[x]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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,

embeddeda sunset blister[pops] overhead, dripping
security. she kisses her lover and leaves
with splinters in lips. there are moments
when she swears she can hear a breath
rattling somewhere within his
reciprocating chest
she swears in vain

and sometimes it's like they recycled
an old day, it fits the same and that
is an alarming halt to progression-
she says, we have to move on

but she doesn't ever leave, feet buried
under years of promises and plans and
anxieties. she's had a bird cage by her bed
since she was a little girl (begging wounded
blue jays to escape)

the day won't break, he watches
her sleep uneasily, respiring
like

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

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]

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

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More from ~intricately-ordinary

Innocent Purgefingers not full grown
still manage to pull free
undesired calories
and a mother's fear
"honey, please"
says the mom who has too many
worries and wrinkles for
her daughter of nine
"please"
tears spring forth
from wells not seen
since her own pitiful choices
"you're already beautiful,
and there are so many better ways
please, please, please
don't make my same mistakes"
tiny fingers just long enough
to grasp at insecurities
and struggle with feelings
of inadequacy
I want to be pretty

drain her empty
in the filthiest of cleansings
the mind of a child can't comprehend irony,
and that is her only solution

"but mommy" she

Your Name's My Best ObscenityThe sweetest curses are sugar on lips
If I died this evening, you'd find your name
aflame- the words I last shouted in vain
lingering on my tongue like a toxic kiss-
revenge is addicting, venomous pain,
even spent on cries I know are mundane
No fixing up this unholiest tryst,
forged by two fools who believed in their lies;
or maybe it was I, eager for light
even in spite of the flaws I had seen
Can light be fake? Were your twinkling eyes
a mere disguise to make me ignite?
Aflame, in vain, impure light fuels my screams

Cyanide MindI lost my voice
choking on my own tongue.
The words still spill out
from my eyes.

I bit my lips raw
hoping to stem the flow,
but ideas still drip
from my fingertips.

A soggy brain leaks, I suppose
and all my thoughts taste like tar

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

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Poetry Feeds Our Souls

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Winter Nights

by ~intricately-ordinary, Jan 13, 2013, 10:46:29 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

the 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 the other side

sweet dreams, the night
suffocates like a loyal
lover's sighs.

Winter Nightsby ~intricately-ordinary

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

©2013 ~intricately-ordinary

Winter visits, unwarranted, and finds a home in my frozen heart.

they should add a new category: maddie ramblings

*lantern-rose Jan 22, 2013 Professional Writer

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~intricately-ordinary Jan 22, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

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`dreamsinstatic Jan 18, 2013 Professional Writer

Your fantastic work has been featured in Friday Night Features.

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~intricately-ordinary Jan 18, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

thank you so much!

Reply

`dreamsinstatic Jan 19, 2013 Professional Writer

You're welcome.

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~tiajones Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

): this makes me sad.

well, quite like winter.

this is lovely, though. absolutely lovely

Reply

~intricately-ordinary Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

thank you so much

sorry for making you sad!

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~tiajones Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

oh, don't you ever apologize for your poetry making me sad. poetry is meant to make us feel. <3

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~snowjoe72 Jan 14, 2013

Ramblings are just ideas-in-progress. If you start to follow the better-sounding ones, they will likely grow into inspiration. Either that or an interesting rant. But the second one is probably more MY ramblings than yours...

XD

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~Contradictory55 Jan 14, 2013 Student Writer

It's like something one would use inbetween a story

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