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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,
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)
the leper and the lambbaby boy grew up and
the thorns left his crown;
his sides cry red,

it scares me to hear the
same stories in his sighs.

he is the kind of poetic violent whose
words are like calculated anvils; he
dissipates between my bones and

my heart will burst, I swear it. I am
afraid of balloons and the imminent
explosion of my delicate monstrosity
rising through my throat and suffocating--
but it’s really beautiful

when he turns over and rubs the galaxies
congested within his eyes. I believe in
shooting stars and intoxicated nights and the
prickled promises intertwined between our
fingers, as I miscalculate how fragile I really am

it&rsquo
Vexed Affectionssecrets entwined,
sugared kisses lie (dormant)
her starry smile twinkles,
linen skin, fresh, unwrinkled,
"wear me"

bodies out back in rows,
stowed, head to toe, measured
by stature, counted by
statistic.
you are a number.

hearts quiver, splayed
openly beating
bleeding defeating
purpose and point, pain
holds no meaning,
crudely careening

you are a number

and sailor boy swoons, caught
in the tides of her moon.
quaky sea feet hold no
ground

he's drowning on land
breathing in sand
falling

she's already gone,
grave gusts at dawn
whisper

you knew it all along,
she's gone

you are only a number.
RestlessI’ve been living in the same breathy dream
for too many days now; I’m bed-ridden and
stale and I reek of those moments that come
full throttle like a car crash on a winter night

     this is evolution where weak hearts
     are afraid of the shadows and where
     everything changes,
     an apologetic wind births no remorse;
     he will move on—anchored ship
     set sail, I am the sunken wreckage
     that never learned how to swim.
     he will move on, Darwin says
     I never had a chance

I wish I were the textbook sadness,
symptom and solution and endurance
but I’ve spent too long sleeping on the
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
The Art of Detachmentdehumanized:
I am a stirring in the breath
of an unswept sky, an itch
in the throat, a tear in
the lining of the sleeve you
keep fingering- like reminiscence
will repair loose strands

(I woke up this morning
in a new carcass, trapped,
by fleshed out flaws and
dismal dreams and the
hush hush thrum ,steady,
[pulsations are riddled with
intent] of my veins)

I am the dents in the floorboard
where boxes of I-can-never-forgets
lay, I am the aching cold of walls
untouched, I am the callouses
of your fingers forgetting
how to work.

(my voice will melt the icecaps,
it will draw all salt from
the ocean and carve a careful
coffin
myths and the things that really matterin a season of wavering will
and ripe regret, I was born
too old - into a fragile world
of butterfly feathers and
springtime secrets, tied tenderly
around hollow hallucinations and
carefully called a "dream"

they promise you things
when you are too young to
understand the monsters under
your bed are really fragments
of you, left to disintegrate
in the dark. they say: you
will touch the world, you will
know the stars by name, you
will be our deliverance from
all the things we were not

you will be strong.

but they don't know, no,
I am a yard sale:

I sold my heart to a boy
with lilting lies and eyes
that looked human
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
Winter Nightsthe dawn dies quietly--
fall has lost another child,
the trees mourn and
night passes

and winter quakes,
the chill is in my bones. my
fingers shake. the fire in my
lungs burns me through

       I dream of you,
      every night when
     I close my eyes it's
        like falling into
      memories, I always
      wake up screaming

I'm sinking lower than all
good intentions and human
discretions because I am
the toxic underbelly,
underwhelmingly docile
until provoked (poked up
the side to see if I'm alive)

for twelve months I lived
underneath the end of the world,
counting up prophecies. it feels
empty on th
Storybook AddictionsI want you to love me as much as you do
the thorns in your side; seeds planted and
forgotten and bleeding cyclically.
when the swallowed night drowns and
drains darkness like a trickled lullaby, I want
to be the last thing in your dreams.

I want to be your mistake East of Eden, your lack
of redemption; when they tear apart your paper
flesh with metal claws, I want to be the one you
come crawling back to with bloodied knees.

[right now I am an empty vessel, unfulfilled
and metaphorically obsolete. I want to clear
my throat for once, without seeing the ashes
of my disease.]

I want to love you like a swansong;
breezes make your bones ach
ghostwriterhere, everyone’s pupils are dilated
and skin is stretched too tight
to expose the wind-swept spider webs
writhing beneath their porcelain composure

here, the shadows are afraid of us.

(and it is our desire
to finally come down to that place
of completion
where we
are
simple skeletons
with bleached
bones and
detached jaws)

at night, the rigid ghosts rock me to
sleep.  their cardboard  hearts and
inky eyes just begging to be seen

(it is only in the
darkness that I am
perceived to be more
than I am; holy
nightlight, exalted
star to guide them
all home

sleepily but
steadily blinking
out.)

the current carries my name,
I have spent
Springtime SwandiveI am not falling-- tumbling through
acrimonious stages of paranoia
meets depression meets all
those things I’ll never reach,

and it’s a quiet green thread that sews
these calloused palms to the gravitation
of your solidarity; dreams revolving
slowly around the circumference
of stranger stars, on their backs
sighing liquored lullabies and drifting
down to sleep.

there are few things in this life
which I know to be real when
I still cry out at night from the phantoms
tearing through my chest, but you are

the sun rising at 3 AM on a
sleepy Wednesday morning and the
last wish birthed on wanting lips and
the persistent anchor
AutonomousShe asks me to tell her a story,
a quiet ignorance of the self,
separation from
the unaffected scratches
on her freshwater skin and
years she spent
searching for the dreams orbiting
her like forlorn moons;

love happens on the sharp
nights unbalanced with
a little too much of the things
you don’t understand. She never
liked her eyes, full and honest and an
unignorable admittance she was real.

But she never was a cheater,
she claims, no one
put a price on her; the things she gave
away cost too much like
doctored up, re-polished
silence. Sounds familiar.

Imagine a place where
no one has a nightmare. No one
has a voice, their lives are
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
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More from ~intricately-ordinary

Fervid AwakeningThere'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
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
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
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
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
Verifiedsometimes fear is a little black monster that waits in your closet
nursing all your skeletons back to health, tempting you
with tightly wound lies like bitter almond candies

and compliance is second only to believing that maybe, just maybe,
the words slithering out of its mouth (then around your throat,
choking you when you are finally alone enough to be convinced truth
is objective) are something real, something worth believing in

unlike all the other things that have forsaken you,
there's a certain comfort in knowing that fear is
a constant, it is a shadow, it is as concrete as the bags
you carry excess time in under your eyes;

Featured in Groups:

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December 28, 2012
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In Pieces

:iconintricately-ordinary:

rum-lust lips make gentle friends,
words slurred in hands blurred,
burning in between the lines to find
some
drunken concoction of wilted laughs
and heavy sighs, scented sultry
with desperation.

you are that
rasping in my throat when my voice
deteriorates and I am left breathless
and hopeless and raw, my
muscles ache in memory of the
motions to forget-
we do not let go.

and cold beds call, stability,
metal frames and sunken heads –
rest now, rest with
a prayer on your lips you don't
care to share, a dream in
your mind you'll never get back;
rest and the earth will lend you peace
and

you will stop. the rivers will clean
your bones; the sand will smooth
your tongue; you will stop, brain blank,
as smooth ivory promises persist.
(interpretations mean less than nothing)

you will stop and rest,
finally,
at peace.
:iconintricately-ordinary:
and in that moment, it truly felt like a dream
(you never woke up)
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:iconperfling:
*Perfling Apr 4, 2013  Student General Artist
Was reading this without knowing the author, and wasn't surprised to see it was you ;) - fantastic as always!!
Reply
:iconintricately-ordinary:
~intricately-ordinary Apr 21, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
thank you so much!
Reply
:iconthepoetboy:
~thepoetboy Feb 6, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
(sorry, comment entered somehow!)

and cold beds call, stability,
metal frames and sunken heads –
rest now, rest with
a prayer on your lips you don't
care to share, a dream in
your mind you'll never get back;
rest and the earth will lend you peace
and

you will stop. the rivers will clean
your bones; the sand will smooth
your tongue; you will stop, brain blank,
as smooth ivory promises persist.

this part is so beautiful i love the image of the metal frames and sunken heads and the rivers and sand smooth tongue and god smooth ivory promises. beautiful imagery with beautiful meaning.

not to mention i adore the and in that moment, it truly felt like a dream / (you never woke up

truly gorgeous like you!♥
Reply
:iconthepoetboy:
~thepoetboy Feb 6, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
god this is beautiful. i adore this line here:

you are that
rasping in my throat when my voice
deteriorates and I am left breathless
and hopeless and raw

its just really powerful and moving. ugh how do you write so well, doll?

this whole
this whole part here though
Reply
:icondisrhythmic:
~disrhythmic Jan 8, 2013
the rivers will clean
your bones; the sand will smooth
your tongue; you will stop, brain blank,
as smooth ivory promises persist.

God that's beautiful. :heart:
Reply
:iconintricately-ordinary:
~intricately-ordinary Jan 8, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
thank you so much :heart:
Reply
:iconglossolalias:
*glossolalias Jan 5, 2013
your work has been featured here: [link] please go check out the other pieces & have a nice day :heart:
Reply
:iconintricately-ordinary:
~intricately-ordinary Jan 5, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
ohmygosh you're wonderful :heart: you have such amazing features, thank you so much!
Reply
:iconexistencewesummonyou:
~ExistenceWeSummonYou Dec 31, 2012
Oh, I love the ecstatic cascade of sounds in this poem - "words slurred in hands blurred,/ burning in between the lines" - my tongue just tumbles effortlessly down lines like that - good stuff!
Reply
:iconintricately-ordinary:
~intricately-ordinary Dec 31, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
:love: thank you! It was so much fun to write out and read, too :heart:
Reply
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