This bed is a ship

This bed is a ship is a sporadically updated internet journal, 
a home for odd scraps of writing.

i tried to write about everything i was thankful for, but i kept coming back to the way i want to hit you in the mouth. cheap whiskey in a dark alley, the world all moaning out around our heads. i tried to build a fragile thing, but then i broke it on purpose. your crooked teeth littering my bed sheets. 

i tried to find a hand to hold and found a telephone ringing at the bottom of a well. a coal mine, a coal miner, a minor key, a wet drag, a loose leaf, i said get me my memory for christmas. when I dream I still look like I’m fifteen years old.

everything in scraps and patches, the world disintegrating in the palm of your lap. i will suck dick at sunrise and i will remember to check the mail. my meter is running over your lips and i can’t remember what language is. enumerate the pieces of your body and tell me they are mine. your hair falling in the bathroom sink. every woman who ever left me. the sea.

stay up all night telling lies and tell me what the morning thinks. my father has gone to the south, my hair is turning white. i am always falling five percent in love.

Sid BrancaComment