good fortune

locked up

nowhere to go haunted

by memories they

discovered the story inside

desperate to be written

you could call it

good fortune

#katyamills

paper.cut

I gotta paper cut off a flyer I was distributing. The walls were papered blue. I had nothin better to do than let it bleed until a friend of mine could wrap my finger around a bandaid. It felt a little like getting your fingertips pressed in ink. Except this time someone cared about you.

the turnaround

i crash and burn
my world falls
down
i get right up
then turn
around

a letter from a jailhouse
jay-cat
tries to work behind
the tired eyes

take me down
from Dubai heights

strip my inhibition
stark naked
hollering
mad

far
from sunlight

to depths below
the dolomites

recessed
in death's sincere sound
of silence

pervasive and persuasive
fears of senseless
resounding
violence

i'm lost already
in tomorrow's retribution

the fantasy labyrinthine
of my furious
mind

identity theft

Home. eleven hundred hours
symphonic birds.
eleven thousand drops of local rain.
my blood stains the inside of my skin.

my fingerprint I print it.
i scan it into my computer.
i post it, like a fool.
it got reshares. links.
i get plussed i get
non-plussed.

cross my heart i
hope to live. 

Someone stole my identity. how could they?
Someone stole my identity. who am I?
My fingerprint pressed into glass. my labyrinth
I cannot translate myself to me. must learn braille.

I get down on my knees
and pray but who am I
praying I know who I am
praying to and toward 
dear God!

Someone stole my identity.
They will get caught and go to jail.
With my identity.
That's me! In jail? Oh no!
I am innocent!
I swear!


The kindred spirits call.
Jim Morrison walks on down
the hall. He sees me at the end, or
I see him but who am I?
some consumer of the doors
my ego falls four floors.


Work.
I work it, girl.
I go, girl, go girl. who am i?

am i worth my weight in
gold I feel so
old I know I am too
young to feel so old.

Kurt Cobain has a shotgun in his mouth.
toe searches for the trigger.
a hooded bone, numb and blunted, searching for a way out.

Don't do it!
Here we are now.
Entertain us.

Courtney Hole fell in one.

Pablo Escobar went down fighting.
They named a chocolate bar after him.
Called it esss-co-bar.
It was made from 50% cacao.
50% co-cai-een.

Without yourself, you can do anything with
you. You can shoot speedballs in your arms and legs,
and between your toes.
Hooded bones. Groping for a trigger.
Blind in the alleyways of life.
Searching for a way out.
Going down fighting.

Fallen into holes.
Dancing poles.
Gone down.
Fighting.
Toes.

Someone stole my identity.
It took five years to get it back.
Many letters to the bank.
Trying to restore my credit.
Actor out on loan.
To the head. Cellular phone.
Lick the bone.
Clean.

Fingerprinted.
Clean.

Ready to work. again.
eleven hundred hours
symphonic birds. blood stains.
it was me. again.
someone stole my identity.
eleven thousand drops of local rain
someone stole my identity...

it was me