selectmorsels

[selectmorsels]

lee rhymes?

i’ve honoured this

our bodies are beneath us, naked and sleeping

my hands have honoured this

carried you high over the ocean

one eye open

doesn’t have to mean anything, but

look

i’m reaching for you mid-dream

i’ll honour my promise

our bodies are beneath us, naked and sleeping

can you take me home?

one eye closed in your shoulder

room so cold i can almost see your breath

i’ll honour this

keep it light, make it soft, make it easy

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monster behind the tree

i thought it would pass soon but it's been two months and i'm still crying on the way home from the grocery store

it's stupid

you live 60 kilometres away and i see you everywhere

and there's a monster that comes out from behind the tree when i reach my porch

tells me my grief is rotting in me and it's making its way to my elbows

the truck left our compost behind too

he says "there was nothing that you could have done"

              "there was nothing that you could have done"

              "there was nothing that you could have done"

              "there was nothing that you could have done"

              "there was nothing that you could have done"

              "there was nothing that you could have done"

              "there was nothing that you could have done"

              "there was nothing that you could have done"

              "there was nothing that you could have done"

up the stairs in the dark

              "there was nothing that you could have done"

              "there was nothing that you could have done"

              "there was nothing that you could have done"

              "there was nothing that you could have done"

[selectmorsels]

miscellaneous of 2024.07.07@4h14

i see what you're afraid of

you're in a room that no one has come into for a long time

i forget you

and i love you

it's all the same

cut me in half

my body is my childhood best friend

shame that we couldn't be sisters

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lean in

i’m seeing my psychiatrist on wednesday

cried in the afternoon when you said “yeah, talk later”

felt so good i might start pulling out my ribs

let the bugs in through the window

skin on my neck turns red, mother notices

she doesn’t know i’m unmedicated

i feel phantom pricks and tickles all over

kid in my head calls me a bad dog

something about shame licking me clean

you’re not stable

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loleits

ladies, the night is young, dark, and cold. outside, the fog is consuming the street, and the painted branches are peeling off the shadowy sky. inside, under the low lights, she is naked from the waist up, mascara flecking on her cheeks like frost on the window's glass, her necklace casting a dark, swaying morph on her collarbone. come further out this time. her voice is like cool silk on your goosebumps. you move to her through the black gulf. in the distance, there is saxophone reverberating on the surface of the water. the drums are closer, beneath you. you can feel them in the bottom of your feet. she calls to you from far off, lips and teeth grazing your neck: are you coming?

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hand like a gun

victor has his fingers to my stomach in the shape of a gun, whispering “murder” over and over. funny that i made it a man.

your fingers to my stomach in the shape of a gun. it’s not enough to think about it, and yet i’d have to hide my face if you ever put your hands around my waist. didn’t know i was into having my wrists held until you stopped me from tickling you.

something changed under the surface. in the part of head that’s actually in my throat. can we mind-fuck?

looking through the crack in my door. you ask if i want to talk about it. i say i want to sleep, and talking keeps me awake. you say talking could put it to bed and i say nothing.

my heart and my lungs are fragile. thought of you stopping my head, turning my face towards you, the intention, of meaning to kiss me. for a moment the hole in my chest was gone. there’s that line, about having a god-shaped hole and it being infected. this time, tonight, there’s a gouge in my chest, right around or below my sternum, and it’s letting all the cold air in. makes it hard to fall asleep.

you ask if i’m okay through the closed door. i understand that you love me and you don’t mind waiting.

it takes until my chest is dully aching and my stomach burning for me to admit i’m awake. kissing you feels like resurfacing. something is wrong in my body. so i go out into the hallway. i squint in the light. in the mirror, i meet your eyes, and you’re smiling.

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sacred astral projection

i love the windows on the bus

can barely see out of them

when the night falls in and the lights turn yellow, fluorescent, bend down to kiss your head, hold a towel around you while you change at the pool when you were eleven

when you look outside and it’s dark enough that you’re in the window

like a musty ghost

too embarrassed to look yourself in the eye

can’t be mistaken for vain

can’t look at that kid

can smell the grey, taste blood in your nose, concrete against your teeth

cheekbone against the scratched-out glass, grime under your eyelids

or- well-

maybe that last one’s just the dream of the street

the one you go home to when you close your eyes

the street dark and snowing

snowing soft and quiet

the lights are out

and the glass is frosted over

the air is black

the sky is still

and you need to wake up

to the puffer coat of the person sitting next to you

and your reflection on your right

can see right through you

the window in my room is the biggest thing in the world

when the frosting has hit and the fever has set and you’re hanging high over the road, can’t put your feet down definitively, can’t feel your rib cage around your heart, your nerves are unfurling like hair you shaved off in the sink, clinging to the porcelain, floating in the bathwater

when your eyes grey over and your shoulders will fall off if you move, try to hold this weight

those nights, the window is the biggest thing in the world

like the apartment building a block away, the naked, callused trees, still prettier than you, the black air that fills in the rest, the car, the duplex across the street, melting flowers and dusty millers

you’re the only one left here

like you’re on the set of a tv show and everyone went home and the world is empty, isn’t even real, really, and there’s nothing behind the doors, a tv in the windows, the street is only 200m long, and someone in the window on the top floor has turned their light out and you’re imagining a man without a face, mattress on the floor, reaching over white sheets to yellow to black

maybe your room’s the one that’s not real

maybe you’re in a box

maybe those sirens were for you

i know you believe it

i know you believed it for a second

that you died on a bright january morning in your living room chair, the one you were going to take with you when you moved out

that the door was open and someone was holding your hand 

what’s that called?

derealization?

haze brain?

freak head?

is that you?

freak head?

it’s snowing up there, isn’t it?

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the best thing you can be in these times is "unreachable"

the best thing i can be in these times is "unreachable." gone, gone, gone, gone. it happens more often, lately. then i need to go away, or be taken away. i'm not sure if i have agency in it.

the best thing i can be in these times is "unreachable." to you, to me. in the sense that the line is busy, please call back later. in the sense that the cord is unplugged. i don't listen to my voicemail.

the best thing i can be in these times is "unreachable." over distance and time and whatever else there is between people. at a certain point, i can only do it justice by shutting up. i know it's isolating. for you, for me. perception, understanding, affectation — consciousness. i'm burning up. and the tears come to put it out.

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in another world, i am good

i am good. i am good.

i whisper it on the way home through the snow. i mumble it on the edge of the bed, pupils heavy in my hands.

in another world, you love me and i am good. i am good.

come back to me. mother who remembers you.

i hold you when you sleep, mould my arms around you, leave no room for the cold.

your skin is like wax paper. there are tears at the edges of your eyes.

i am good. i am good. mother who loves you.

you are good to me.

i hold my eyes in my hands, and run them over the edges of your face. even without me, they recognize your temples.

you are good to me.

you come to me in the dark. gentle as ever, speak no words.

there are tears in your eyes and bleeding in your hands and i love you, i love you, i love.

come back to me.

in my dream, you don't answer.

you don't tell me what you've done.

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you made it easy

we burn together

pull me under with you

come further out this time

can't see into the water past the lights

at, she gets a grip on me

cold nails close around my ears

"come back to me," she whispers

she wears my mother's voice

at night, i feel her cold, clammy hands around my ankles

i dip my head under the water

you're good to me

"i'm good to you"

she's all over me

you're good to me

"i could be so good to you"

she shears off my hair in the water

dead rotten whore

"you're burning up"

you're losing her

she seems scared off when someone calls to the house

she doesn't like competition

come back to me

mother who remembers you

"mother who remembers you"

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midnight

i don't want to be lonely

it's not midnight anymore

it hits when i'm high over the ocean

one eye open

the other lost to the black depths

nights like these, it feels like i'll never wake up

won't be returning to the shore

everything i want refuses to come within six metres of me

even when neither of us are real

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by @nightcorp

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by Rebecca Vowell

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tis the season, coming soon

02-27-2023, 3 AM

[selectmorsels]