[x]

little don't to alone
i want be
just to my own

Like petals and leavesWhen she thinks of him, she thinks of tree branches:
spindly fingers spread out, stretching
in angles wide for handfuls of sky.

And she thinks of him.

She thinks of him digging his toes
into soft, damp sand,
wading in shallow depths before
being carried by crescents of the sea.

She thinks of him in a blur of curls, in the
warmth on her waist and the coolness on her lips,

pressing the memories and the maybes
like petals and leaves
to paper.

And she thinks of him.

October EyesSuch gentle colors drip across your freckled shoulder blades.
A quilt of puddled watercolors soaked in auburn shades.

Spun of golden rivulets and rinsed in autumn skies,
So many endless currents swimming through your lonesome eyes.

Brushing under fingertips and over shattered songs,
Unraveling like morning glaze against my paling palms.

With beauty like October hills and hollow as the skies,
The water drops against the earth will be our lullaby.

hvirfilbylurin the morning i throb
against a lilac bruise
from the ache i've
carried for you

what if i said i wake up and i look at you
and your skin has not blackened
from disuse, has not paled from
neglect and still
i find perfection in the way
your arms hang like
a willow and the
arch of your back
and the width of
your ribs like a
marrow-cage
for me
what if i said i loved you?

into the deepAudio version over thisaway.
and the world will crumble, darling, but we will watch the stars--
watch the coasts curl up at the edges and the foam-slick sea drag them under
and history will bloom in brass and copper nebulas,
untainted by the tortured earth and its pleading
flecks of ash below.
but we will watch the stars
watch the galaxy unwind, spirals stringing out
the taste of ozone and plasticities.
the heaving sea will recede--the glaciers
pour their hearts out
the dunes rise up to the sated horizon.
we
will watch the stars.
and the hungering infernos hold no sympathy.

tree, fiddler crabIt took days to hollow out the soft parts
of the trunk, dig out the tree-flesh and sap,
polish the raw wood so that when he sat,
there would be no splinters. He carved his name
into the side, like a blessing, a declaration
of good fortune, and stowed his forest inside.

pusillanimousI wanted to slice the sky open like an artery
So I could see what a real night sky looks like
Not one seen through filmy glass and insomniac irises
I wanted to see the world in all its clarity
Not fuzzy charcoaled edges blurred with hazy carbon dioxide lashes

Is it so wrong to dip dye myself in decadence?
To breathe in the smoky sweet haze of a drug induced s.l.e.e.p
Lemon lips to stave the hunger
Ican'tevenholdapenciltopaperanymore
Without ripping myself wide open and spewing my guts for all to see
(We don't do this for the thrill, we do it to prove we exist)

I am laid bare on chrysalis pillow cases and moth ball sheets
And I c

Vishnui. (matsya - fish)
in the beginning, there was silver;
mercury inscribing cuneiform
beneath the bloodwork of your skewed scales,
scrawling preserver
throughout salt-drenched lungs.

and you laced clear planets into your slipstream,
wrapped solar systems in translucence.
ignoring all the shattered galaxies. ignoring
how easily their frail orbits
broke.

ii. (kurma - turtle)
your ribcage screamed a shattered warcry
of not-quite-god and less-than-human;
a shark's-tooth carapace crushed in.

forgotten names clawed out your sternum.
your spine fused into your biting back.

iii. (varaha - boar)
razor-wireless shrieked of true ta

IfWe can
draw lines and give them names
like elements
as they are discovered

Or etch into our skins
this soloecal desire
until it is impossible to tell
where words stop
and life begins.

I would

Find a common rhythm that includes
you in my arms, my hands
and lungs and thoughts
tracing the outline of you
entangled with me
colliding like two lost particles
locked in a shared gravity
drifting through the vacuum
of space.

I could.

Exhale, and
remember
sentence structure.

relearning i. stardust scatters with the
direction of my pupils –
maybe secretly i am an
astrology teacher, waiting
for a sign to wink
happily at me.

ii. excuse the rambling
nature of forgotten question
marks, but tell me:
would you like to be the
object of handwritten clichés
would you like to whisper
secrets in my palm
and would you
like to be the possibility

iii. air brushes against my
skin like the torn petals
of a flower still standing.
[ hold your head up high, honey,
and tell tomorrow to wait just
a while,

iv. so you can figure out
the difference between
patience and having all the

NaPoWriMo- Day 5She used to try and catch butterflies
until she realized their beauty
rubbed off on her fingers;
but she will always be loving you
with those digits.

20 years from now
when even the love on her arms
is unrecognizable.

another version of the truthlet's skip through the unnecessary dialogue,
the late-night phone calls where she screams until you hang up,
the "i'll see you next monday,

until then i'll just try to breathe."

let's get to the part where she dies.

there is poetry under her skin, a pulse that defies everything,
arteries clogged with stutters and pleads.

she cut her finger on a paper once,

and words swirled out along with the blood,
drenched in a bitterness of sorts.

(she licked it off, but the words remained,
spreading across her body like chicken pox).

and it still itches, skin peeling off faster
than you break promises,

do you remember the sun

MonologueSpinal fluid seems to be seeping between the cracks
Of the dark hardwood floors beneath me
As if all the cartilage from my being
Has been used to paste together an arthropod heart
I’ve white washed my pupils and folded them
Into hazy envelopes and sent them off to strangers

demoni.
i came to him in a dream last night, but he woke
up too soon.

as a muted silhouette, i remained in his mind,
a small piece

was all i needed.

(he thought he saw a familiar face
at the train station, but realized he was alone,

a ghost commuting at 4 am.

he walked back home disgraced, and though
there were no witnesses
he could feel

eyes piercing through his throat
like needles.)

ii.

i came to him in a dream last night and he woke up
with bruised knuckles,

blood stuck under his fingernails.

he bit them off to taste
his victory,

the same sweetness that lingers
on his war medals.

(it didn't belong to him

red seafaceless, they pull you apart limb by limb,
white gloves, methodical

fearless.

not you, screaming until you've pushed the clouds
out of the sky, the sun burns

your skin off, ashes,

burial chambers.

you can feel everything, but it still isn't over.

are we there yet? unmasked, they emerge
from frozen cities,

white gloves, plastic,
timeless.

it's getting cold sun-child,
numbness, pale skies

your bones like icicles.

they snap your spine like a twig
but it's only a nightmare.

recover, repeat. let them cut out your eyes,
scream until your vocal chords

are ripped apart.

timeless.

we are there now, marionettes,
faceless, cold.

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hollowjust forget about making sense already,
words leave your lips

scattered and broken, unfulfilled.

we were never hereand when i woke up
everything vanished,

reality washed away like
those stains on your jeans,

so easily

maybe they were never there.

sugar, we're going down(did you know that bones breathe beneath the flesh,
inhaling all your bruises?)

  she made a necklace of your shattered desires,
  said "wear this proudly dear,

  for it will strangle you if you ever regret,

  if you ever run away."

she carved sonnets into your flaky skin,
and you sang them for her,

soul strained to the limit.

but now, the scars have faded,
a distant hum

in the back of your mind.

stockholm syndrome lurks in every sip of coffee,
memories burning holes

in your tongue.

she was everything you feared but wanted,

the essence
of your own self-loathing.

still-bornmy vocal chords are twisting,
choking out the truth from me:

  no matter where i go, the past follows,
  shrouded

  in burns and bruises.

    this darkness rests in me,
    but wakes up screaming

            again
                  again

                 again,

hyperbolacallie hears voices in her head
but they are not speaking

to her anymore.

(it had to be her, she's handpicked
for this job, a selfish

little angel with
her eyes glued to the mirror).

i said

listen, no don't look at me
don't touch me

just listen.

she is a devil's trap, closing in on you,
a lipstick-covered lie.

no longer a nervous little girl
biting her fingernails,

callie is a monster,

her head full of screaming souls
and pleading whispers.

but she doesn't listen to us, and neither do you.

she strolls down the streets
with a plastic smile.

we're lost now, dehydrated,
you've turned down the volume.

(some

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we should celebrate

by ~EternalSunday, Dec 23, 2011, 7:09:46 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

i.
i tried to think of pain as a flower,
first it blossoms

  and then

  it wilts away.

but i won't let myself disappear
along with it,

i won't
give you that.

(it's not the agony that makes
me scream, it's the flavor).

ii.
and you whispered softly
"i'll rip your heart out and replace it

with a song,

it's christmas soon, and
we should celebrate".

  you've always used my scars
  as a calendar,

  as a way to remind yourself

  "today is tuesday

  and i still exist".

iii.
(it's morning now because
i can see
the sunlight

through my eyelids

and imagine
a bright summer day,

the flowers are
beautiful,

so
damn

beautiful).

we should celebrateby ~EternalSunday

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Don't forget to water my plants while I'm gone...

Feedback is always appreciated!

Daily Deviation

Given 2012-12-21

The emotion just bleeds from the words as they blend into one another, making it impossible to stop reading says the suggester. we should celebrate is by ~EternalSunday ( Suggested by =LadyofGaerdon and Featured by ^NicSwaner )

love 4 4

joy 3 3

wow 1 1

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~DuchesseOfDusk Feb 3, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Very touching poem. I like it

~EternalSunday Feb 4, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

`HaveTales-WillTell Jan 2, 2013 Professional Writer

I managed to miss this the first time through. And almost missed it again the second time around.

You've presented the essence of an abusive relationship with a metaphor that's as lovely as it is disturbing.

~EternalSunday Jan 2, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

~PsychScm Dec 24, 2012

Great work, like how it sounds.

~EternalSunday Dec 27, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

~KuraiTenshiV Dec 21, 2012 Hobbyist

this is nice, good imagery

~EternalSunday Dec 22, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks!

~KuraiTenshiV Dec 23, 2012 Hobbyist

~Karinta Dec 21, 2012 Student General Artist

Wow. Actually much more coherent than a lot of other poems I read.

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