chrival trujest

the cop cars out my window bustled past like the cavalier.

my dreams sped past and out my head, but my stomach still hurt 

until i knew i was finally looking at heaven, written across my wall in pen.  not you and your sister.

while you're here waiting to die, rest your hand on your crotch, trail your other hand across the hairs on your arm until they raise and you feel the cold hold onto you.

i never stopped looking for your face in every taxi that passed by the iron rot gates.

particular alleyways between Penelope's veins that still remain darkened in darkened retreat as the last to purge bible pages from your arms, eyes, and feet.  would you stop for a baby?

mammary induced intuition abuse, a new flower to replace the dead ones from every season over, swollen n therefor lacking of plan; you hear the rain fall outside, you hear the rain fall outside, you hear the rainfall outside.

i wanna kill everything that has a soul.  all the trees are dead, from down here, you held my head and you touched my hair and said to me "Jady, it's sick that that's the only thing that ever makes you smile."