[x]

crystal catastrophies bottled upv
her shaky hands couldn't hold a pen
or a promise
"my fingers have broken
trying to rewrite clichés-
believe me when I say, I'm special"
hollow laughs glossed over her
tempered smile

as she waited for the day
when that might actually mean
something

i
there was an eve long before dawn
ever tainted the starry night sky and
inflicted vision on those who preferred
to stay in the dark, where a girl
crooned quietly to herself
"what if when we meet,
I've run out of I love you's?"

this was before the sun whispered in her ears
that they'd never mattered, anyway

iv
hopelessness descends
on wearied souls
who couldn't lear

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

Sorry Then Safei
we like to play with fire.
as it eats away at our
insipid nature, and licks the
desolate consistency of our bones,
our inner cold is warmed.

you say that it reminds you
of my fevered eyes.

ii.
we make scarecrows into humans
into saviors, then tear them down again
for not cleansing out our wounds.
we forget they were only born
to keep the birds from
devouring us further.

and they watch, feebly, as we
fall face-first into our fate

iii.
you looked me dead in the eye
"we are all walking ghosts
waiting to die so we can live"

and your whitened hands became
a symbol of achievement

iv
we write our epitaphs the day we're c

appropriately appallingi
the flies are in the food, again.
festering, feeding- because i sewed
shut my lips when you warned me
they were a gaping wound.

silence is the best kind of infection;
you can't know what's kept inside

ii
i carry little girl dreams
of dying and coming back
diseased, depraved, an atrocity;
at least then I'd be something
worth writing home about

i deserve more than what
i am- i am selfish and
greedy, but not strong
enough
to steal a life worth living

(look at me now, mom
i'm growing into the
ugly thoughts i birthed.
i think this is what it must feel like
to finally follow through)

iii
there are things you never say:

Nighttime Ramblings and InsufficiencyYou drop your jaw,
and you pull words out from
hiding, deep in your throat.
You wretch up a mass of
unfiltered, unedited, reality
because you believe that's what it is
to be understood.

You leave a trail of mutterings
wherever you go
no one will ever want me
it's not enough
and i'm sorry, i'm
so so sorry
Do you remember the difference between
a shadow and a ghost? (the world ends
the day the sun won't shine)

Instead of sleeping (maybe
tomorrow won't come if you
don't say goodnight) you wait;
you will not be remembered, and
that is the scariest part-
you were never loud enough.
i'm s

Empty Nestand as your sepia-saturated voice fades into the night

you will remember all those dreams you woke from,
weeping, for the conversations you'd never
have and the people you'd never get back

you will remember the flock of birds that used to
reside in your chest, pounding against your
ribcage, crying to be free (and you will try
to remember the day their wings went silent)

as you hear the leaves hum and the sky pulse,
you will try to fall into cadence with the steady
music of nature, but instead begin to believe you're just

an outlier.

you will tell yourself, in your needly, narcissistic
way: you are a falling star, a withering cel

and He believedalong the road to change, you decide:
you lack a heart. your voice will
tear the world asunder. you
wreak havoc on the unassuming,
because you stopped trusting in
institutional stability the day
God poured over you.

He cleansed you in his tears, He said
He built you strong- it was
an obligation with weighted
requirements. He drove nails into
your flesh to test your faith,
you were pained and you were
perfect.

you were a prize, a person to
swallow lechery and lead our world
into redemption; you would tempt us
from our questions why

everyone needs a Hero
(but who do you have?)

-

I cared about you, once, when
you were unb

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

diluted evanescencebreezes are fickle things, you said
when your eyes were somewhere far away

the wind danced in the narrow expanse
of all our waning hopes and desires,
and something about the way the air grew static
made me remember a time when
inexperience was still a virtue.

sparks go out, you said
as the discord dimmed
(glossy eyes weren't always
made of glass, but they became
along the line of desperation)

I truly believed the world pulsed somewhere
in the cadence of your voice,
because in your breath- earthquakes would
break and oceans would crash and I always
came up short.

we're living a borrowed life, you said
but no one ever taught u

Staying for the Seasonyou were born
of a broken cradle
where no one taught you
how to breathe

you need the stars
like nourishment, but
they just don't feel
the same

you live like a heart attack,
an insufferable shuddering,
a socially aware illness without
the will to pull through

it's a sad truth when we
look up in the mirror, and
only see ourselves-

but it's okay.
write it on the walls, it's
okay, you just need a
little more sleep.

(wake up. it's nearly
December and you're
already dead.)

Sleeping Souls Never Liethey buried you
with stars in your palms, because
they thought it was a crime
you'd never made a wish in your life

the dirt and darkness
was enough to extinguish
their dying lights

(it's okay, your silent skin
said, softly, I always wanted
the sky to bring me to sleep)

the priest begged, believing you
might rise from the hole
you'd dug for yourself

he wanted to let you know
there was something bigger than all of us,
someplace farther than 6 feet under

(I'm alright, your stony eyes
swore, sometimes falling
feels enough like flying)

their voices all filled with tears
even though you said you weren't worth
their worries, the

another notch in the beltbattered down, and you ask
how much we have in common

laconic glances trace
the contours of the road
from which i've derived—
perjury paves paths
of spoiling naiveté and
crystallized lies

life is how far you go,
not how you get there

watch me corrode,
your gaze is the
worst deterrent for
these shattered bones

acts of desertion
have begun to work both ways

i am something toxic,
a virus through your veins.
i am a writhing retribution
of all your past mistakes

and still, i am
strung out, like some
sacrilegious idol- bleeding
martyred misguidance

battered down, and i ask
why
won't you
have faith in me?

you

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,

Epilogues like EpitaphsOnce upon a vapid day in
a town full of glazed-eyed murmurs
ultimately amounting to nothing, she
met a boy who said he'd calculated the
probabilities of wishes and knew what it felt like
to breathe a dream. He told her he'd write
her the world, he'd tell of the promises the
oceans kept and the way the stars never
quite compared to her eyes

but he lied.
And she figured love fancied
narcissism the same way she believed herself
deliquescent. (because we're always looking
for the prettiest ways to say we're
dying inside.)

Then on a broken night that tasted of
lucid intoxication and blind reminiscing,
she met a boy built of big words
whose h

Silence Never Suited Youliving in the dark
won't let you go blind

there's more to life than getting through

they say
there's a reason, somewhere
deep beneath the [depression,
deceit, doubt, dissonance, despair,
devastation and] dying
time-- piling up like unwanted
wreckage in waves, wasting
away at your feet

believe there's a reason, somewhere,
that was written just for you

try, it's so close to succeeding,
to remember the day
when death was something
less than a comfort
when a smile was something simple

life can't be choked down, those
thoughts weren't meant to be swallowed

you're so desperate not to be heard
quiet is a disguise for those
a

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DFC Day 9: Culminationsjaundiced hands will not
resuscitate. steadfast nights
have no home (but timely graves)

her eyes dimmed rosy.
discontinued pallid echoes,
bone cages "we're never free"

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

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

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

DFC Day 2: MarieOf calm and quiet breath, she waits
trusting, atop her stable ocean's bed
where salty whispers gently guide her head
and drag her down with their assented bait;
but still, her lungs weigh down like lead.
(she smiles, the waves plunder her teeth
the fish consume her eyes, and yet she sings
them lullabies) She lives all her endings
again, to make them new, to dream-repeat
the memories before her mute drowning.
They ask her, darling, dive lower
she sleeps, she longs, she breathes once more --
she cries (her tears divide the ocean floor.)
The water-logged prey lent her voice today,
now it complies with the whispered tides.

Seemingly Intrinsicthe November sky trembles and she's
out sleeping on the railroad tracks, again,
where no one hears her staggered breaths
and stuttered dreams

she promised she'd be back in a few
summers, once the war raging within
her ribcage finally called it quits
(she's so close to raising that white flag,
her fingers plead)

tightrope walkers never feel free, she's bound
by the internal pulsation of her heart, going
stagnant as she gives away the pieces of
herself to people who see her as nothing more
than the wide-eyed doll in the corner, yet
unnamed, forsaken by children with better
things to do

and perhaps these are intrinsic qualities

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Submitted: October 7, 2012
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Fervid Awakening

by *intricately-ordinary, Oct 7, 2012, 5:15:17 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

There's a fire beneath my feet,
but not the kind that burns
mountains and ruins girls
made of papier-mâché—no,

these are the sparks that
drive the insane to dance in
the rain; the flames that
gave birth to a million voices
itching to be heard, too.

It's spreading, settling, somewhere deep
beneath my sternum, like an anticipatory
story, waiting to be told, giving
my heart the ardor to beat.
-
No one ever says happiness
is like a butterfly: beautiful,
flighty, and fleeting.

If you let it slip through your
fingers—you are left
alone, palms full of feathery dust
which soon fades and leads to the scary
questions of indefinite nature.

So instead, you press it
between the pages of a book,
to return to and to marvel at
like a lifetime on a page, more
sublime than words could describe.
-
It is a gift when your lungs aren't
full of lead, and when the morning sun
rising doesn't scare you out of bed.

It is a treasure to be able
to take in new surroundings and
comprise them into a home
comfortable enough to settle down.

It is a virtue to be able
to shed undesired time, to let
your past be your reasons why,
and not your definition who.
-
Because fear is the force that
drives masses in droves, and
gives them a history to hate

but a smile is something
divine enough to make you
desire the future.

Those doled out gestures
while simple in design, are
powerful enough to ignite
the fire beneath your feet.

Fervid Awakeningby *intricately-ordinary

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

(When you're happy, even for a moment, hold onto it.)

I want to use this opportunity to thank anyone who has ever taken the time to read, comment, or favorite my work. And, especially those fools who were silly enough to watch me.
You all mean the world to me, and I will never forget that.

love 3 3

~~joy 0 0~~

wow 1 1

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

=HillsOfMyst Nov 26, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

*mumble grumble* Why can't I write like this?
_{But seriously, I was thinking that the whole way through this. You are supremely talented, lovely}

*intricately-ordinary Nov 26, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

ASDJHSKDJHGRUWIRWEJL
you are so incredibly sweet!

I am so honored, I adore your writing.

=HillsOfMyst Nov 28, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

It's only the truth

~NotenSMSK Nov 14, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

This is again one of your wonderful works that is well written in terms of language and leaves an impact on the reader. I loved the way you described the fire and then compared the butterfly with happiness. There is a lot more depth in the work perhaps but from what I read, it was quite a wonderful read

*intricately-ordinary Nov 14, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

thank you very much!

~NotenSMSK Nov 14, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

you are Welcome

~DSteffi Oct 12, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Beautiful poem. Flow is perfect and the message is beyond comprehension. I love it.

--

All the effort is pointless if you don't believe in yourself.

*intricately-ordinary Oct 12, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I'm absolutely honored you think so!

Thank you.

*dagoth-jeff Oct 11, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

So instead, you press it
between the pages of a book

Genius! I love it.

*intricately-ordinary Oct 12, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

thank you so much! heart:

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