Champagne 

Hmn, self control is usually
a virtue of mine, but with
lashes as dark as tonight,
when your touch is ablaze,
I’d rather drift my 
tongue across your fingertips 
part lips for danger or perhaps
taste the salt on your shoulder. 

Words of champagne. 
Sham
Pain.

Shame,
Shame,
Shame.
 

BIATA

Stargazing

They don’t move much, 
they just sort of shimmer up there. 
The sky is as black as coal, 
the stars remind me of little glowing
embers. 

Come to think of it
I can’t remember a single constellation, 
I wish I would’ve read more on that. 
Idiot.

That’s it 
I’ve had enough,
it should’ve happened already. 
I’m giving up on this entirely. 
I’m going inside. 

– but what if you miss your chance? 
What if that’s all it takes to miss
something absolutely insane go down?

I fantasize of it often,
from my peripheral,
my eye just sharp enough amongst 
the masses of those not paying
attention 
to catch a glimpse of something
spectacular. 

Ah, but who am I kidding. 
The magic in this beaten word only
exists
if you create it, 
so we all might as well keep playing
pretend.

However
if I ever do go missing,
it’s definitely because 
I’ve been trying
desperately 
to communicate 
with the aliens.  

BIATA

Silver Spoons

Silver spoons still rust,
the waste is inevitable,
or so they say,
they say you’re supposed
to buy a nice car and
spruce yourself up. 

That’s the purpose of
life. That’s your only
hope.
 

Do not marry someone
if they cannot adorn you in
elegance, jewelry, plane
tickets, land 

– and noone will love you with
a tongue like that, young lady. 

Do you know how most of my 
evenings were spent?
Do you want a little taste
of my so called upper-hand?

Idled silence, ritualistic
beatings 
on the family punching bag,
the girl who couldn’t 
be better,
act better,
think better,
do better. 

You’ll live in a van down by
the river. 
What if I want to?

I sat there in a stupor,
confused and degraded,
I tasted liquor for the first
time and all it reminded
me of was guilt. 

I liked dirty hands and 
a room full of curious
misfits over an adorning
masquerade lined with 
treachery and lies. 

The American dream is a damn
fraud. And it turns people sick

I liked the beauty of the street
lights. 
I wanted to roll around
and experiment,
let it teach
me a thing or two.
I wanted to think and
feel and bleed and fuck –

but it wasn’t ladylike
It wasn’t appropriate
So here I am, a lady,
nothing less, and nothing
more. 

And I’m livid. 
That I never knew true
affection, or a pleasant
touch.  

I never learned how to trust
a man or how to take care
of myself or talk myself
up when I was insecure. 

I’ve been set back so many
decades,
by this fucking spoon. 
So many years wasted,
so many horrible memories 
stilled in black and white
polaroids I can never burn. 

I’m sad, albeit a little 
broken still, trying to find
my true identity past a
a pair of heels and pretty
words. 

But silver spoons 
still rust. 
Especially 
when you
spit
them 
out. 

BIATA, ‘have patience, I’m still learning

I could sit here and stare at the pages,
try to make sense of the nostalgia,
the hidden agendas draw me in like 
a treasure map. 

I’m a creature of habit, love, 
I like my nights dark,
my drinks stiff,
and my mind
open. 

BIATA

Dark

I’ve a very dark sense of humor,
sarcasm lining my tongue,
bordering desolate realism 
with every word I mutter. 

Most don’t crack a smile,
they don’t know what to do. 
I don’t know what to do,
either. 

I suppose 
that’s why 
alcohol
was created. 

BIATA

The Theatre In My Mind

In one swift flip of the scene 
the entire empire comes 
crashing down,
it falls to combustion,
the flames lick up the curtains. 

They burst through a 
hole in the center, 
unsuspecting audience spat
in hellfire. 
‘Fin’

The credits begin rolling. 

One pile a bones turns to the other,
amongst the carnage and chaos 
dancing in the black pit of a socket. 

‘Well great, now we’ll never get a 
sequel.’
‘The only thing you and I were ever 
bound to get was a beer.’

BIATA