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WelcomeI'm ready for a romance to ravage my heart and tear apart my
dusty limbs, I'm waiting for someone to take my breath and
never give it back; I'm prepared to sell all I was for a trip
somewhere new - beyond the paper mistakes I sailed away
down the river long ago. (even rocks and leaden thoughts
won't let the truth sink.)

I left my being somewhere under a waning summer sun
when the trees hummed melodies of moving on;
my soul still stays there, porous and pining and
lost. Dying stars don't lead home.

I suppose
it's more than just losing
your words, it's losing
you

too.

I am someone who mourns Sunday morning for another lost
w
expired warningsI hate to break it to you but we're all betting on the day when
your nightmares will swallow you whole and you won't
remember how to open your eyes. we forget your voice,
it broke and no one buried the pieces. we're giving you up:
secessions (your ribcage is a civil war, your heart is the victim.
there will be no memorial; there are only red flags)
obsessions pick your bones dry, vulture needs, vulgar
mortality argues at least you're not alive

at least you can't see us anymore, counting the knots
in your neck and catastrophes in your mouth. in
your summer cage you were a soggy butterfly bearing
a cumbersome cross. now, we leave yo
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
In Piecesrum-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 cle
Almost Perfectthe sun is melting away,
we call it romantic when
all good things die quietly;

I feel like I’m always transitioning
through different levels of sobriety:
spent up on the people in my life
like the girl who doesn’t remember
my name and the boy who thought
I was joking.

(I will care for myself, and
then the world will stop and
spin in the right direction;
the mirror will blur and
I will finally see me,
unfiltered and beautiful)

I just want to believe
that somewhere there’s a boy
ready to sing my bleeding ears
to sleep

with a cinnamon voice, he
will tell me I couldn’t
possibly be human:  something
otherworldly,
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
Lovebirds' Sorrowshe was the girl with cat
eyes: broad and judging and
carnal; he was the doe
with a broken collarbone,
yet she found herself lost in
the warmth of his sighs and
asked simply for a set
of sweeter lies

[because it's only after you
sell yourself to the earth that
you learn love is not a
chemical reaction anticipating
every ignited glance and soured
word; no, it is a thing
of obligation that sleeps upon
your doorstep, knowing you
will always come back,
knowing you could never forget
its name]

he called to her on hollow
nights, and she found his
voice when she had nowhere
left to go

he was the cereal box savior;
she only needed a place
to bur
Revenantthey came like phantoms;

oceanic whispers left me washed out.
those gossamer ghosts that lined
the doorways-- eyes in a constant
state of surprise as they reached for me:

needle fingers pricked, fueling
my addictions. they ached
for my veins, entangled like
the strings of my paper heart

and they stained my skin,
amethyst bruises in the shape
of recognition.

their breaths were the heavy hums
of a forgotten lullaby "one day you
will leave, and you will fade into a
virulent void, like us. you will warm
our icy bones, and we will love you,
like no one else can.

go back to sleep, little girl, we will
come again" with their cer
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
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
tense intentionsiv.
you lurk behind my sternum and
lace my uneasy breaths with
doubt and self-deprecation, I

can't breathe. I
guess I didn't need to sleep.

ii.
I am smudged in between the lies,
an asymmetric astrology chart
mapping misguided dreams

when you make a wish on me,
I sell away another piece

(I wish I were my own)

v.
it was always me, it was always
the blood clotting in my heart
and words coagulating on my
tongue – I swallow cyanide to
vomit up my narcissistic tendencies

iii.
it was nothing that ever mattered
when the dust settled and you
could finally remember my name

(and you settled down into my bones
deciding I was
Pestilenceall of God’s children sleep
together and count the falling sheep,
stars nestled in their eyes as they
prey upon the crumbling walls;
God loves all his children and I am
the orphan with an asphalt blanket;
clouds scorn me and I mourn
their wasted hatred

(my eyes, my broken plastic
looking glasses; my hands,
termite ridden and frost bitten;
my heart, worm holed and
seeking absolvance)

what’s there behind these echoed
words? divisions of another  from
a better time, I have begun to live
and lie with no consequence

because that little toxic feeling
floating in my chest likes to
poison everyone I’ve ever met,
and I&rsqu
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
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
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
Browse More Like This

More from *intricately-ordinary

catch a falling star, put in your pocketthere's something about those little broken
dreamer girls with misproportionate promises
and lingering whispers,
who walk like angels, lost, and trying
to find a way back home;
whose hearts bleed abnormally loud
and resonant- those girls with
shadows like ghosts [dead and haunting],
that make them a flavor
to taint your tongue.

if you listen close, you can hear the
unraveling words that once knit the hollow space
between their bones,
you can hear their shallow sighs like
sun sets for a final time.
you can hear their ticking time bomb lungs

and you can touch their secrets, because they
wear them on their skin. not like wounds
Deliverancean angel drifts at the edge of the sky
with dwindling wings, she murmurs 'genesis'
and extends her fingers to try
and catch the pieces of a broken world

"sometimes we just need to burn
to have a way to light up the night"

the ground collapses upwards, and the
clouds come tumbling down-- the stars
awake and smile, they set fire to
desiccate all blinded faith

the masses watch on; glazed eyes,
broken spines, excised tongues-- they
are seduced by the twinkling lights

"destruction breeds beauty and
it seems to go both ways"

as the day decays, their time shatters
until those knuckle-dragging fools
find broken moment shrapnel
dee
Into Something Newto the edge and back again--
your hands were screaming
on the steering wheel

we have nowhere to go
but down

you've always flirted
with the belief that moving
might get you someplace

far away--
like dreams of heaven and
eternities and carelessness
forgotten,

but forever is never enough.
it is not reachable,
and all the tire tread in the world
couldn't take you from your
persistent persecutions.

no one ever took no for an answer;
your hands still scream for
deliverance from ambiguity
and actuality, as well.

so into the edge, far into the end
break the sky with your questions why

we have nowhere to go
but we'll get ther

Featured in Groups

:iconlooselacespoetry: :iconpoeticalcondition: :iconpoetry-screams: :iconoriginal-scribbles:
×

Storybook Addictions

:iconintricately-ordinary:

I 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 ache and
I am always cold-- no one wants the
wind: it bites and they identify my
prickled flesh as its invitation.

[I wish I weren’t the pendulum
around your neck, counting the days
until you’d finally leave]

I only ever wanted you to love me.

368

43 39 11
:iconintricately-ordinary:

Storybook Addictionsby *intricately-ordinary

DescriptionDetailsShare
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Romanticism tempered with codependency, the loveliest concoction for all fairytale endings.

(Not exactly happy, but my bad attempt at a romance poem.)
©2013 *intricately-ordinary
Category: Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

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Submitted on
January 23
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:iconsammur-amat:
=Sammur-amat Jan 28, 2013   General Artist
I love the rawness and the sanguine imagery throughout the poem :love:
Marvelous piece as always, madpie :tighthug:
Reply
:iconintricately-ordinary:
*intricately-ordinary Jan 28, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
I'm so happy to hear that! Thank you! :heart:
Reply
:iconsammur-amat:
=Sammur-amat Jan 29, 2013   General Artist
You are always, always welcome, my dear. :heart:
Reply
:iconcelestialmemories:
~CelestialMemories Jan 28, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
And you tried to talk about me and imagery. You are the best at it! :star:

You have me feeling so many conflicted emotions right now.

so many feels.
Reply
:iconintricately-ordinary:
*intricately-ordinary Jan 28, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
I learned from watching youuu.

I'll give you feels all night long :meow:
Reply
:iconcelestialmemories:
~CelestialMemories Jan 29, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
YOU LIE, YOU BAD LIE

o bbi :iconlazyshyplz:
Reply
:iconbluezbreakr:
~Bluezbreakr Jan 29, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
:icontakemybodyplz:

Oh? That's not an icon?

Let's make it an icon, bby.
Reply
:iconcelestialmemories:
~CelestialMemories Jan 29, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
:flirty:
Reply
:iconbluezbreakr:
~Bluezbreakr Jan 31, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
:iconeyebrowsplz:
Reply
:iconetherealmartyr:
=EtherealMartyr Jan 27, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
The emotions in this are strong and beautiful. It's really a wonderful poem. :heart:
Reply
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