in detroit carving your name into corroded car bodies.
be back soon.
send pictures soon
no one loves me has been made by andre jordan and reclaiming imogen to capture things unloved.
Please send us photos of the things that no one loves in your world astronautsandaliens@gmail.com . Be sure to include your name and a link to your site.
Click here to see your pictures: take away
sometimes i wonder what it feels like to be you. search the pockets of my mouth. the hard palate. to arch this ache that is me left without. you aren't there. in any sheet fold. when i roll the bed to blindness. and when i wake. you aren't there. only a stung tongue and nightmare dreams of liquid cake. of bird attacks. and red lacquered finger tips. all night long my eyes plucked out to toss the turn. the broken bulb. and you. every medicine cabinet morning. needs to catch. the mirror mocking gape.
yesterday i purchased a handbag to match my underwear
aside from the alcoholism
and the eating disorders
you so wish i was yours.
always
x
imogen
woke up this morning to find my right arm completely dead. rolled over and looked at you and thought. you.
you stupid fucking bastard.
i've been writing you a letter. sometimes it begins
everything always turns out this way. i've forgotten you. again. like you were dead or i'd been drinking a lot.
sometimes, it doesn't
if love were inexplicable like shotgun shells and the way your eyelashes feel against my spine late nights then
i've been seeing someone else
no. again. that's no way to begin.
then, jesusfuck. can't you see. you
and maybe i've been drunk enough
let down enough
cried stupid and dry more than enough
maybe this is the end
used to believe we were
valid excuses for a relationship
if you can see. what i mean.
Moments, these days, wait too long. The stultifying way time shatters. Leaves memories like spies. To shift the then sound of the phone cord or the steeping of tea or the touch of my skin on your skin that drives days dark. That find me, at my very best, reproachable. I try to hold onto your perfect almond eyes. The pitch of your laughter in cold dark rooms. But why does everything always shift? Until you are spider's legs and butterfly wings. Broken promises. And plaster dolls with real-fucking-pucker-lipped-baby faces. And I. And I am one divine hammer.
Can't think, anymore. Can't move to wake shaking in the night. Alone. Not alone. It doesn't matter anymore. And when I think about you, out there, here. It's enough to lose faith in the reality of spinning earths and recipes for cake. When I wake in the night to the sound of my own voice screaming. Instead it's not-you. familar as throwing-up holiday dinners. and being noondrunk on sundays. nightmouth cruel. turn me tightlipped.dumbfound.thoughts. shiver me. anymore.
