Sovvie Sovvie

Starch in the pan
Stick to the sear
Press my face to the burner
Stick to the sear

Left to burn
Pried from the heat
Stick to the sear
Flung from the pan
Part of me in the burn
Stick to the sear
Gone in substance
Forever a part of you

Screen shot of a poem that reads: Whites of your eyes I see beauty when you cry Cracks like old sidewalk Blisteringly red, pointing toward your iris How does it feel to cry for me? Release, levity, safety? Burning, agony, constriction? Love? Sadness? Anger? I have felt everything there is to feel in my tears for you, everything except how it feels when you cry for me

Front teeth on my two knuckles
Sparkle in our eyes
Pull my fingers from your throat
Fingerpaint saliva on your cheek
“Read my fortune from the taste of my finger prints”
“They say I’m going to eat you alive”

The hole in my head is shaped like her.

The hole in my heart is shaped like her teeth.

The hole in my stomach is shaped like her fist.

I stumble as a surrealist shadow of her. Empty in my devoidance of her. Corrupted in yearning. No longer myself, and never her.

You're so pretty. You're like a paper crane shaped like a girl. Every facet of you adorned in ornate, unique patterns, all picked out to compliment the whole.

Do you like scissors?

Metal blade scraping across paper until it clamps closed. Every piece so individually beautiful.

*screaming while a tiktok edit of Radiohead Let Down plays*
“What the fuck is that”
“I put bugs in her abdomen”
“What the fuck is that”
“I put bugs in her abdomen”
“What the fuck is that”
“I put bugs in her soul”
“Oh”
Bugs don’t eat the soul, they eat the flesh that erroneously grows to entrap it.

Six thousand years sleep total silence total darkness still tired

They’re putting me in the mountain tomorrow. They’re putting me in a big boulder and they’re burying the rock in the dirt of the side of the mountain. They’re making me slumber for six thousand years until the mountain has receded. They’re not letting me wake up until everyone is gone.

You want someone to turn you inside out, to drain and clarify all of your blood and fluids into a purer distillation of the self through the sieve of another

The cerebral fluids leak out of its ears and drips down onto the floor. Will you catch it? Will you pour it back in through its eyes, reversing it’s crying? Or will you consume it knowing that it is one of its inner most parts to be processed by your own innards?

Two stages of writing:

1) This shouldn't take too long
2) Oh no

Sovvie?