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Skinny girls go back to school
Waiters wait in process lines
Tears fall faster
I want to start smoking
It’s getting bad
I will slice myself
I will rip me apart
And fall
The bag I am holding is none 
Of your business.  The bag I am holding
Is empty; it’s full, you say; but 
Yes I say it is empty.
Empty, and wet with tears 
I cried for the journey home for
No journey is complete 
Without tears.
Tears and coffee.
I’ll invent tear-flavored-café—
Only I will drink it,
Alone, as usual.


I want to cut off my fingers—
One by one, on my left hand.
Then I will take the knife and 
I will slice long lines of deep red
Into the skin on my stomach.
I am an ugly girl.  Too fatt.  
I have things wrong with me—
Psychological things.  I want to 
Get raped and snort coke.  
I want to have sex and smoke
A cigarette.  I want to drink
Beers and betray boys
By kissing their friends 
Right in front of him
When the sun rises on our hangover.
Inhibitions—they mean nothing to me
Anymore.  Only death.
Kiss my ass.  I hide it too much.
I never explain to people how I 
Feel—my bipolar self—so 
I drive me insane by 
Trapping emotions in a cage
When what they need is to be unleashed.  


Poems do not exist here,
I can’t see why you’d want to live here.
The sky is never night here,
We need to see more stars here.
I don’t want to die here,
It is worse than hell here.

If hell is Tolstoy’s left toes—
Useless and worthless in their 
Stench—I don’t want to 
Smell them.  I feel
Bad for navy seals sometimes.  
i know what I do is meaningless;
at least I like doin it. 

This is where the headache 
Dwells—between the sheets 
Open and shut of 
Night and day.
This is where pain is made 
In the mush of reality where
The people live. 
Every person I encounter 
Works at the headache machine.  
I don’t want to see it.
I want to hide in a cavern
Actually I want to die.
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