superstition stuck.

children jump and beneath their falls, the  dead ones fly .

try dying as i might i'll die die die by my my my own hands.

i know how it feels to know how it felt, and it feels like a rotten vanity picture frame, fuzzy and curved from several years of damp deteri...

your voice was always a yawn, croak, a wart to the holes in my starving head. my dull face, a silver sliver in your stare is the seven...

somewhere inside the space where magic meets molecule, i am writhing--crazed by pain and death. but my mind is thinking about head-sized pri...

I am wiggling and hardening in stained glass. Violet. My eyelashes burn, there is a grape-sized pain pushing its way through to the ends. ...

"Take these: branches from my tree of life."