft.

The clamor of her heels on the linoleum, the rhythmic motion of her shoulders to her breasts to her swaying hips, as she neared her gate she commanded the attention of everyone she passed.

The first to arrive, she began pre-boarding duties as she awaited her coworkers. The day's pilot was already waiting, seated casually in the cockpit. He greeted her with a smile and a nod and sat back, fingers interlaced, watching her work. Interrupting his privacy, the remaining attendants joined and began boarding aircraft passengers.

As they awaited the signal for departure, the pilot yanked the hem of her skirt. She looked down.

Hey, sweetheart, when we get all settled up there, would you fix me up a cup of coffee and one of those sandwiches you make. No one makes em like you do.

She nodded.

Don't forget your seatbelt, Captain. We're expecting turbulence.

(no subject)

Pity his pretty face spit on from outer space wrote his seven digits on the back of a filthy paper plate. He'll strangle your soul wear your affection as a second skin leave every loose end and maintain it wasn't what he meant. There is only one way to decline only if provided the time you can't fall in love with a metronome but my heart ticks for the instrument eternally misaligned.

(no subject)

Something that separates itself without notice dials each sequence one last time, finalized. Just to tie up loose ends. If only the cues were in the right places, pendulums might have carved your name.

(no subject)

I want to talk about the greatest friend of my life who spent the last days of his pulling out his hair and pulling all the wrong triggers. The night we died I pitched a case of empties off of the roof of an apartment building belonging to an empty man with an empty fridge and an empty bed colder than the mouth of every bottle that met my lips until dusk and maybe a short while after. The day of our wake I stumbled into work and reflected upon his death as I iced unknowns onto birthday cakes.

Not two weeks later I'd meet a man who would revive me with the same inhalants that sucked the life past his crooked teeth. This man exhaled smoke and yes, our connection came naturally, but so does arsenic and isn't that convenient. Coming and going frequently, he let me stick around. Most nights I slept with his demons and woke up first thing in the morning to the startling hum of artificial sunlight. We spent our days to the very last dollar and still kept drawing cash from our banks to keep drawing more powder to our lungs. When I woke up with blood on my pillow I remembered he was a thief.

The only girl I love would only kiss me when she was made up. We might kiss again, but she will never love me. I will always adore that girl with the crooked teeth and sunshine in her veins who showed me beauty is not a myth but an internal illumination that beams so bright it thaws my goddamn blood. We kissed, and when I woke up with white and black paint on my pillow I remembered she was a mime.

(no subject)

He kneels before the green screen trees
and takes apart emotions.
Rebuilds them all with expertise
and redefines devotion.
His fragile form is taking in
the angles with perfection.
I want the truth, but settle in
for transparent blue reflections.

(no subject)

Stacked my glasses up so carefully inside a corner .
I was sure that they'd be safe and certain they'd transform her.
Even after certain illusions my vision cracks
and bleeds and causes accidents like sand inside an hourglass.

Hooked by gravity they stayed until they swayed and shattered.
I was at the top I swore I fell and snapped my spine.
I got up to realize that I had never mattered
scattered over several girls like pieces waiting to be swept.

Whisper in my ear.
Reason answers all.
Why I never hear
no one can recall.
I'm synthetic cool.
I'm a balanced calm.
I'm an inverted umbrella and you're my atom bomb.

Need a key to see the mysteries inside the attic.
If there's a way to open doors then yes I have to have it.
No that's not good enough you know I'd look in every box,
cause oftentimes there's something stored but on occasion maybe not.

I'm an architect
of the incorrect.
The ones I love the most I always seem to disaffect.
What was once refined
now is misaligned.

(no subject)

Falling apart starts at the seams,
you're watching her dress.
And as she rises to leave you relive your regret.
On a reel churning in your chest
like a turntable droning the same
tired song you'll play
for the next one who will lay beside you.