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Lindsay O'Connor

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Southfield, MI, US

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Obsession

by

Lindsay O'Connor

Words can't explane how I feel.
Nothing seems to be real.
My heart, a burning sun,
my mind racing with images of you and me,
but it can never be.
It's becoming an obsession, that only can end with fate.
Everytime I sliver it up, my body combells with extacy.
Just a glimpse of you , makes me crave you more.
That secret house, with a secret place,
is in my head, and I'm proud that I have formed it.
It'll be waiting, changing and augulating in my perseption.
You'll be around, turning my world into non-existant colors,
and changing my dreams into a semi-synapse of reality.
This obsession is ruling my life.
I'll be waiting, changing just for you.
I know all of your secrets, I'll find all of those I don't know.
I'll do this just to be close to you and your aurmatic smell.
And you'll see me, biting and ripping away my boundaries to you.
You'll be waiting and aging as time and space grow wider.
But I'll be watching your every mystical move.
So don't fear me, I only have fallen deep into the circle,
the cycle of obsession.
It grips me tightly, the thought of your face.
It'll linger, the smell of your salty tears, reluctantly desending into my hungry eyes.
Then we will see eye to eye, you'll see my perspective,
the perspective of obsession.
Then together we will be trapped, trapped in my cage I've crafted just
for the special ocassion.
The mood will ripen like an apple's sweet diliverence,
I will lure you into my notion of pashion.
The reality kills me sweetheart.
It burns at my eyes.
I know that someday the gray sky will rain down on us both,
then you will see me, just a glimpse of an obsessed dreamer.
Time with wings, clocks and chimes will pass by.
But I know the reality bleeds me,
bleeds me from my mind.
But I won't except it, I'll never stop 'till my battery is low.
And I will remember the memories that have never happened.
I miss you, but I haven't me you yet.
Come with me and join my endless night.
The life I live, means nothing at all if you're not near me.
So I'll keep trying to craft my dream to fit your life.
You won't except me, this I know,
But I'll keep walking on that endless rope,
And I know you'll be watching as I glide without a fall.
This is a greedy obsession,
this is my downfall.

Curiosity killed you

by

Lindsay O'Connor

On roads of skin,
the sweet hymn sings
and you try to find the throat from which it gleams
but traveler be aware,
it's more treacherous than it seems.
Now you travel down paths of broken flesh
as you disappear into the trees......

Drying

by

Lindsay O'Connor

In the wake of a new dawn,
I bathe in posibility
yet slowly enough,
the yellow bright sun
closes slowly
drying up the embers of hope,
and extracting the sweats of contentment out of my body.

Obsession two

by

Lindsay O'Connor

I lie on a bed of thoughts, cushning my heavy head.
The thought of you is like chocolate teasing my tounge,
I can't have a bite but I can taste you.

Exquisite liguid sweetness tantilizes my mouth.
Your ever so deliteful smile speaks to me,
yet you tell me lies. Strawberry dreams and cotton kisses
build the house of mood. I feel the warmth, like
melodies, dancing in a swaying rhthym in my heart.

Somehow you made it through. Cutting off my rope to you, I am left on a boat as it casts off, divorcing the dock.
And I ride this boat, staring into the indigo water as it kisses my disapointment.

Somehow you made it through love. You made it through the silk webs of sweet milky obsession. Through the dark forests
and past the sly foxes.

No green embers that flutter in your belly affect your sight. You saw the way out and your doe eyes blinked without
hesitation and with out remorse. How did you get through my bed of thoughts?

If I could only touch you I know I would shiver with a smile.

Your heavy grin is like the dawning transition from night to early dewy morning. It lifts the atosphere into a mirth of warmth and heavy compashion holding on for life to my soul.

Glimmers of your face appear like an old picture show, and I sit in the old theater seats, consentrating diligently and imagining you next to me.

When I think of you love, I feel held in the arms of dreaming, caged in your blue eyes. Movement is like the ivory and oblivious black of piano keys kissing the finger tips of a musician close to God. And I feel you, even when you're not around. My skin remembers your silk hands breathing me just enough so I could feel your radiant warmth.

But sweetheart, I never condured up the idea that you would sive out through the complicated holes of my thoughts. You left like storm clouds; you came in strong, but evaporated introducing the sun.

Somehow you made it through my mindfields without leaving a trace of your sents. My memory hounds search for pieces related to your ever so glorious being, but nothing was found so I have retired them. You escaped my gaurds wanting to pull you back into my sensual cell. You have escaped me,
you have left me free, and I thankyou.

Serial Killers

by

Lindsay O'Connor

We are all serial killers.
A race of human butchers.
You kill everyday.
You kill the killers,
they kill you.
You kill a thousand people everyday,
with your words.

We are the animals,
of the animal world.
Flesh ripping at the flesh,
like the carryon of a murder's prey.

We are vegitarian carnivores,
purging at our own vulgurness.
Yet we drain blood,
and milk the skin.

Our words can bleed,
the most leathery vein.
We murder and ravige,
clean flesh and tainted,
while we do not look further
into what this ambigous genocide is showing us.

As a race of serial killers,
I am sure we will continue to kill.
We bleed and kill what is really ourselves,
one universal line of dirty blood.

Blood on our faces,
overbearing,
we can't get out.
We are murderers,
we kill with scape goat words

Beasts

by

Lindsay O'Connor

Everyone is born,
chained to a beast.
shackled
cuffed,
tied up.
Fangs grow from its head,
its eyes as blank as your pain.
And you never know when to kill it,
it rarley ever sleeps.
The beast bleeds
it laughs when it bites you.
It's always hungry.
Screaming,
crying,
sweating,
you give up.
The beast claws at you.
You stare at the links of steel.....

"Perhapse I can break the chains...."

No poor prisoner,
you'll never escape.
The beast is like your guard,
yet it does not protect,
it harms.
Spontanious,
rapid,
quick,
relentless
the beast has no mercy.
Relentlessly attacking you,
when ever you hold hope in your chest.
The beast never rests.
everone is in pain when the are born.
Beasts are imune to your drugs,
your pain,
your tears,
your pleys,
your hates,
your loves,
your confidance,
your anger,
your fears.
The beast is chained to you,
grinding chains into your spine.
Skin is like leather,
yet your tears can penetrate your emotions.
The beast appears
the beast rips at your soul.
Yet you accept this,
it's been with you since birth.
It's known you linger than you've known your self.
It knows;
your fears,
your loves,
your tears,
your pain,
your anger
your lusts,
your everything.
It knows you,
it breathes you,
it lives on your blood,
it augments and augulates in your stomach
it grows under your skin.
It is imune to your efforts to try and destory it.
Beasts live within you.
The are chained to you,
ripping,
bleeding,
snapping,
breaking,
beasts destroy you.
Everyone is born with this living disease.
fight it,
hit it,
smother it,
beat it,
drug it,
kill it
with your imagination.
Pretend you are seperate from it
imagine you are alone.
Kill it with pictures that will never exist.
It's chained to you forever,
never aleiviating the pain.
It knows your pain,
It is your pain.
It knows you.
It thrives on your adrenaline.
It is your fear,
your anxiety,
your pain,
your drug habbit,
your fear,
your hatred
your ignorance,
your anger.
It is what you hate,
yet the beast is part of you.
YOu hate yourself,
you kill yourself.
But you were born with it,
you must allow it to live.
YOu cannot slay it,
or you slay yourself.
Thriving,
surviving,
living,
breathing,
it is what you are.
You are it,
it is you,
chained to you,
bleeding you,
milking your skin.
And never will you get rid of it,
it will always be in your life.
Kiss this beast,
love this beast,
never shall it be anything more than whay you are.
YOu must be it,
breathe it,
see with it,
be in it,
feel it,
taste it,
touch it,
be one with it.
It was with you since your first glimpse of light.
It was with you when you first knew your name.
The beast is chained to you,
never leaving your side.
Never alone,
you are with the ugly beast forever.
It hurts you
yet you hurt yourself.
Move on,
breathe on,
look on,
mother,
father,
sister,
brother,
you.
Beasts exist,
because we do.
kill yourself
kill the beast.
don't lose the game
beasts are the masters
don't the a slave
persevere
strength
time
curage
daydreams
breathe
in
out
beasts
you
I
close

Subserviance

by

Lindsay O'Connor

And I shake
because it breaks me
fills the silence with screems
draws the sweat to my hands
I force on it,
trying to releive the pressure,
emanating from where it derrives,
it shakes the cave.
Death being a welcomed cycle,
I beg and yearn
for the quake to subside.
Yet the seconds pass so slowly
I feel them ticking in my veins.
And yes I know it will get me,
has it ever slept?
It lurks
and I beg
because I am on my knees
subserviant.
And i bow to the embarassment.
If i could reach out with out breaking my arms,
I would grasp it
and end it.
The blood under my nails
would be the trophy
of my victory.
And i would cry
over the loss of my
slavery.

nothing

by

Lindsay O'Connor

It feels like
something's gonna break through.
It keeps building
and building
and building,
eventualy i will be dead.
Maybe I could kill it,
ever so gently a release.
Either now
or never again.
Are blood and pain
worth the price
of my life?

Four lips , four hands

by

Lindsay O'Connor

You touched my cheek
like night time vanishing from closeness
removing my darkness
is the hand of desire.

You fondel the rough edges
My sunset reverses
birthing the sounds of aleviation
four lips, four hands

Finger tips practice their course
They chase, they awaken
remembering sent of skin
pressing themselves to redlips

Lips express their emotions
Seeking out the thirsty to feed
Emanating with their own agenda
They relentlessly beg for intimacy

Light permiates through glass and abosorbs the image
Fast and sudden
night controlls all
in crystal memory
four lips, four hands

The ambiance of what is known

by

Lindsay O'Connor

"Out,out! brief candel",
Sufforcating are my dreams.
A comfortable and intimate death,
Is my Alamo.
I slowly exhail.
Time lamentates,
Its tears are my heart's throb.
"Out, out-"
This becomes abrupt,
And final as a murder's decision;
A finality I've allowed.
Release.
The truth becomes evident.

Foot steps

by

Lindsay O'Connor

Footsteps are evil.
They transfer,
They create space.
They distance my words
>From your ears.
Footsteps laugh,
Because they know
That my sounds can not follow.
They Create a transparent door,
Yet my words have no hand;
They have no power
While Footsteps
Allow motion to empower.
One,
Follow,
Another,
Follow,
Repeat.
Now silence.
My words have hung themselves in the air,
They are dead.
Their ambiance only leaving remembrance
On the deliverer:
Me.
Footsteps carry bodies,
They are their own soul and entity.
Yet the reflection of such a morbid action,
Clings to the body that receives this sadistic motion.
And I,
Shredded strands of emotion,
Stare at my words,
Dangling,
Lifelessly swaying limply,
And put their corpses in my baggage,
And allow the repetition of
Foot steps
To deport me to my misery.

My self Definition

by

Lindsay O'Connor

It�s amazing how I am tested in will of mind and soul.
I am weak within and bloated and robust sandpaper Venus flytrap exterior.
Ice with smoke emanating from my windows placed in my head, in which I see through,
All I see are you all.
Circulating the venom through my veins is my heart of divine meat.
It�s vibrant with tenderness, strong with ambiguous intent to keep moving.
Hair of vines that have split twigs at the bottom,
And exact connotation of what I am grows from my stomach;
This center area is where I possess this definition of I,
This center area is where I get beat.
The weakest spot, the most tender surplex,
My self-definition is meaded and slapped with meat tenderizers,
Leaving scars bleeding like the sliced and alleviated belly of a goat.
This is where I instill my truthful pain,
This is where I concentrate my insecurity.
This is where you bleed me.
The knowledge of what I am augments here like a penatrateable thin lining of flesh-
Like that of a sandwich bag.
This is why I hunch my spine over into an almost ugly curve.
I carry a plastic bag of priceless pain,
Special to me,
Worthless to anyone else.
I have to protect this, I have to shield this from the possibility of combusting a small
Placenta of myself meaning.
And I could milk this bag,
As it is visible like the utters of a cow.
I could puncture it, embering small droplets of mucus and blood.
I could let the most insignificant amount of emotion present it�s self to you all.
But I will not.
I am sandpaper Venus flytrap;
Rough exterior,
And exfoliated, slim interior.
Yet I shall never harm my bag, it�s the barer of what I am and who I will become.
I am sandpaper Venus flytrap.
I never yield to poison
I never yield to weeds.
I thrive because I like to torture the thriving
And I cradle my pain.

I breathe my love beautiful

by

Lindsay O'Connor

I breathe my love beautiful.
Whose solidifying presence,
ecumbers me with flesh on flesh phycology.

I drink my love beautiful.
The engirthment of what I am,
is what he shows me,
discurrupts my self-defined flaws,
coats my soul with the sent of human sweat,
tears and blood,
while aleiviating the claws of lonliness.

I internalize my love beautiful.
Gental hand on gental face,
belly to belly,
swell inside swell.
The knowledge of what I am
becomes the reality of what we are,
together and apart.

I am my love beautiful.
Allowing sight to rapture us in a bind,
and the differnces to fuse;
To fiber brown finger embracing hair,
with brown finger embracing hair.
To melt smooth fresh ivory flesh,
with smooth fresh ivory flesh.
To empress finger prints on where we touch,
to leave remembrance rather than memory.
And to become not you or I,
but us.

Torture

by

Lindsay O'Connor

He came 'round 8 pm like he always did to get his paper.
He said his hello's
he sais his goodbye's
He opend the paper,
read it then sulked.
"Where is she?" was the only sentence in his synapse.

It stayed with him all day.
He went to work,
wrote his letters
went to his meetings
but could only breathe "Where is she?"

He drove his car home that evening 'round 5pm.
He got his dress shirts from the cleaners as usual.
He said his hello's
he said his goodbyes.
He hummed, he purged, "Where is she?"

He went home.
And he saw what his money was able to but through empty eyes.
He sulked and he sighed "where is she?"

He showerd .
He went to bed,
he awoke 'round 6 am.
He came 'round at 8am to like he usualy did to get his paper.
He said his goodbyes.
But neglected his hellos and went to work.

He played with "where is she" untill he could sing them.
He wrote his letters,
he went to his meetings,
and when asked to present his proposal,
he sang like a mocking bird;
"Where is she?"
He was fired.

He went home 'round 5pm.
He went to the cleaners to get his dress shirts like usual.
He said his hellos.
Forgot his goodbyes
and went home.

He was drentched in self hate.
For he could not ponder anything else besides, "where is she?"
He saw the barrel of the gun laughing at him.
It too sang "where is she?"

"where is she? Where is she?"
He sang while he showerd,
and went to bed.

He awoke 'round 8 am.
He forgot his paper.
He only had the old one from the previous day.

He sat in his chair.
Rocking back and forth.
"where is she?"
He carved this in his arm.

He forgot his dress shirts from the cleaners at 5pm.
He just stared at the barrel of the gun on the table.
He whimperd "where is she?"
He wailed "where is she?"
He picked up the gun.
Then she walked in and laughed.
She took the gun.
Then she left.

Remembrance

by

Lindsay O'Connor

I used to watch my mother put on make-up.
I would sit behind the old wicker chair she was perched in
and I would watch her try.
She would hum to herself a tune only familiar to her, and keep the words within.
She would tap her bare toes on the wooden floor,
she would pat her thigh with her worked fingers,
she could paint her own scenery,
but the images would stay within.

I used watch my mother get dressed.
I would hide behind the old brown door that separated me from her.
She was so exact.
Stocking over bruised leg,
stocking over bruised leg,
slip over bruised body,
dress over slip.
She would hum to herself a tune only familiar to her,
keeping the words within.
She would hold onto an invisible man,
and she would twirl and
she would twirl.
She could create her own game,
but she held the laughing within.

I used to watch my mother sit on the wooden floor that I sat on, down at my level.
She was so still.
Crimson blood crying from her nose,
crimsion blood crying down her breast,
crimsion blood meeting the floor.
She would hum to herself a tune only familiar to her, keeping the words within.
She would look in my eyes,
into the obvious confusion I caged
and she would soothe me,
and she would soothe me.
She could manifest a new life,
but she held the wishes within.

I used to watch my mother sleeping on the floor.
I never understood how she could sleep with her blue
eyes open.
She looked so cold.
She would hum to herself a tune only familiar to her, keeping the words within.
And she and I would embrace,
and she and I would embrace.
And I would fall asleep , yet I struggled to stay awake to watch her.
I would wake up to pounding,
I would wake up to masculine pounding.
I wish she could expell the terror,
but she held the pleading within.

And I wonder how many worlds she held within.
And I wonder how many tears she held within.
And I wonder if she ever knew I was watching her.
And I wonder if the tune she humed even had words.

il senso di non appartenenza domina la mia esistenza

Pale November

by

Lindsay O'Connor

Oh, you're so pale November
oh my love but i wear your time like a dress
I feel your whispering cold season on my skin
the leaves falling down mirror my distress.
The hallow air carved out my heart
only echos of a rythm of a song once sung
resounds where the winter must start.

And november you are there
when all my armor must collapse down into a pile at my feet
I breathe you november
as i hold his head in my lap
while i sing him to sleep.
And all these leaves I must walk on
compose the song I have to sing
of a dry, cold november sting
and the soft soil beneath my feet.

Oh, November you are a stolen season
you yawn and stretch across me
a tighter embrace than my own skin, a meaningless teasing.
Oh my love you are horrid
you go along just as a water lily
drifting in the blue, no remembrance of moving forward.
And all my steel must come down
after the summer's play
and after autumn's sounds
because you are here november
my only heart beat

And november you are there
when all my armor must collapse down into a pile at my feet
I breathe you november
as i hold his head in my lap
while i sing him to sleep.
And all these leaves I must walk on
compose the song I have to sing
of a dry, cold november sting
and the soft soil beneath my feet.

Nudity

by

Lindsay O'Connor

so rare a time when my skin is so visibly stripped away.
No blood or lost water emanates from under this peeled skin.
Slowly removed it is, and I wither with out sounds escaping
my pale lungs.
I am so nervous.
The skin peels slowly.
My shield is being disintegrated, it leaves me bare.
So clean and pink my real skin is without sheilds.
I lay on the World's cement.
The rain of so much pure undilluted pain burns my real skin,
While my encasing is washed away in the sea of painful tears.

In this river I lie;
Still,
Withering,
Convulsing.
I have never been naked, not like this.
The eyes thrown upon me draw shame into my raw bleeding heart.
Where have I been since nudity of the emotions is such a sin?
The dawn of so many generations of humans was nudity of the soul.
So much raw emotion and temptation,
Bled with profuse lamentation of the knowledge that soon
shame would become the law.
I had not been naked at the time-
My shield-skin was growing thicker than I had anticipated.

But there was that one day where I ripped a whole in my shield,
I saw what was beneath.
In discust, I coverd my whole with my sleeve.
But now,
I have shed my skin,
And I lie awake, more sensitive to this rain than ever before.

The stares heighten, but I realize they cannot affect me.
This raw,
Scabbed,
Bleeding,
Real sink of mine has been;
Stabbed,
Insulted,
Yelled at,
Shot at with words too sharp to have meaning.
Yet I absorb these stares.
The strength from this skin becoming fore of my sheild,
Than my real shield ever
Was.

The words with their sharp tones were able to stab me,
His fists were able to break my spine.
But this real skin will never fall short of triumph.

It is with great sun emanating power I have grasped the realization of
Raw power.
no sheilds can ever replace the wonder of true and pure
splendor of
Nakedness.
The wonder that brusied body and emotions can create
Is what words cannot write.
This shield,
This encasing
Has been washed away in these tears.
And yet I lie here,
smiling.
Without my shield,
I am I,
I am what meaning has no law in;
pure
Raw and
Shieldless.

Puya(retro y oasis)

by

Lindsay O'Connor

(escucha al mensaje, en vez de leando las parablas)

Corre el tiempo
nunca te va esperar.
sopla el viento.
La bria te anuncia,
lo que te llegara.
Y ceirras los ojos.
Prefieres recordar, prefieres recordar,
A tenerte que enfretar
A tenerte que enfretar....
Sociedad, te canto a ti,
no te me tapes los odios, me vas a oir.
Y,
despues de haber andado por todo el desierto,
buscando, buscando buscando lo que aun no encuentro.
Ahora lo que siento es una sed que mi me quema por dentro.
yo lo se.
Aqui esta lo que busco lo que yo busco
ahora es que lo vengo a entender.
Paso el tiemp sin haber llenado el vacio.
La etapa de encontrar lo que siempre cerca he podido ver.
La distancia es corta erso este viaje la empieza a extender.
Oasis, aqui esta nuestra baase.
Oasis, es aqui donde nace el sondido del futuro.

I have my father's eyes , they tell me.

by

Lindsay O'Connor

They tell me many things.
Things they tell me run from;
this and that,
sometime and anytime,
why and because.
But they tell me this,
and this I shudder at:
they tell me I have my father's eyes.

Palled at this, I regress back into myself,
rather than exploring why.
It is easier,
she told me,
to fear than it is to learn.
And I agree,
that is why I am terrified.

When they tell me this,
I run.
I run into this dark cave within.
How dare they?
I can blame,
she told me,
I can blame because it's the process of naming enemies.
I agree,
that is why I shake my fist.

As is sit with in,
I shake.
I pray the thoughts of him will sleep.
I am allowed to pretend,
she told me,
I am allowed to pretend because it allows me to strengthen my mind before I must confront.
I agree,
that is why I can sleep at night.

The night is difficult to sleep through once the pretending fades.
MY eyes close,
and all I see is His.
But I don't. I only posses my eyes.
And I deny,
she told me,
I deny because denial is the first step to acceptance.
And I agree,
that is why I only can fathom myself, no one else.

But the nights are getting shorter.
And lights keep reflecting in this cave.
Something is emanating within this cave.
I see reflections of myself-
and MY eyes.
I am getting curious
so I find myself walking up to the reflections on the wall and touching them.
I feel flesh beneath the light that I penetrate with my fingertips.

I regress.
Flesh on flesh.
Flesh that is not mine,
yet still familiar to mine.
Same texture,
same shade of paleness.
Yet all I see is myself on these walls.....
and a figure on a wall in the back of the cave.
Not of the long hair I posses,
yet chocolate brown all the same.
Not of the red pout of lips I posses,
yet prominent fullness all the same.
Not of the breasts I posses,
yet a robust breastbone all the same.
Not of the hips I posses,
yet a strong stature all the same.
But of the blue eyes I posses,
deep indigo oceans all the same.

No. No.
I Will not accept this.
No one is within.
No one is present but me.
I must get out,
yet it is too dangerous outside of myself.
I have to remain.
Some how I must be willing to explore this.

So I continue to feel this wall in the back of my cave.
Some how I sense it has been here,
yet I am not sure for how long.
This wall is reflecting someone,
yet it is not me.

I walk,
it follows.
I scream,
it follows.
I cry,
it follows.
I laugh,
it follows.
I sing,
it follows
It hits.
But I did not agitate the action.
I did not.
It pounded as if it were breathing rage on its own.
I do not seem to posses this within.
All other actions are reflections,
yet.....

But oh, the eyes.
They tell so much of where they originate.
The only ember of color in here is within the outline of the eyes.
A deep, blue sadness,
A retched and painful royalty of blue permeates in this figure.
I have not noticed this blue in my own eyes,
Yet this is because I do not look upon mirror to tell me truth.
Fear.

I touch the blue.
It is a cold biting sting.
The figure raises its hand.

What have I awakened?
There is a sudden knock on my cave door.
I back away from the reflection.
Now I run as though my legs are an entity of their own.
I reach for the door handle to my cave,
Not looking behind me.

They tell me this thing.
I don�t deny,
Although I have the right.
I don�t blame,
Although she told me I could.
I don�t hide anymore,
Although the cave is still present.

And I know that within the cave,
There it is.
It is there because I have allowed myself to know it is there.
I no longer cry when they tell me this,
Because I know truth is would stab me from within.
She once told me that I had her eyes,
Deep set on a blue oblivion.
But I disagree.

the door

by

Lindsay O'Connor

Then I heard it coming from upstairs again.
My heart quickened,
I jumped up and stubbed my toe on the frame of tin.
I cursed then cradled my naked body
too frightened to cover,
I shivered and sighed loudly.

Ever so silent I was as he laid where he slept
out in into the hallway
and down it I crept.
Then I heard it coming from upstairs again.
Should I continue with no one awake in the din?
But be it may,
I am not afraid,
I must be brave.

Up the step, and up the step
I heard his snoring while I crept.
The light from the moon escaped from this place,
now darkness dominated, no light upon my face.

So, naked as a babe
and quiet as a mouse,
I shivered toward what I believe was the top,
the top of the stair and the house.
My toes tapped the wood
my toes rapped the wood
I cut through the darkness
but suddenly I stopped and just stood.

Then I heard the silence.
It's deafening cry
and it's finger tips on my thigh,
and it's color of emptiness
(Have you ever met darkness?
i have met it many times, but you can only be graced with its presence, if you are naked. Naked not only of clothing, but everything. My love darkness, my love is fatigued. It gives and gives and gives its arms everynight, yet it gets nothing in return but scared childern and sinful behaviour. Oh, but yes I have met night,I have spoken with it one as well,-have I told you of its voice?-, much too beautiful to describe though, go look for your night. Oh, my love, my love...)
made me want to retreat,
but there was no motion in my feet.

So I stood naked, I had just been born.
Though not through my mother, I had just torn,
there was something else there-
not like the presence of fingers in my hair,
but a provocative yearning,
a burning, a churning, a devilish yearning,
to keep up the stair,
no fear, even though he was not there,
and I continued on my way.

No clothes or robe I was all alone,
though I was not cold.
I reach'd the door,
opened it,
and I heard it no more.

So happy that 'twas not a bat,
I almost missed the fact,
that I had locked up my cat,
in the dark attic room.
She ignored me,
to put emphasis on her desperate pleas,
but soon nuzzled at me,
so then I bent at the knee
and into my arms she went.

I held onto her for warmth,
yet I did not close the door,
and continued down the way.
Into the bed I fell,
I must've been up there for long, the clock would tell,
and his breathing was shallow.
So I closed my eyes,
warm finger tips on my thighs,
warmth embracing me once again,
then his arms were lent,
moon light singing a song,
(god, I wish i knew the words, I would have sung along,
one my mother used to sing, in my head it ringed,
though the snoring was much too loud, for me to allow my voice to be unshrou'd. Though I must reveil modesty- my jagged voice- it is molasses, oh like bitter honey,
but rich all the same, so long, so november, so long, so long my indigo moon.... )
cat on the floor,
yet i still breathed that door-

but darkness soon bludgeoned me,
to render me memory-less, carefully
but that door is still open.

I know you

by

Lindsay O'Connor

I breathe it
I see this
agitation, recognition, dilapidation
Scarification
I am being stabbed
day by day the knife turns
to the right
force on it
turn it to the left
This is not synoptical
this is natural
this is primal
this is torture.
I think you are a masochist
you like my pain
my tears are like acid
and you drink them all
but in the end I am the one who
burns.
Change it
this is medieval
move it twist the knife
this is a dark nursery rhyme, but aren't they all?

I have no limbs
the are all
defecating, lacerated, decaying, festered,
overbearing
I can no longer take it
I am lost
in this buried cage
I have never been so diluted
I have never seen so secluded.
Move my knife an inch to the left.

You roll me up in a ball of flesh and bones,
it doesn't matter anyway
you can never get me subservient enough.
Just lacerate
to tantalite

I know you like this
I cant even work the marrow in my hands
to make a fist.
Its becoming arduous
to make it shrouded that I have feelings.

Oh, I can feel the knife,
but would I care if I perished in here like a corpse?
No.
In fact
make it last
make it slow
I want to see how long you can stand
to tear at me
to reap at me
to rape at me'
I know you can't

My expectations are low anyway,
there's really nothing to present to me
I haven't already seen.
I know fear,
I've eaten it,
beaten it,
and needed it more times than you will ever know.
I've known pain,
I've given it
been in it
been it.

It's getting deeper
twist it more
move it slightly to the right
get my lung
I don't need it anyway
you'll never hear me scream
And another thing
take my eyes too
you think I need them to know you?
I can understand you
just by feeling blood leave
me.
Oh and you're good too.
You are so good
at being vacant
apathetic
pathetic
keep your absence at bay,
it'll never phase me,
I am a resilient cadaver.

Just twist the knife
move it to the left
move it to the left
I beg you.
But be sure to make it slow
I know you will.
It's becoming clear all my functions
are slowing.
I still know you though
I need you
to harm me
so I will await for your next
preverbal stab
and while you're at it
don't forget to sharpen more knives.

Purity

by

Lindsay O'Connor

Purity

Maze...psychopathic daze...I create this waste
Back away from tangents, on the verge of drastic
ways...can't escape this place...I deny your face
Sweat gets in my eyes, I think I'm slowly dying

Put me in a homemade cellar
Put me in a hole for shelter
Someone hear me please, all I see is hate
I can hardly breathe, and I can hardly take it

Hands on my face overbearing I can't get out

Lost...ran at my own cost...hearing laughter, scoffed
Learning from the rush, detached from such and such
Bleak...all around me, weak...listening, incomplete
I am not a dog, but I'm the one your dogging

I am in a buried kennel
I have never felt so final
Someone find me please, losing all reserve
I am fucking gone, I think I'm fucking dying

Hands on my face overbearing I can't get out

You all stare, but you'll never see
There is something inside me
There is something in you I despise

Cut me - show me - enter - I am
willing and able and never any danger to myself
Knowledge in my pain, knowledge in my pain
Or was my tolerance a phase?
Empathy, out of my way
I can't die

Purity