Skip to main content

CIGARETTES ARE KILLING ME — PLEASE HELP ME QUIT - Nia Di Gennaro


 

May 12, 2023

It’s easy to forget

The feeling of rooms

I’ve mourned 

The houses I’ve left

I've mourned

Sunday flowers 

Arranged in sepian


In a moment of lightness

I became a sponge for it

Airy 

And float

Over the embers of last nights fuckery


I’ve thought it correct to wake up sore

And wash the finery owned by old hands

Play slave

And grate

Play beaten ash

To one’s weight

Desire the boil of whip wounds

To Drug-On

Tick tombs

Slink into the corner cabinet

Lick wounds

Swallow mild feminist rubbish 

Delivered weak

Asinine dribble

Emerge moronic

Wet consume


Your tales of now

Help me to wake bitter

Spit hot superiority

Bullseye

To the back of a lovers throat

And stir

For years

And burn and shake 

In bled fury


It’s all very simple

We own no other

We possess nothing


But our bodies encased

But our actions, purposeful

But our spirits, fine


And all that happened

Was that he was tired

And wanted to rest beastly

The ailing joke -

He remained so

Blue moons after he woke


Slip and gorge

Gush and spit up

Spew up

Convulse 

And pull up

And note

The vexed affliction inside

The nightfall that would befall

Inside of me

The wicked thoughts

That flow fucky

Licorice whipping through my blood, hasty


Dull rouge 

Rough and blue

Rushing devastating waves

Running through me

Rushing through me

Ringing through me

Eating at me

Grating in me

Hating through me

Growing fawn 

Within me

Growling sorrel
In me

From in me

Forgive me

Give in to me

Live within me

Be in me

Protect me

To remedy me

Because of me

Anchor roots 

The whole way through me

Reach arms wide

Act as shade

Above me

To shadow me

To read me

To keep me

To feed me

Feed me

Fucking feed me

Take care of me

Flush and level through me

And glide past me

Drive past me

And melt

Like a second kiss

To the nostalgic rune of me

Hold remorse for me

Wave goodbye to me

Feel for me

Feel me

And be kind to me

Show pity on me

And suffer

With me

It's important

To suffer like me


And

Live beside me

And 

Leave from inside of me


Written by Nia Di Gennaro

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

16mm Situated - Sloan James

  MARCH 11, 2023 Share Image credit: Still from "Tired snail eyes look around on a jog home" —  courtesy of  Lucas Haynes   16mm Situated 28-February-2023     Staving off the lower back pain of a man muddling middle age. But that would mean death at... never mind. The dull and dim concoction of nicotine, Endone, Turkey 101 and THC doesn't quell too much. I thought I was through it. Through with spine serpents snaking and looping and hooping round the bottom of my back, hissing at every movement and threatening bites of venom. Just sink the fangs in already slithering queen of mediocrity. Maybe those days jogging mattresses up staircases for minimum wage are ghosting my future plans. Plans to stand up and walk from one room to another.        We put off dinner because hanging paintings has taken all day. Where does the damn  Rigney  go now that he's away? Gone? in a different place. Another home. One I've never been to. But...

Impending Impatience - Nia Di Gennaro

  OCTOBER 18, 2022 Share     Ardour For this crown, dark Avidity In the balm of this chamber, blush Devotion In brevity To this season, long In the slight of an a.m. downpour, gentility How the scene ached to express itself to me Presented by significance Dressed as Violent elegance Intoned as Brutal magnificence Rousing sentience Waking dormant tenderness Bidding attention     To where I lay To where I’d been laying For hours For days     In Your meat Your marrow Your pith In Your depravity I’ve merry walked In Your brine I’ve sticky rolled In your proclivity I’ve risky peeped And quietly We march the death meadow     So as not to stir the bitter wind Or provoke the nightshade starved Who desire a kill     Wings wide Flut-tut overhead And know its menace Hold breath And hold for the pop and glitter And purr with verve Oh, my Thy drugs are quick   Written by  Nia Di Gennaro

All the Hip Kids are Writing about Deleuze - Sloan James

SEPTEMBER 16, 2022 Share After a long nap sometimes, you wake up feeling like you’ve been slapped by a different day. A week of stress. It’s a week of stress or it’s a week of nothingness. And that is stressful too. Activity doesn’t always breed value. Sometimes you feel just as hopeless for working hard. I was meant to see Karn this evening. I send him a few texts as a walk around the empty house with no ideas. The thing to do in these situations is always drink. I don’t know what to do tonight. And I’m alone. I have five books on the go at once. I can’t read them all. I didn’t read for all of August. Is my brain still able to put the words in the right place? Words… I need to finish that book. Karn was supposed to come to Father’s Day today. He’s Dadless, like so many. Thankfully, not myself. And I’m willing to share. But Karn didn’t sleep last night. I don’t know the full story. I get a message from Darren. “Have you heard from Karn today?” “Yeah, why?” I don...