Tag Archives: girl

Bad Rainbow

She bled black like bad rainbow
Skinny wrist cut skinny still
Ink colored back slash black back pack stuffed pack
Pretty pills make her pretty still
She dance none but one more bad rainbow made her black
She cut ink pen on skin like steel spike just right
Just wrong just off but not off center off kilter
Light filtered through broken glass painted black made bad rainbow but not quite
Dead tree bleeds black leaves
Weep willow weep leaves black leaves tears leave black smears on a notebook page
Like balled fist rage like animal caught cage like older without age
And still she’s so still
She smiles dark sky almost black eye liner with finer lines traced countless times
Colored wrist map like skinny waist covered skinny belt buckleĀ 
Skinny like sideways head cracked wide
Bleed out slow like bad rainbow blood
Good comes from nothing for nothing but bad rainbow stains like always
Roots rot quick like hollow trunk thick
Burrow home hurry back bury one in the sack
Like your bag brim stuffed with pretty pills give tiny thrills make giants ills never pretty still
She painted black on grey white yellow paper typed strong word like flutter hard fast night bird
But dark star heart broke black and shattered bleak again
So black sky moon shines bad rainbow on the roof
And still she’s so still because pretty pills make her pretty ill

I loved her from the moment I met her, but I can’t contain her bad rainbow and I don’t know what else to do.

Like the song never ended.

I remember us as wildfires.

Summer lights dancing through the trees.

Our parents were dry leaves and cigarettes.

Our children were ash and smoke, the kind that won’t leave your clothes for days.

The radio played cheap beer by the case while we sipped old punk songs and plucked the notes to “El Scorcho” on our gin buckets.

Our music singed the corners of our coat pockets while we smoldered dead branches like souvenirs of last year.

We scribbled notes to the future on each other’s tongues and taped forties to our hands like boxing gloves for our souls.

We were tired as hell but we danced all night anyway.

Just because.

We flicked and floated as cinders on the breeze and our glass bottle hearts broke shiny like they never glittered to begin with.

Our taste buds learned the difference between cute girl and light beer but didn’t care for one more than the other.

If both could be had, then all the better.

Our truth poured out as poorly mixed drinks and we flowed from cup to cup with ease.

We woke with good ideas turned ugly mistakes turned righteous crusades.

Our darkness was outside.

We felt warm beneath it like blankets wrapped with care.

Tucked and neat.

We glowed on the inside.

Our whiskey-warmed heartbeats found the drum track and thumped in unison.

The bass line pumped infatuation through our capillaries and with small cuts we bled romance as blood brothers.

The fire popped champagne and crackled sing-song.

Embers were snowflakes on our tongues, lightning bugs in a jar.

We decided that’s all we were.

Just lightning bugs in jar.

Dancing in the moonlight.

Singing out a song.

Still, our fire smiled wide like we never broke to begin with.

Like it didn’t even matter.

Like the song never ended.

Girl in a Box

She was ripped from the headlines. Girl in a box. I knew her a little bit, a number of years ago. Not enough to say hello, maybe enough to smile. Maybe. I try to remember what she looked like, but I only see the box.

She didn’t fit in neat. At least not at first. They had to force it. It doesn’t matter how hard you force something though, sometimes we weren’t meant to bend certain ways. We can bend lots of things for lots of reasons, I’m sure they bent plenty of things inside themselves to do what they did to her. But you can’t force it. No matter how much you need to.

No, she didn’t fit, so the had to resize her. I imagine it made quite a mess. In fact, I’m surprised that’s not what gave them away. But it wasn’t. I guess with enough drive and the proper tools you can make anything fit anywhere, even if it doesn’t want to. She certainly didn’t want to fit. Girl in a box.

Two days she spent in the box. Two days is unending and insignificant on the scale of the universe, but it was neither for her. She wasn’t really in the box. At least not the part of her that counts. That being said, I don’t want to confuse you, they did put all her parts in the box. To not would just be sloppy. They certainly weren’t sloppy. Two days and no one noticed the box.

No, no one noticed the box until they tried to get rid of it. I often wonder if they had been successful, would the box have sunk or floated down the river? I often wonder if they would have just been better off leaving the box where it was. In plain view, for all to see. They could make jokes about it.

“What’s in the box?”

“Oh that box? A girl”

“Ha ha ha. You are the cleverest aren’t you? Such nice young boys”

They’re all in boxes now too. Not boxes like hers though. They still have all their parts. But not the part that matters. They lost that when they put her in box. When they forced her in. I’m sure she didn’t want to go. Like I said, I didn’t know her that well. Not well enough to say hello. So maybe I’m wrong, but I can’t imagine that she would have wanted to be in the box. At least not like that. Girl in a box.

We’ll all be in boxes one day. Not like hers. Not like theirs. At least, not like their boxes right now. More like the ones they’ll be in soon.