it’s not a crime to care and it’s
not a crime not
to care it’s not a crime
not to care it’s a
crime
#katyamills
Tag Archives: crime
white soldiers
she took the white soldiers and broke them
the flanks of chalk made colorful
clouds you could see your
feelings on the blackboard still
nobody could say what really happened
2 her not even her 4 the truth was against the rules in a world of cream
pies and blue skies #katyamills
true crime
rolling thoughtful eyes
a milky soporific
tea leaves discarded in an angry
drain. too long i let it steep too long. i’m sorry
the confession
the weapon
time
#katyamills
silent crime
some days were all traffic
no let up
it was hard to even
get up
so many screens
so little time and who would believe
a moment of silence…
could feel
like
a crime
reading #115
we fall
Has been
she was. she was a has been
looking quite seductive
attracting our energy
i remember with sadness
we remember collectively
the witches
the sufis
the mystics
the number people
those who lived and died by the numbers
and still do
scratched rolled
got high kick adrenaline off numbers
got lowdown dirt broke
laid over numbers
by the tracks
across them
A double cross then
on this one night
three times heated over
some petty useless argument
murderers murder over
(needed an excuse that’s all
they cannot kill without reason)
no real reason
just lost
double crossed
fumblin to get wide of my skinny jeans
on the beach
last night
tonight tommorrow
night
Some kinda player he fashions himself
me some kinda someone
he plays
well i was not gonna
open up for no singular double crosser
guess what
guess what if you’re guessing
(throw my sandy blonde hair back
over my eyes so not to give away
whats behind them)
Betrayal
the colors were changing my iris
cobalt blue turning royal
i am crossed in this setup
its painful. his means to my end
Just so
just so used to violence
always im touched. made to feel like giving up
you must be violent with the world
violent with self
violent with me and
i got the patch can you not see i
got the goddam medal
ya. still. you would get into it with me
the cannot be spoken and not even here
understood
Come here with your weak game to this ball of resistance
this wall. my existence
come here to my softness
and soft may i be
yet bold with flavor like
english breakfast tea
i won’t need a receipt
i will walk away before you chance to raise your eyelids
you never even caught me half mad out the door
Half mad
half out
half lost by
the door
half mad
half out
half empty
half sad
none innocent
Double cross
and raise you twenty
the poverty adds up
to make us poor
You your solemn sorry self
just trying to score
thought i was on the take when i wasn’t
Had you seen yourself going down
you could have would have saved your self
again recounting the drama the day drove into
your lungs when what you call a heart
is unknown to you
You who made the world ache
in the eighties what with
your prosperous nonsense you’re
unnecessary
You gave when giving itself was on the take
jake
a snake
a snake
reptilian counters your smooth wanna-moves
No one
not even that younger girl you had
down by the small towns the
small lake
a quiet night it was
and that’s what gave you away. too late
too late too late for her anyway
(she’s the kinda one im here to remind you of. hello)
If not myself
not myself
whom you clearly forgot
behind your made upedness
I would be
i was
worn out
my make up
well. just fell
Fallen down in cream mineral bare
essential straight loss
i gave up on you
and your double cross
you see. i crossed too. i had to
got prepared
had an agenda
planned it out
(what a cost)
Ya I wore the long boots skinny jeans
you saw. you knew
(you wanted it, too)
damn
i feel cursed
i feel cursed just like you
just so
Made up me and you the monsters
in this creature double cross feature
this sordid rendez-vous
Made me a star
i got the feeling awash over me like a little kid. i did.
whose feelings come like waves roll out like petals
to the song of the sun every day
opened up. in this state
were it blissful
were we pensive
houston
were we texas
No, no. no, i never been there. will you take me someone
i’m a star, remember
the star
i’m some star. right. and stars shine
they do. remember
they dont go
they dont go just where you ask them
Dont listen. stars. do they
(always gotta get some action)
You know by what you get…
what you got when you
ask them
Royal blue drained to cobalt
i hid this from you
you did not exist for me then
nor did i for you
goddam
you kill me
a little more every time
I’m tired. i’m tired thats why i’m talking to you
about you
because
to you
about you
for you… one nation of you (under you)…
fuck you
See
we fall down
it’s fall
and we fall
falling together
fallen down
over one
over all
we fall
we fall
the crime scene is permanent
Her great eyes fall on us
while we are looking
the medium
the monster
we give our all
to thank her
for the ocean
lackluster commentary
washes up on the shore
the droppings
of opinion
hit and run
hit and run
the crime scene
is permanent
she spreads us
lost and luster
thin sometimes
in a minute hand’s
wide circling
lenient spin
sometimes
we do it
to ourselves
the hours
artfully wasted
the body
hardly moves
text necking in our photo
editing booths
manipulating
the age off our faces
pixel worship
while life gets scarier
out there
help me
i have forgotten
what’s real
i don’t wanna regret
all this screen time
like some washed up
porn star
even that
must be real
god let me fall back
laughing in your arms
at a bar
at a laundromat
smoking reds
caring
tv crime. 15
let’s nourish vengeance fantasies after dinner watching television, then tomorrow be free not to react
ideology.15
if you are all caught up in your
IDEOLOGY
how about talkin’
to someone
first?
photo by KatYa
murder. on a rooftop.
Some fly by the seat of their amps jagoff Beatles cover band had just finished their faux rooftop set in a cursory attempted homicide of Norwegian Wood (it was no good), and were rolling their bussed in geriatric fanclub down the switchbacks of wheelchair ramps along with their stage.
No sooner had they jumpstarted a few hearts, incidentally, off a wall of mutilated sound, were they relocated to barstools in a dark and gutless lounge walking distance away, faux infighting, pitting their Lennon against their McCartney, in decidedly Canadian English to the tune of a couple rounds of Seagrams Sevens lowballs.
Up up and away on the roof where they left it, a blood soaked groupie lay down with ear to the cement for some train come listen frozen still posture, carelessly angled out across the parking space spraypainted parallel white lines.
He was young enough not to discern quality from the wall of mutilated sound washed away. He was old enough apparently to get himself thrill killed. Caught in the cymbals. The cross fissured fractures outlining his skull.
His pulse quickly tapered, his eyes they went dull. Blood pooled all about him. So long, Jethro Tull.
K IS SILENT 