into my pocket

I want to put you away, into my pocket,

I know you won’t be happy there  nestled underneath the lint and hair

yet all I want is to keep you there, so that you can’t leave me.

The hurt is here and I’m unaware that you’re cries are being formed.

But instead of looking in towards, I realized I’m being warned.

That my love for you is toxic to ever being able to

keep you here enclosed with me

and instead i let you go

and oh my dear god oh

I’m left with a hole

a hole in my pocket that was already void of any lining

a cruel cruel fucking joke on me.


All written content © 2012-2013 Helenna Santos-Levy

down town

what is there to learn from the everyday
from the Grind?
walking beside each other
not smelling the desperate hopeless stench
of the businessman on the corner
waiting for green
for Go.
Mothers, Strippers, Lovers, Killers
everyone trying to get by
walk don’t walk
caught at a perpetual yellow light
in traffic
needing to be somewhere by 3pm
Sisyphus on the mountain.
Where does all of the time go?
Time, square. Here or There.
all the same in the corporate church
selling sanctuary for less
Air Bags Included.

 All written content © 2012 Helenna Santos-Levy

where grey goose flows like water

sitting at LAX she is at a crossroads

Los Angeles. Lost Angels.

glitz, glamour, sun, surf,
big boobs,
small dogs,
fast cars,
fast women,
grey goose, angels, and champagne.

she has learned none of it
none of it
is real

what is this extreme severing
like a face lift without anesthesia
liposuction gone wrong

just a dark, dark shadow
please let her be white and blonde, tall and important

US Weekly worthy. Vain at Vanity Fair.
high heels, sunglasses, necklaces so perfect
perfect, perfect dolls
rock stars like living candy bars

tears welling up, waiting for the plane,
she looks to the end of the flat, paved, world
roads with scholars
doing magic tricks
here in the flicks
fake flickering wicks of ecstasy

a young woman’s lost and found
a carousel of sorts
playgrounds for her pains

where grey goose flows like water, like lava,
the purifier, for the pain inside of her

flying her far, far away

All written content © 2012-2013 Helenna Santos-Levy