[x]

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

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.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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

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

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]

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

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.

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

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Submitted: October 30, 2012
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appropriately appalling

by ~intricately-ordinary, Oct 30, 2012, 9:11:18 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

i
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:
no one ever wants to
face their mortality
head-on.
i will die and i will bring
my rotting mind with me;

the sun will rise again, brightly,
a little less burdened

the worst eulogy, it seems,
is a finger pointed towards
a world unwelcoming:
(look at me now, mom
i'm something worth writing
home about, i finally
followed through)

iv
there's a skeleton's breath
on the back of my neck,
a reminder I was born
~~wrong~~ human

the flies are in the food, again
i think i'm going home

appropriately appallingby ~intricately-ordinary

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

~~give them a reason to hate you~~

I'm getting back on my feet, slowly, but surely.

~CelestialMemories Nov 12, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

_{iv was by far my favorite stanza. It summed up the entire thing, and it would've been powerful enough to stand alone. I loved it.}

~intricately-ordinary Nov 12, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

ohhhhhajdkhfkjsh thank you

~CelestialMemories Nov 13, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

_{You're welcome}

=slowslicksnails Nov 3, 2012 Student Writer

I was born wrong human. ....that is such a powerful line. I love it.

This poem is very very powerful and full of emotion. Wow. This is definitely one of my favorites of yours. Such an amazing poem....
This one deserves a DD

~intricately-ordinary Nov 4, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I'm honored you think so, I certainly had a lot of fun writing it

thank you

=slowslicksnails Nov 4, 2012 Student Writer

You're very welcome! It looks like it was fun writing it.

*0hgravity Nov 1, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

i. did a nice job of setting up the tone for the rest of the piece.

I liked:
i am selfish and
greedy, but not strong
enough
to steal a life worth living

~intricately-ordinary Nov 1, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I tried to think of a good way to show something vile. Thank you so much!

*0hgravity Nov 1, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

you succeeded.
welcome!

~Contradictory55 Oct 31, 2012 Student Writer

I hope it continues, getting back on your feet.

Appropriately appalling indeed

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appropriately appalling

appropriately appallingby ~intricately-ordinary

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