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...perhaps i'm just imagining things.sit with me, crosslegged and toe-to-toe
while the sun sleeps deep below the mountains,
sit with me among my mahogany four-posts
draped in nets and fairy lights that cast
pink and green and orange
over our tired eyes and tied-up tongues.
let the glow of your cigarette reflect in my irises,
let the netting protect & shield us
from anything and everything out there.
hold my hand when I get scared,
over thunder crashes and lightning flickers
and can you feel my blood
pulsing through my skin and into yours?
can you feel the gentle dips of the quilt
dotted with free-flying swallows in a myriad of pastel tones
as they rub against your shifting thighs?
my paper lips that split and bleed for you.
my cardboard vocal cords that rasp out love for you,
my eyes that lost their twinkle to put the stars in the sky for you?
my nervous palms with deep love lines and a desperation to be held.
your gentle inhalations curl love around your throat
and lungs, and my exhalations help to keep me sane.
still waters shining
silent fish beneath ripples,
goddess of the sea,
so sensitive and afraid.
source of the river.
mystical and gentle soul.
perfume scent lingers.
arcadian child of lily-green lakes
dusted with autumn sun,
born under the scorpion’s sting
mystical and contagious--
cross-legged and rose-flower pink,
kissing the lips of vodka bottles.
trembling lungs take ash and nicotine,
and you’re not returning.
gentle green slopes dotted with
crabgrass and clovers. laughter
peppers my ears and crinkles
my eyes. lavender skies that
drip with rose soothe you at night.
grown from dragon’s teeth
and mythology, spells and potions.
marigold flavoured, opal-shimmered
hair for your troubles.
born with fire and brimstone;
they will have hell to pay.
how i died alone on the streetsit is cold, and i am
alone. screwed up
paper bags that roll past my ankles
and sting like papercuts and wasps.
dead of night silence, selfish
ambitions and black as coal leaves.
i am alone. it is cold.
a sea of starless skies oppress me,
keep me down. could I survive in space?
it feels like I’m already there,
floating without air in emptiness.
i slash open my wrists
to adorn my face. now
is the time for war paint. now
is the time to become one with salted earth,
for i will not grow.
addiction, my true loveI clutch my seventh last cigarette this week
drinking in the curve of your spine
against the lines of my doorframe
my eighteenth last inhalation
curls around my throat and spirals
into my lungs, and out my clenched
teeth. and my twentieth outward sigh
is laced with cancer and relief
only potential death can bring.
the incense of tar and nicotine
clings to me as I want to cling to you
my nails leaving bloody crescents
in the flesh of the guilty
I pray to some unknown
that tomorrow I will smoke
my last cigarette.
starson the weekends I like to breathe in stars
paint myself in reds and blues
and become one with the solar system
my soul flies through galaxies unknown
and I inhale a cosmic latte
of life and unending knowledge
the spaces between my bones
are a million miles apart
and I can see into infinity
and hold truths in the palms of my hands.
come Monday morning,
I have reclaimed a corporeal form
I put on my guise back on
and try not to let my astronomical secret slip out
because the spaces between my bones
are still a million miles apart.
Change this lifeHiding in the shadows
Resisting in secrecy
Trying to find a way
To change this life of misery
The future is unknown
The past is to forget
The present is dull and boring
Is this what life has to offer?
I want to change
And I keep trying
Only to fail miserabily
Every single time
eight ways you've made me small1. I wish
this was for you.
2. my journal pages - the
brown one with all our monologues -
were jarred with hollow vows of
last poems of
letting you slip into a coma
of bad memories, watching you
fall to your death off
a cascading cliff of disease
and dis ease.
it was never
easy for me
3. there's a reason I ask
whether you're grey
(dark white, elusively black, in between)
or blue (behind the clouds, under wave-foam,
whateverthefuck runs through the back of my
palms); I'd rather have
than the arms
that once held you half-
heartedly. you had always been
my harmony and I
would have killed
to have been yours.
4. it could never have been just me, the way
it could never have been just
5. disasters are not beautiful,
but how is it that you
managed to make my inner linings
converge into bows
and explode into wings the very
night you decided to rebuild your walls
to a lower height?
6. I wish
A lifeA life
when i stimulated the prayers of rib-beat
when i licked the temple of my teeth,
speed pushed my fingers shaped like confessionals
clasped holy, carved my throat to fixing-
lover; i did this for the anthem of your eyes,
the feel of strangled feet crushing the fame of stars
for the glow of streetlight worship, for the moons
of your crooning throat, for the halls of your arms,
the strayed revels of your arms,
lover: you manufactured a god out of the drugs i used
and had me addicted to the divine, to the dignity of music
you pressed in my direction: just what i am, hallelujah,
marijuana, day and night-
lover, i fell in love with your culture
that preached the real definition of dusked kneecaps,
the plea of closeted throats, the whisper of bless,
unlearning how to say please god in borrowed tongue,
i fell in love with your attention, nervous grace
lover. i levied the rubble of my sins
Even The City KnowsIs it at all easy?
Being by yourself, I mean.
Sitting in a car, on a train, on a bus--wherever you might be now, isn't it hard to be a drifter?
There are no men with newspapers, no women with strollers, no love-crazy teenagers, no annoying toddlers, no anybody.
You stare out the window, like there are people out there, calling your name. The trees are out there, and they've lost all their leaves, all their buds--they've lost everything, just like you.
The sky is out there, and it's gray and colorless, just like you.
The stars are out there, and they're so blown-out-of-proportion, and they're just like you, too.
But the trees, the skies, the stars, they're used to being left alone.
You lack the ebullience of your drink, but it, too, is fading.
Frost has gathered on windows, on the ground, on rivers, everywhere.
Frost comes and goes, just like you, when you finally melt away.
The city draws to darkness and quiet--it disappears, just like you.
But, even frost
on bradbury and table dancingYou are not a wordsmith
whatever you might like to think. ('Smith'
indicates precision and coldness and fire:
words are softer than that unless you mold them strong.)
It's a difficult road to follow, and not many
make it past the fork. Choose a path,
Janus says, whirligig keys spinning on his shoulders:
I am a wordworker, with my tools too crude, forming
rough-edged carvings painted with pretty imagery.
Notebooks scattered across the landscape
of a child's room, to be stumbled across,
read, red-penned, in the thick and choking breath of night.
When the bough breaks
a hanged man laughs. He carries typewriters
in his pockets, and cigarettes in the soles of his shoes.
I will never be a word mistress,
whoring myself to the speech of people I do not know and will never know me.
The oven is set to Fahrenheit 452, but the words were already aflame
before they ever took shape under your tongue.
You love everything they've ever written, and carry
unabashed loathing for every syllabl
Synesthesia - III have learned not to say
when your voice burns under my tongue -
learned not to shiver
at the cold of sirens on the street -
learned not to describe
the pricks and strokes and touches.
I have learned that skin cannot hear,
nor ears feel
(whichever it is).
How strange to think:
I may travel all my life
and never find a lover who can hold my laugh in his palms.
Death to the LoversHe screamed,
He tore his hair from his scalp;
But it didn't bring her back.
The beautiful girl
With the gorgeous smile
And witty remarks
Would always lay six feet under.
She would lie in her death bed,
Her arms folded on her chest
And her face full of peace
Known only to the dead.
He would be the first to rot.
First his health,
Then his sanity.
She would forever feed on his emotions
Like a pretty little leech,
Sapping his well being
And happiness from her underground world.
And he would let her,
For a fool like him
Who allowed himself to love,
gunfire echoes.it permeates the very land we stand on.
the rat-at-tat-tat of machine guns
the slick click and tick
of the lock in time with the clock
tick tock bang.
how to justify war?
why take lives for lives for lives for lives for lives
'such a waste' to see
men lying gutted in the fields drowning in blood and bile
missing eyes arms ears legs tongues
bodies used for camouflage
rancid corpses become a safe new skin
gas froths the mouth rolls the eyes corrupts the lungs
blue blooded generals cheer a
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More