Sick Sonnets and Pretty Eyed Suicides

This is the fiction I live.

It’s not too late to try again.
My moods are so f*****g contagious.
I’ll peel away my skin and start all over.
A brand new face makes the strangers seem not so strange.

I’ve been here before. Where am I coming from?
A misunderstanding is an understatement.
Foreign diseases disintegrate my bones.
It’s sick and it’s disgusting, this emotion that eats at me.

Five years and I haven’t figured it out yet.
Five years and I’m still screaming, "This isn’t right, it hurts far too much!
And why can’t I get this ink off my hands?!"

Bright blue eyes pull me from the floor and pin me to a wall.
"The emotion is adoration. The ink’s your own confession. This is what happens to the fools who fall in love," he whispers.
"It’s just you and me now! Let’s celebrate darling," I say with a smile.

"It was always you and I. Your memory must be foggy.
My affection is for you. But does it really matter?
You can count your last minutes on one hand,
your f*****g bloody hand."

"It could’ve been different, darling, we could’ve lived together forever."
He presses his lips to mine – the taste sends me into shock.
He mutters underneath a grin, "It’s quiet when you fade away."
We’re two peas in a pod and we’ll die red-handed and in love."

 

-the Kate Vegas
March 26^th, ’08

 

 

 

©Kate Vegas

Reviews

[J. Swaney]

I've been here before. [Where am I coming from?]

I would cut the part that I have enclosed above.

Bright blue eyes pull me from the floor and pin me to a wall. *** Excellent Line !

I have read quite a bit of your work this morning and appreciate your dedication to our craft.

[e-mail]

p.s. Don't you hate finding a big gob of phlem in your throat in the morning?