My Name Is Laura Palmer

My name is Laura Palmer

and I got killed in a tv show

I watch my own death back,

fast forwarding my legs

opencloseopenclose

I sit upright, on the edge of orgasm pink

flossing my gums with strands of my fine blonde hair

all red now

all your eyes on me and my pink gums as I open myself to the world

pinking and whiting,

me almost coming to the tune I play as I play myself

in a show about me in death and all the bad things I did

I had long blonde hair and put people inside me

and they rubbed me out

thinking how I would die

pink and squealing under them

it would make your hair curl

it’s not the rape incest murder that bothers me, now,

I am beyond it all now, it pales

and I don’t associate with it.

No. I am against the weight of the world

that etched marks around my neck,

so I must open myself again

and again

a little slit

my name is Laura Palmer, who killed me?

I am all the shadygropeslickedlips I am the fiddled people

I am your flabby arms

all I am now is rigor body and nothing eyes

not blinking not living closed

legs closed casket

Anna Walsh is a 22-year-old aspiring cliché, writing poetry and prose and desperately seeking validation that this will all work out. When she is not worrying she is working on her thesis for her Creative Writing MA in UCD, using all the best parts of French Extremist films, comic books and Galway Kinnell to create her own style of poetry. She tweets sometimes at https://twitter.com/annaw999 and tumbles at http://belacquaxoxo.tumblr.com/