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11/18/13peel off my smile
shut my eyes
with the utmost grace,
drown my speech
with your tidal waves of
thick, salty sentences
if I was the stone
eroded by the water
I would cause the
contentedness in silence
the clear glass
in between the dark,
the storm, the snow,
the monsters and you--
November is always
dead, no bright flames,
just ashes and ashes,
I'm not quite sure
what I was
10/24/13I'll wake up tomorrow
before the dawn yawns & stretches
wash the dead cells off
my tired face
hold the reaper off for
another long day
eyes still cold asleep
the pupils of a stranger
I saw once on a bus;
"what the fuck you
lookin' at, kid?"
9/7/13 Novocaine, two pleaseencased in gold,
I'm like the memories
kept in a heart-shaped locket,
worn around your neck
sleeping between your collarbones
like a precious bear cub,
I still build fairy houses,
I take advantage of toy displays;
I see no point in running with shoes on
I don't find magic silly:
I like to pretend
that I haven't lost my baby teeth
and the crooked monstrosities
haven't taken their place;
I still smile (somewhat) like I did.
1/27/13 mountainsi am not somebody
who believes in moderation
or the myth of middle
i am either
playing all my chips
with my best straight
or i stand on the side
lines and do not even try
to play the game at
11/24/13 just as sweetgive me a place to rest my head
I might stay here a week; a year
but not forever, no,
just let me rest my tired head
in your lap
cry on your shoulder
embrace you as tightly
as my skinny arms allow
but you are not permanent:
you're a stain that rubs out
and I won't burden you
I'll use you, I'll treat you right
but in the end
you're an artificially lit hotel
bathroom stained with pale blood
bed sheets stained with pale come
beckoning me to stay the night
1/14/13 a continuationbecause I'm the
the supernova lover,
the hot summer
before a nice, cool
10/10/13you tell me there’s beauty
painted over my skin
that good things live within
the ribbons that hold me together
but sometimes I just can’t
have faith in mortal things
you only love me because
I found it in myself to
love the way you snap at me
and narrow your eyes
pull away just to make me stay
I like you best when
you’re asleep and things
are in rest.
10/6/13kick me while i'm down,
breathe in the red of my blood,
i've already torn off my skin
i guess there's nothing left for you
9/21/13he doesn’t bother to come out of his room
or to turn on the lights,
because lately she’s been on his mind
and all the dead insects she left have
brightly colored wings still aflame on his wall
that keep him awake and tense,
sometimes, he takes them down
but only for sport;
her hands are smaller than his,
to make it easier to let go of him
and she chopped her hair off when evening came
and let the dead cells fall to the floor,
like dry leaves in the density of autumn;
she’s not young and flat-chested anymore,
she knows what they want
and she keeps her visible ribs closed & close like
a firmly latched kennel door,
the moths inside still attracted to the
hidden, pulsing light of her heart
through skeletal, ghastly eyes
sometimes they flutter across the iris
almost looking like lies;
but only when he takes the dead insects that have
brightly colored wings still aflame on his wall
only when he takes them down for sport.
Change this lifeHiding in the shadows
Resisting in secrecy
Trying to find a way
To change this life of misery
The future is unknown
The past is to forget
The present is dull and boring
Is this what life has to offer?
I want to change
And I keep trying
Only to fail miserabily
Every single time
eight ways you've made me small1. I wish
this was for you.
2. my journal pages - the
brown one with all our monologues -
were jarred with hollow vows of
last poems of
letting you slip into a coma
of bad memories, watching you
fall to your death off
a cascading cliff of disease
and dis ease.
it was never
easy for me
3. there's a reason I ask
whether you're grey
(dark white, elusively black, in between)
or blue (behind the clouds, under wave-foam,
whateverthefuck runs through the back of my
palms); I'd rather have
than the arms
that once held you half-
heartedly. you had always been
my harmony and I
would have killed
to have been yours.
4. it could never have been just me, the way
it could never have been just
5. disasters are not beautiful,
but how is it that you
managed to make my inner linings
converge into bows
and explode into wings the very
night you decided to rebuild your walls
to a lower height?
6. I wish
on bradbury and table dancingYou are not a wordsmith
whatever you might like to think. ('Smith'
indicates precision and coldness and fire:
words are softer than that unless you mold them strong.)
It's a difficult road to follow, and not many
make it past the fork. Choose a path,
Janus says, whirligig keys spinning on his shoulders:
I am a wordworker, with my tools too crude, forming
rough-edged carvings painted with pretty imagery.
Notebooks scattered across the landscape
of a child's room, to be stumbled across,
read, red-penned, in the thick and choking breath of night.
When the bough breaks
a hanged man laughs. He carries typewriters
in his pockets, and cigarettes in the soles of his shoes.
I will never be a word mistress,
whoring myself to the speech of people I do not know and will never know me.
The oven is set to Fahrenheit 452, but the words were already aflame
before they ever took shape under your tongue.
You love everything they've ever written, and carry
unabashed loathing for every syllabl
Whenever I hurt myselfI have a feeling
Someone is watching
So I look around
But there's no one to be found
ExpirationWith you I always feel like I’m
to break in the wrong size of shoes.
Sometimes I sit and stew
over how you’re seventeen and
you think I’m a princess
the trapped-in-a-tower kind
and how you wear suits and talk about politics
and think you know the world.
My throat interrupts with an affronted gurgling sound
sometimes when I think about you,
you deal out advice where it just isn’t called for
you quote science-fiction to justify war
and you’re seventeen years old and you think I’m a princess
and you just have no blooming idea.
Darling, one of these days I will tell you my mind
But until then we’ll never fit
I’m afraid –
that even after that day
you’ll still be trimmed hedges and
when i stimulated the prayers of rib-beat
when i licked the temple of my teeth,
speed pushed my fingers shaped like confessionals
clasped holy, carved my throat to fixing-
lover; i did this for the anthem of your eyes,
the feel of strangled feet crushing the fame of stars
for the glow of streetlight worship, for the moons
of your crooning throat, for the halls of your arms,
the strayed revels of your arms,
lover: you manufactured a god out of the drugs i used
and had me addicted to the divine, to the dignity of music
you pressed in my direction: just what i am, hallelujah,
marijuana, day and night-
lover, i fell in love with your culture
that preached the real definition of dusked kneecaps,
the plea of closeted throats, the whisper of bless,
unlearning how to say please god in borrowed tongue,
i fell in love with your attention, with nervous grace
lover. i levied the rubble of my sins
Even The City KnowsIs it at all easy?
Being by yourself, I mean.
Sitting in a car, on a train, on a bus--wherever you might be now, isn't it hard to be a drifter?
There are no men with newspapers, no women with strollers, no love-crazy teenagers, no annoying toddlers, no anybody.
You stare out the window, like there are people out there, calling your name. The trees are out there, and they've lost all their leaves, all their buds--they've lost everything, just like you.
The sky is out there, and it's gray and colorless, just like you.
The stars are out there, and they're so blown-out-of-proportion, and they're just like you, too.
But the trees, the skies, the stars, they're used to being left alone.
You lack the ebullience of your drink, but it, too, is fading.
Frost has gathered on windows, on the ground, on rivers, everywhere.
Frost comes and goes, just like you, when you finally melt away.
The city draws to darkness and quiet--it disappears, just like you.
But, even frost
Death to the LoversHe screamed,
He tore his hair from his scalp;
But it didn't bring her back.
The beautiful girl
With the gorgeous smile
And witty remarks
Would always lay six feet under.
She would lie in her death bed,
Her arms folded on her chest
And her face full of peace
Known only to the dead.
He would be the first to rot.
First his health,
Then his sanity.
She would forever feed on his emotions
Like a pretty little leech,
Sapping his well being
And happiness from her underground world.
And he would let her,
For a fool like him
Who allowed himself to love,
7/14/13 velvet punksBuzzing in your ears
All the signs say
"stop, wrong way"
A rain soaked street
makes you seem
Yellow lines, pink sneakers
"Just a walk," you rationalize
It is, after all, a nice night
Face this on the bridge,
One side is currents past
One makes your future last
Green dye in the gutters
Lightning (lightning) flashes,
You whisper, "Take me away"
While deserted sidewalks pray
She's a rising moon, neon poetry
You have a fear of snakes
Rubbed in the wrong direction
Reaching a new conclusion
You turned fifteen yesterday
Blistered feet, satin eyes
I don't mind, I don't mind
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More