Being a part of WORDS AND GUITAR was one of the highlights of my summer. I had been inspired all throughout the season so being able to channel that into this poem was very good for me emotionally. acid tooth marked the beginning of an emotional journey for me which I am still riding out.
Without further ado: acid tooth, de-zombified (read: less fun). It looks better on a desktop (or in an email, if you want to subscribe…).
INT - DAY. BLACK. RED. BACK TO BLACK. YOU OPEN YOUR EYES — ACTUALLY, I OPEN MY EYES. ACTUALLY — there's blood and guts on this hard-wood-splinter-souvenir floor severed eyes hold all i'll ever see. daddy's in the other room, mommy's tongue's a scar. got nothing no autonomy lining of my stomach being turned inside out by phantoms in this haunted fucking house coughing up acid blood phlegm and prophecy. i'll be your girl your carrie your fever-dream-wish fulfilled forever forevermore for you —evermore a curse a blessing a headache in the spot (you know the one) a scar in the metaphysical metaphorical plane of my insane brain with neural pathways like a family tree i forgot to ask my sister if she only did this to me gotta eat to stay alive gotta push push push to stay alive gotta STAY ALIVE. INT. - NIGHT. YOU ARE ALONE. IT'S YOU, ACTUALLY. soft piano playing won't save you now it's nevermore as the crow flies it's blood and guts on this hard-wood floor— ACTUALLY, YOU'VE BEEN HERE BEFORE. BLACK RED BLACK SHE'S BACK RED BLACK WE'RE BACK DEAD WRAPPED IN THIS HOUSE THIS LOVE IS ACUTE PRESSURE ON MY HEAD WE'VE BEEN HERE BEFORE. I'VE ASKED YOU TO STOP. EXT. - WE (WE, ACTUALLY.) ARE OUT OF THE BODY-HOUSE-MOTHER-MOUTH-FRYING PAN AND INTO THE FIRE. THE WORLD IS ON FIRE. THE FIRE IS IN A CAVE IT IS ALWAYS IN A CAVE OVER & OVER THE HOME IS A PLACE FOR LEAVING. WE ALWAYS END UP BACK INSIDE, ACTUALLY. THE BODY SHOULD BE BLACK BUT IT'S RED WHEN I OPEN MY MOUTH IT'S BLACK WHEN I CLOSE IT WE'RE CLOSE TO THE END NOW. RIB CAGED IN HERE WITH THE HAND THAT FEEDS ME. I CUT OPEN MY STOMACH JUST TO SEW IT BACK TOGETHER AGAIN. there’s blood and guts on this hard-wood.
NOTE: The poem as it appears here differs slightly from the original publication. This is because of mistakes I made in formatting and only recognized after Janey Guts published the zine.