Composite Poem Two feet away & right before your mother & me talk about the sparks or mushrooms. Your body because it is a dress, orange because bleeding profusely & asleep. I miss my paint, neon flower. Help me a lot & a suicide takes over. You did not come when I realize, when I see glitter on my face. People who cut stars pretended to watch more memories, crystals and sometimes a rainbow asleep, hollow arms & legs. Love me thousands of miles, swallow, dance, relapse. I see her rubber nipples, a thousand a day. You never will, clearly, one grave, one wish, years of wood. Roaring hearts, everything a metaphor. Things make me happy- green smiles, muscles, mother's ashes & cigarettes. Sharks jumped by glass in your heart, as if they are roads, streets, birds, pills of ecstasy. I am going for more iron, smells of blood & soap, money & drugs, handbags. Get away from everything, syringes, art, rainbows, reality. Cut shadows followed by high heels. Again? Why? You scare me, stretch marks. Stop. Things, even after all, love ghosts. Witness yourself, your own skin, your lifeblood down your throat. I want to myself, at the dollhouse. Hands behind my back, pumped pink blood, eat it. My room under the blacklight. I can see glass in them, things in life, the stars or eating the only good thing, razor blades. Full of cigarettes, today, and all your favorite things. You, my tummy, were something else. In bathroom stalls, I don't want you. My blankets, my pillows, a bib. Wet, cold again, run away my military baby. Your smile, bright, rejects you. Somebody else. I want to lay with nouns easily. I feel love. Disgusting, the streams have no children. Red roads, men working. Guts of light. I won't cry back on the rocks again, in a puddle in the opportunities an angel wants. Your house on fire. Faster tell your mother to slow down. Wax a handgun and your mothers drink too much. Your thighs at the sunset, who got scared first, in the closet. Eat his hair like never again as you say jewels fall smothered by the shapes. You don't even open up to me. In the bathroom again, like windows, your heart. Fat like dancers cut open, covered in blood. Your ceiling & carpet glitter like stars. Drown yourself naked in bleach you took a minute, now give it back. A lot of things about me sometimes poisons in my mouth. Again I pray off my entire face. Like the way I eat & breathe. My meds, bong rips, trees look outside, and the better, the best happened to me. In the morning your house. I want you. Kill and have time to scream. Moon sparkles for your hands, made of clay, entirely. You I found in my pocket, when the honey in the world craved sweet & sour cigarettes. With you, that is, aching for days, I forgot lunch. You say: taste, shower, right now. Birth can promise I am serious. Give me a hug, blacklight. Flowers don't tickle. Please, I want to, I want you. You think that drugs are beautiful blowing up her eyes. I am not like honey. Leave me for her blood. Love me on the floor, pastel colors for a year. Blue floor, the only thing I can paint. I will vomit blacklight and then come back.

Composite Poem

Two feet away & right

before your mother & me talk

about the sparks or mushrooms.

Your body because it is a dress,

orange because bleeding profusely

& asleep.

I miss my paint, neon flower.

Help me a lot & a suicide

takes over. You did not come

when I realize, when I see

glitter on my face. People

who cut stars pretended to watch

more memories, crystals and

sometimes a rainbow asleep,

hollow arms & legs.

Love me thousands of miles, swallow,

dance, relapse. I see her

rubber nipples, a thousand a day.

You never will, clearly, one grave,

one wish, years of wood.

Roaring hearts, everything a

metaphor. Things make me happy-

green smiles, muscles, mother's

ashes & cigarettes. Sharks jumped by

glass in your heart, as if they are

roads, streets, birds, pills of ecstasy.

I am going for more iron, smells of

blood & soap, money & drugs, handbags.

Get away from everything, syringes,

art, rainbows, reality. Cut shadows

followed by high heels. Again? Why?

You scare me, stretch marks. Stop.

Things, even after all, love ghosts.

Witness yourself, your own skin, your

lifeblood down your throat. I want to

myself, at the dollhouse. Hands behind

my back, pumped pink blood, eat it.

My room under the blacklight. I can see

glass in them, things in life, the stars

or eating the only good thing,

razor blades. Full of cigarettes,

today, and all your favorite things.

You, my tummy, were something else.

In bathroom stalls, I don't want you.

My blankets, my pillows, a bib. Wet,

cold again, run away my military baby.

Your smile, bright, rejects you. Somebody else.

I want to lay with nouns easily.

I feel love.

Disgusting, the streams have no children.

Red roads, men working. Guts of light.

I won't cry back on the rocks again, in

a puddle in the opportunities an angel wants.

Your house on fire. Faster

tell your mother to slow down. Wax a

handgun and your mothers drink too much.

Your thighs at the sunset, who got scared

first, in the closet. Eat his hair like

never again as you say jewels fall

smothered by the shapes. You don't even

open up to me. In the bathroom again,

like windows, your heart. Fat like

dancers cut open, covered in blood.

Your ceiling & carpet glitter like stars.

Drown yourself naked in bleach

you took a minute,

now give it back.

A lot of things about me sometimes

poisons in my mouth. Again I pray off

my entire face. Like the way I eat &

breathe. My meds, bong rips, trees look

outside, and the better, the best

happened to me.

In the morning your house. I want you.

Kill and have time to scream.

Moon sparkles for your hands, made of clay,

entirely. You I found in my pocket, when

the honey in the world craved sweet & sour

cigarettes. With you, that is, aching for days,

I forgot lunch. You say: taste, shower, right now.

Birth can promise I am serious. Give me a hug, blacklight.

Flowers don't tickle. Please, I want to,

I want you. You think that drugs are beautiful blowing up

her eyes.

I am not like honey. Leave me for

her blood. Love me on the floor, pastel

colors for a year. Blue floor, the only thing

I can paint. I will vomit blacklight and then

come back.

Andrea Jane Kato was born in the great state of California and was raised Buddhist by a gypsy-like artist mother (deceased) and a Japanese farmer who currently grows pineapples in Hawaii. She is a Capricorn, Dragon, INTJ, HSP, Atheist, singer/songwriter, abstract painter/artist, iPhone photographer who likes yoga, fasting, and smoking. She has been published in magazines such as The Blue Jew Yorker, My Favorite Bullet, Ink Sweat & Tears, The Beat, Ditch, Pomegranate, ReadThis Magazine, and Alternativereel.