(dedicated to the object of a famous, unrequited obsession from L.A.)
Who are you?
made of sadness and animus.
a drug-induced desire
to be real and beautiful.
To be heard and touched
and felt and spoken through?
Like the screen apocalypses
of this century.
Who are you?
but a figment of image and sound
and deadly love on tumblr.
a public object of anonymous ardor
and suicidal sentiments of the gut
Who are you, really?
A dirty story with all your
limbs fitting sad girls in the right places?
A paper knight with the cure to
teenage death and body dysmorphia?
Who are you?
but small, trembling emails
and lesser known hands
wanting to touch your chest
or a memory
who are you?
Twin god
formed within Goddess Internet
and her womb of a tomb.
Who are you, my beloved?
But I, in another lifetime.
A creature without memory
but for your lips
that speak soft fire
across the numbers of time.
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