skarazira
Bluelighter
Not mine but its great.
Testimony- By: Maura O' Connor
These days
I cover my face with bottled skin
and scented creams
stain my lips the color of rose juice
wear black
my eyes deepen
The man who once called me
that girl in the white shirt
is my lover
He carried me home in a magicians casket
cut me in two
I came out whole
I'm kindness to climb into
a Dresden doll found in the basement
of a burnt house
These days
I Buy the book with the ugliest cover
comb the thick orange hair
of the innocent child
I never was
While my heroes are knocked down
like pinatas
while we wear surgical gloves
to the laying on of hands
I've folded suicide in four
laid it bare on a white shelf
someday may it gather dust
I might toss it away like and old dishrag
I'm young
green as bread mold
I'm seeking witness
I want the testimony of
Hitler
Stalin
the shadows on the bricks
of Nagasaki
These days
the newspapers serve a menu of clay pigeons
bring your own bullets
I want to ban the colors of television
the perfect thighs
and plastic wishes
I want to put my next breath
in my lover's mouth
I want to burn jesus leaflets
and wear his sandals
I'm taking it all off
in the bars of my ribcage
While the politicians find work
for each idle child
while two terminal parents
place bets on the existence of god
These days
I show the years when I didnt want to live
in the grey spokesof my iris
I'm coming apart like a ten-cent toy
I carry my head under my arm
like a rag doll
I want to sleep in the ruin
of last night's makeup
I want ancient recipes over instant rice
I want to find the hummingbird graveyard
I want to fill my mouth with black beetles
and walk the edge of eden
I need a new commandment
I will collect single bars of old songs
I will weep a page of black ink
I will be an unprotected witness
My country serves a three day notice
to the starving
my country's hands are tattooed
on the belly of a battered child
my country sleeps in the snow of the television
after the anthem is played
Let's burn the country
and keep the flag
This night is falling to pieces
this moon is cream on a raisin sky
I will evolve thick skin and filter
I will plan my next breath
I will watch the four riders
foam their horses into glue
It isnt over yet
Testimony- By: Maura O' Connor
These days
I cover my face with bottled skin
and scented creams
stain my lips the color of rose juice
wear black
my eyes deepen
The man who once called me
that girl in the white shirt
is my lover
He carried me home in a magicians casket
cut me in two
I came out whole
I'm kindness to climb into
a Dresden doll found in the basement
of a burnt house
These days
I Buy the book with the ugliest cover
comb the thick orange hair
of the innocent child
I never was
While my heroes are knocked down
like pinatas
while we wear surgical gloves
to the laying on of hands
I've folded suicide in four
laid it bare on a white shelf
someday may it gather dust
I might toss it away like and old dishrag
I'm young
green as bread mold
I'm seeking witness
I want the testimony of
Hitler
Stalin
the shadows on the bricks
of Nagasaki
These days
the newspapers serve a menu of clay pigeons
bring your own bullets
I want to ban the colors of television
the perfect thighs
and plastic wishes
I want to put my next breath
in my lover's mouth
I want to burn jesus leaflets
and wear his sandals
I'm taking it all off
in the bars of my ribcage
While the politicians find work
for each idle child
while two terminal parents
place bets on the existence of god
These days
I show the years when I didnt want to live
in the grey spokesof my iris
I'm coming apart like a ten-cent toy
I carry my head under my arm
like a rag doll
I want to sleep in the ruin
of last night's makeup
I want ancient recipes over instant rice
I want to find the hummingbird graveyard
I want to fill my mouth with black beetles
and walk the edge of eden
I need a new commandment
I will collect single bars of old songs
I will weep a page of black ink
I will be an unprotected witness
My country serves a three day notice
to the starving
my country's hands are tattooed
on the belly of a battered child
my country sleeps in the snow of the television
after the anthem is played
Let's burn the country
and keep the flag
This night is falling to pieces
this moon is cream on a raisin sky
I will evolve thick skin and filter
I will plan my next breath
I will watch the four riders
foam their horses into glue
It isnt over yet
