fall of the queen

my reign was brief;
I was a benevolent
ruler. my title was purely
decorative, and my balloon crown
popped halfway through
the second dance routine.

but I didn’t let it bother me –
I had a lovely time,
until my chariot arrived
to convey me home,
and gradually turned back
into a pumpkin drawn
by six white mice.
I was enraged and got
quite upset.

Continue reading fall of the queen


brooding like a hen
on a nest, hoping your
death will come soon, 
talking to my own
body like a disobedient
child – how dare you?
who do you think
you are? if there’s
someone in there, I’m
kicking you out. enjoy
the cigarette smoke,
coffee, weed smoke, alcohol, lsd,
rich foods, tooth bleach, staying
up late and coma-like slumber.
enjoy these sick beats I made,
and then get out. it’s
nothing personal; I’m just not
ready for you. now’s not
a good time. I’m used to being
alone in this body, and I like it
that way.

bipolar witchy nightmare girl

I may seem like a manic/magic elven/pixie
dream girl. I may even
play one on Twitter.
but those portraits leave out the down side
of the swing. mania
has its price. those girls are
always so whimsical, happy, cute/kawaii,
they never cry
themselves to sleep,
they never set themselves on fire
for love, let alone for hate.
so I’m burning up in here
alone, ’cause I’m searching
for other mystical, half-mythical
creatures, heroic figures
riding up from the West
appearing suddenly in the forest
shrouded in fog and mystery; the Wild
Hunt – that sort of thing.

Continue reading bipolar witchy nightmare girl


I’m sorry
that I interrupt so very often
in conversation.
if anyone takes more than
two seconds
to think about their contribution
to the discourse, I feel compelled
to speak for them, thinking I can
read their minds
and guess what they
are going to say. I know
it’s wrong and rude
and everyone hates it
but I can’t seem
to stop myself from doing it.

Continue reading clocks


for two years
he lived in my heart, I thought of him
constantly, he took
over my mind and could
have had me
many times over, if he
wanted to. and yet
we fought all the time,
for every positive
interaction there must have been
at least three negative
ones. (and no, I’m not
counting the times
where I thought he
was being distant
and it turned out it
had nothing to do
with me. I asked, you see,
and found out what was really
going on.) no, I’m talking
actual, deliberate cruelty
inflicted from one to the other,
often both. he was usually
full blackout drunk
and didn’t always remember
what he had said and done.
I, on the other hand,
remember every bitter detail, much
to the detriment
of my mental health.

I cast him out
of my heart
like the demon he was
three times. in magic,
doing something three times
means something, shows you
mean it, makes it stick.
I can only hope
that this time,
the third time
is the charm.