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/
