blood sugar sex magik (explicit) - red/hot chili peppers

you call yourself strong
while the tears stay inside

keeping the blue
inside

and you can't see past the red
lights of the cars in front of you

and you drive away before the porcelain cracks
and you fill up with words

that never made your lungs
feel full until now

and your fingers are cold
and so are your toes

like they're blue
like they're going back to blue

and he walked away
and you don't know

where he went
and you don't care

about him driving stick
in your automatic

even though you remember
passing every red

light in front of you
every red

light falling
behind you

so you just adjust the rearview mirror
push your seat forward again

so you stop worrying what color your car is and
what color your heart is

because they're both
just fucking red

because everything's
just fucking red

and you worry about the cracked skin
on your knuckles

how the cracks are red

and they're different
from the cracks in the skin of his

but they're fucking red
too

and you remember the
good songs that remind you

of good times with people
who were bad for you

because you were good for them
and you're tired of being good for anyone

but yourself

because you're blue

you're fucking blue

and your lungs are full
and there's air
and you breathe in
and it's blue

your lungs are blue
even if your heart is red

and your car is red
and your knuckles are red

your lungs are blue

and you breathe
and you breathe
and you breathe
and you


--erin

i go outside sometimes partie deux

there are rivers underneath my skin
moving past the rocks in my chest
and smoothing out the branches of my spine
that dip into the current.

there's a set of footprints on my palm
jumping from head to heart
line
but avoiding my life
line.

clear skies in clear eyes
follow gaps between fingers
follow gaps between teeth
follow gaps between hearts
follow gaps between thighs.

there are trees growing from my fingertips
and the still branches taught me about love
and how to feel what my eyes can't see.

roses fall into place
between leaves and thorns
and hands fall into place
between rivers and trees

and the cool palm on my shoulder
breathes into the breeze
telling me to keep drawing cassiopeia on my arm
even if i can't find her throne in the sky.

i'm still watching for the moon,
letting her pull me with the tide,
washing my rivers into the oceans
and teaching me about the clouds
that hold me as i fall asleep.


--erin

"you've got a pretty kind of dirty face"

i'm knocking on blank doors everyday,
using dead flowers and scotch tape
to remember.

we've been watching our lungs on the big screen
like it was someone else's life.

the headlights only saw youth and love,
her breath hidden in his neck.

we haven't taken the 1975 off of repeat,
but we turned up the bass
because i like it when my ribs rattle
like my heart hasn't already fallen asleep.

we'll skip the saxophone
while you drop your lids
and your shouting mind.

just remember that the stars make
a more honest silver screen.

follow my eyes to the sky
and put your hands under your head
like you have nowhere to be.

lay back and watch
your lungs, my lungs,
like it was someone else's life.

smile,
like our hearts haven't already fallen asleep.

our lungs are moving through the stars
and it's no one's story
but ours.


--erin




(title is from "robbers" by the 1975)

cyclical

my bones felt like glass,
but they haven't broken yet,

and
her eyes are growing
and shrinking
along with the moon

and
her lungs are growing
and shrinking
along with the moon

and
her faith is growing
and shrinking
along with the moon

and
my bones are made of plastic.

i can beat
and
i can breathe

while she grows
and shrinks
along with the moon.

she thinks her bones are made of glass
and she thinks she is the moon,
but she hasn't broken yet.

i haven't broken yet.


--erin

rrrrrr

and they're dropping like flies
and i'm holding my heart
and you can't lie
about my bloodstains being art

the rings around your cheeks
match the ones on your fingers
and every time he speaks
your lungs won't stop to linger

watch yourself sink into the ashes
piling on the dust
mama's words will sting like acid
because she's calling it lust

"it's getting easier"
you say
"you're getting sleazier"
"okay"

looking down at your shoes
like they'll save you
they can't save you

looking down at your shoes
but i can't save you
he won't save you


--erin

basilica

you're walking around asking
the wrong questions
because people are always talking
about my red heart

but i'm thinking about my lungs
and i think they're pink
and that feels more important today.

i'm a monument
and you'll be visiting for years.
taking your pictures,
cameras strapped around your neck,
arch support keeping you on your feet,
sandwiches in your backpack.
(everything here is too damn expensive)

marble smooth as i never was,
velvet ropes keeping you from getting too close,
but the gold glittering at sunset
is worth battling the crowd.

they'll turn me into collectibles,
miniature and plastic.
a piece of my lungs watching from a dusty bookshelf
with a smile they never questioned.

remember the color of the sunset.
find the sunrise someday.

your lungs feel like home.


--erin