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Indefinite Tidesshe speaks in vinegar riddles
and bides her time in shipwrecked
smiles- she's
ticking off days for the boy
with stormy eyes who promised
he'd be back in a season or
two.  he, who was

crafted from the leftover bits of the moon
and the meandering sky with runaway
stars lurking deep beneath his ribcage,
waiting to fall whenever he spoke
like a saint, whose divine sacraments
parted land and birthed lives; like a
sorcerer whose words launched a
thousand sunken ships but

now, she pops pills like reminders,
stabilizers that last 4-6 hours
depending on her ability to forget

and she's lost in herself
again, among faltering brainwa
Nostalgiashe fell in love with the sound of
dying storms, and lost herself in
the blind spots accompanying her
every furtive glance

her downturned spine labeled her:
pitiful,
and her relentless divulging to
overcast skies defined her as
needy; but still she offered the
seeds of her pomegranate heart
to anyone willing to settle down
inside the breeze

and she was abandoned, long ago,
(once upon a time, no one cried)
by wolves with insipid fangs
and human eyes (her glittery irises
never quite belonged)
they discarded her when she asked if
self-delusions were a state of mind

and
she is poorly veiled, so see-through under
our cracke
defeatheredand this is where we bury our hearts,
between self-defeating personality disorders
and burnt bridges and midnight ramblings
we promise ourselves aren’t true;
embedding our memories in forsaken homes
like it is a conscious decision to shed
our wings (reptiles don’t fly)

and maybe I am the monster of every
myth: wide-eyed and jagged toothed and
looking to regain a piece of myself the
world borrowed, many moons ago

as I falter and stumble over my own unaware
feet, wreaking havoc, reeking of self-acquittal--

all I ever wanted to do was belong.

dreams are flaws much like the hearts we
flaunt on our sleeves, and I seem to
have len
Poets Always Lieambrosial fabrications are
easier to swallow down when
incandescence is a blessing bestowed
only upon those with silky tongues.

deceptions are beautiful
in the right words

because they are salvation, like a
rapture, they save the sickly,
self-indulgent souls from those
tragedies they used to write on the insides
of childhood notebooks about who
they could never be [themselves]

they rescue them from tremulous
corners and closets, hideaways
where they've grown too akin to
the demons they nurse; and drag
them into a land beautiful enough
to wear light as a second skin

(where lies are never discussed
but always shared)

cl
Arise and Breathelittle siren girl, held up by fishhooks
and lines - you'll only be free when
they cut you loose.

still, they tell you: you will not fall
victim to swelling tides, you
will float. (you are a dead weight.)

you are something incomplete
like the forgotten house on the
end of the row, eating itself,
dimming day by day:
paint chips and chapped lips
have nothing left to say.

there are monsters nursing
deep beneath your flesh, with
threadbare spines and trembling
hands, they are afraid of their own
shadows. (you are only weak when
your eyes are open)

a new year waits upon your doorstep,
promising to take all that was ever [you]
Keepers of My Hearti.
you are in love with being in love
like you're caught on the train tracks,
tied down by want, waiting for that
insistent collision to
steal you away into the land
of concussions and self-medication
and hearts that barely heal

ii.
and stories confessing the notches
in your bedpost, the lines in
your smile. the sour note in your
liberally dissonant melody.

iii.
you did not want tangibility

cotton trees cascading and butterfly
innards, serenading clouds and
fluorescent lips
(until the sky came crashing down
and you reoriented the earth)

iv.
you did not want me

v.
I am solid and as notable as
the ghosts sleeping in y
Idylliche always spoke of the romantic stance in a smoker
whose every gasp was like a suicidal swansong, he
wrapped himself up so tightly in unwarranted wishing, when
they stripped him free, he then stumbled into the sunlight
and burnt [out]

no one laced his pillows with lavender and moonbeams
and all the other things that call dreams out from
hiding; but he still prayed upside-down overdone
every evening for a falling star to find its way
back home.

instead, they surrounded him with [a grain of]
salt circles like curses to draw out the weaknesses
temptation had embedded in him, because
nothing beautiful was ever built atop a rotten
What's That in Your Heart?months later and I'm still pulling pieces of you from my wounds;
memories are salt and you were the ocean that never dried out.
selfishness is the wear of the weary – I wonder, now, how much life
can you steal from a ghost?

my stomach still sinks, I've swallowed too many words. you were
the anchor that allowed me to drown. you were the siren that never
sounded sweet. when the noxious night comes I don't know who's in
the mirror (or what hollowed eyes mean.) am I the one or the nothing
that died out?

I tried so hard, I tried so hard to lose my shadow and forget myself
somewhere dark. I'm trapped between hell and a hard place,
try
Spotlessone day you'll fly a little too close to the sun
and you'll remember the boy who told you
gas station trinkets were worth more than
the heart you wore on your sleeve.

disillusionment will take you home, and
it will not leave your bed in the morning.
(you will remember he called you loose, too.)

you are the one who believes in smoke
smiles and candid cadavers. no ones'
nose grows, so everyone must be
undeniably true (except

you lie to yourself, too)

a few lifetimes ago you fell in love
with your own reflection, but as you
stripped away layers of common mis-
conceptions, you realized you are not

virtuous and radiant and hung o
don't forget to let me go(the worst thing I’ve ever been
is an accident)

my words have no filter and I am
too many apologies bound
together by the stringent belief
tomorrow is worth more than today—

remember that summer when I was
beautiful? all covered in amber fog
and delivered like a dream. I was
a porcelain promise, a lavender
whisper, a breathtaking cancer,
and so many other precious things

I just want to go back to that
time where I was unmolded by
mistakes and words unsaid
(it was never you

I have spent too long trying
to drain out every tear from
the ocean, my love,

simple tasks are for the
weak of heart, it was
never you)

I am still be
admittance is defeatthey called you beautiful

with porcelain eyes about to crack
and cigarette skin crumbling
away, a knotted spine and
jagged smile:

you were never gracious.

you're slipping underneath, this
virulent smog masks a paper sky that
never allowed a dream and

you're afraid because it's soaking in
your pores again, unattainable and unoriginal;
the meaning of life never meant enough-

you were never hopeful.

there's a getaway map on the underside
of your pillow, and a lifetime of secrets
on the underside of your bones

you're a walking travesty:
your chest ticks, dull
your wrist beats, dying
time is keeping you but

you were never pa
Amnesiacsmaybe you forgot how to
wake up without screaming.

she smiles like a broken dawn
and the meek will inherit the
earth, if they don't drown,
first. she's barely breathing;
trying to grow gills because
it's only in the state of dying
that we adapt.

and you won't see the colors
pouring out of her chest, you
won't hear the ebbing swansong
she hums so quietly.

you didn't come to be reminded.

you inject a little further, a little
closer to the heart.      numb.

(she died the day she
was given a name)

she made you promise never
to be a number, or a majority;
she made your heart beat in a way
that made you think you were alive,
Skeletal Foundationsit's the city that makes you,
she says when her industrialized eyes
start to flicker. her heart rushes
like a subway falling late and
the patterns in her skin remind you of
striated architecture (reminds you of how
everything's human in its own way)

we're precarious concrete skeletons
crafted by men praying we won't fall,
and we yearn- you know- we ache
for a sense of vitality and being to
enter us and make us more than a
pale ghost of an engineer's dreams and

maybe we have our own shadowy corners,
too.

commotion exists betwixt her ears and
she's a destination, a place to rest and
catch your breath but not to settle
down b
scraps and sacramentsyou,
beautiful siren girl with melodies
entangled in her hair: you are
shell-shocked and sea-struck
even though you cannot stand
the sensation of sand beneath
your toes.

you have fingers for prying, picking,
pulling at your skin and nesting
in that hollow space between
your bones. and if anyone asks,
you will swear there are monsters
sleeping in the concaves of your ribs;
there are ghosts beneath your tongue,
embittered, and you are not the words
you speak.

they say there is an answer, little girl
(sometimes you begin to believe you are
a scarecrow on the border of reality
begging people to turn the other way;
and the mirror will agree)
ColorblindI gave away my name today

and it might be a metaphor, but I think
we only remember the quietest suicides

the walls are thin enough to listen
as the angels try to scratch free;
bloodied fingernails and God says everyone
screws up, sometimes

I'm waiting for a silent night.

I only ever believed in solid ground
and depressions' tides, and sometimes,
those little wounds I nursed deep
within my vocal chords (because
my voice is dying, too)

I can see the beautiful people, now
overdosing on their own opiums of
self-acquittal and dissolution

they ran out of ways to ask for help.

I'm fragile, but my glass ribs
aren't holding much

and
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More from *intricately-ordinary

Coven of Vexed Heartsthere were four girls
who wore hearts on their arms
each with a different intent;
they wanted to see what they had in common,
and what their symbols meant.

the mousy girl, Penelope
was nothing more than a whisper
"I trace hearts on my arm in pen
and spray them with my mom's perfume
I used to worry no one cared,
I'd sit alone in my own gloom.
The hearts let me remember
I'll always have her
even alone, I can know
someone really loves me.
She's always there."
the breeze trickled through her hair
she brushed her bangs from her quiet face

and Nora outright laughed-
her soul was scarred
just like her arms, permanently marred
The Day Before DawnI remember when we were all that existed
the only sound was our hearts beating,
nothing else mattered.
You'd take my hands,
and that shine in your eyes
was the heaven everyone had told me about.

   can't you stay a little longer?
    you're going nowhere nowadays

I remember when you told me I was the only thing in your mind
and I believed you

   I realize how little it is I live
    when you leave.
    You go,
    and take my breath with you
    I suppose

I remember when you used to write
and the w
Unfavorable for Evelyn Taliettefeathers flutter slowly
they don't
  crash
the same way people do

they linger, drifting through the breeze
which doesn't favor the angel
stripped of her wings

she grasps, hopelessly
for something that could bring her back
        (redemption?)
she believes there has to be something
to take away her past

she grasps, hopelessly
but her fingers only find feathers
which now join her in her fall

gravity doesn't favor angels
with flaws of mankind

and so she falls
  crash
Dreams of an AngelI.
"what do angels dream about?" Lindsay asked
I thought for a minute
"they dream to live like us."
"then why did Rachel want to die?"
"goodnight" I said, and turned out the light

Rachel used to sing to the birds
she said sometimes they just wanted someone to show they cared
and she serenaded them
until she was sure they  felt important

II.
in the car, Lindsay broke down
the black veil she wore seemed to be more
than an article of mourning
"why do they make child-size coffins?"
"Lindsay—"
"did you see her?
even dead, her spindly fingers reached out
but…  I couldn't grab her…"
I held her ha
When Words Escape You"sometimes we look so hard for answers,
we forget the questions.
I lost myself, again, today
swimming in your words...
Maybe this is just me?
Drowning in a steady stream
of undeserved emotions-
paralyzed,
watching my fall with open eyes
regretting every misspent word,
(because, as I just found out-
you're only allotted so many
and I've used all mine up
so I could mope and pout)
Somehow even though I tell myself
in steady hums
the wrongs you've done,
your words take it all away.
I guess I'm blessed
shock inhibits thoughts-
I've already shown myself a fool.
I used to wonder where you were
what you thought, why you left
Reverse Polarity and a Little Bit of FateHe believed in angels
She believed in lies

 she was hummingbird-reminiscent
 gifted with flight, she strayed from sight
 and her secrets were hidden between her rapid wings

He counted his lucky stars
She cursed barren skies

  her laugh resonated, hollow
  it echoed off the walls she built
  to keep intruders out

He fell for her, hopelessly
He dreamed only to make her smile

 she pretended he didn't exist
 still, he was drawn to her (like a moth,
 to bad ideas)

She told him she was too far lost
(Though she was only in denial)

   his eyes glinted, golden
  bright enough to melt the frozen rock
  she had called her

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November 19, 2012
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Expectant

:iconintricately-ordinary:

we're waiting

emaciated souls fall among the
promises of a better day,
memories drape like skeletons,
and we sleep, hands together,
to try and be pious prior to death.

we forgot how long it takes to take
a life, as we write novels about heroes
and purity that we're too afraid to call
myths. the art of distraction is a
nasty one, at that.

the clouds are rending, it's always
hurricane season when the trees cry and
the oceans mourn. the heavens are
caving on top of us as the children
dance in the rain. purged clean,
washed out, they were expecting to be

free- but there are still spiders in their
throats, crawling through their voices,
and holes in their heads for the breeze
to whistle through.

they're the lucky ones, though, at the
end of the day. their vocabulary
only consists of the word please,
while we have a million ways to say
we've failed.

our only wishes are made to make the
horror corrode away

we're waiting to be saved
:iconintricately-ordinary:
I'm just waiting for things to fall into place.
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:iconmozartsnemesis:
~MozartsNemesis Dec 31, 2012
so I came back to read this again ( I like to go through and browse my favorites..) and I love this more now than the first three times I read it.

"we forgot how long it takes to take
a life, as we write novels about heroes
and purity that we're too afraid to call
myths."

This is just brilliant. probably my favorite line here.
Reply
:iconintricately-ordinary:
*intricately-ordinary Dec 31, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
I'm so very honored! :love: Thank you so much for such a lovely comment, I'm touched to know you still enjoy it.
Reply
:iconcontradictory55:
~Contradictory55 Nov 20, 2012  Student Writer
Many of us do wait, because we... just don't know how to act...
Reply
:iconintricately-ordinary:
*intricately-ordinary Nov 20, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
well, I think most of our life is actually waiting.
Reply
:iconcontradictory55:
~Contradictory55 Nov 21, 2012  Student Writer
:nod: That's true.
Reply
:iconprideofpanem:
~PrideofPanem Nov 20, 2012  Student General Artist
I think the best part is " It's always hurricane season when the trees cry and the oceans mourn"
Shivers all over.
Reply
:iconintricately-ordinary:
*intricately-ordinary Nov 20, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
OH I'm so excited it had that effect!

sidenote: I adore your new icon! :love:
Reply
:iconprideofpanem:
~PrideofPanem Nov 20, 2012  Student General Artist
Thank you very much :D I actually took that picture in my work parking lot. :P
Reply
:iconcarlogrims:
~CarloGrims Nov 20, 2012  Student Writer
I agree with Alec about the accuracy in your dark imagery.
However, it's the "Memento Mori" premise I love the most. It is an extremely bold premise because our society is even more afraid of mortality than past cultures. No one wants to hear about it and here you go as far as to acknowledge the fact that children also bear the taint.
Many people spend their time fearing death instead of living life to the fullest....This poem is for them.

High perception is rare these days, it's good to see it in action. I respect you and admire you for posting this.
Reply
:iconintricately-ordinary:
*intricately-ordinary Nov 20, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
People have a really interesting love/hate relationship with the way death affects their life. They either live like they're invincible, or they spend their whole lives in fear. I'm really interested with how much you found that theme in this poem, there are definitely a lot of dread overtones. Thank you so much for your thoughtful comment, I can't tell you how much it means.
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