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SaintlikeYou wish for a switch, to beat this thing inside,
the thing that makes you hope and dream and cry -
this weakness inside.
You wish to carve out your chest, place it in a sterile cup,
hear the doctors whistle,
"The biggest one I've seen yet."
Hallowed at last
you can close your eyes.
And weightless at last,
the earth will fall away
and you will drift away;
swallowed up at last.
StretchedLately, the lines of me keep shifting
I catch flickers of movement in mirrors and startle -
but it’s just me
and a sigh of relief,
the familiar lens slipping into place again.
I keep blending outwards
and smoothing myself back into a shape
Flesh and bone fading into space,
pieces of me trailing behind.
This body is no longer solid, I cannot contain it.
One day I will shiver
and every bit of me will detach.
Fade into space.
drowningthere's nothing for me to say
i have headaches everyday
and everything is sad and lonely and falling apart
and we're sad and lonely and falling apart
oh i don't want it this way
i don't want it this way
every morning i wake up
and i go to bed
and what do you say
when the world's gone faded
and nothing's in its place
and everyone is sad
and falling apart
when does it end
when will it end
i've been swimming for so long
i can't think this anymore
i can't be this anymore
i just want to stop
i just want to
I Sleep in the TreesWhen I am weak and weary,
filled with thoughts that ache and pain,
I seek the companionship of white nothingness
and bare, black trees
who stand tall as monuments.
We stand and watch life continue,
the sound of trains and traffic a lullaby to soothe me.
With the whole world glittering at my feet,
I feel bare and black and monumental.
May FlyUnwrap my skin so I may step forth, anew,
aglow and fluttering and separated
from this cumbersome chrysalis.
If I had wings and spent my days
perched atop the tips of trees,
the dread and despair
of the weight of my soul,
would have to sink to the mossy roots;
insects are too small
for the Sturm and Drang of men.
They spend their time
and mapping the bark of trees.
Soulless and short-lived,
I would be free.
Rose SkirtsThe girls are always loud and proud
with their hard mouths in soft colours
and tired eyes carrying tears;
they yell and dance and
show their teeth,
but their hands flutter
like scared flowers quivering
in the face of a sharpened, shiny knife.
The Black Hole VicinityMy pulse no longer beats
in tune with every honk
and my feet are out of place
with your walk;
I can barely keep up.
This city numbs my very bones
and I write but cannot talk;
the words keep freezing in my mouth.
I shuffle and shiver,
grinding my teeth at night,
while every other cog
is moving, moving, moving
and I am fully stopped.
The Man Who Would Chase WinterA man who tore at my mind
like a half-forgotten dream;
pieces of ideas burning,
tugging my thoughts to him as a child.
For a moment, the present would not exist;
our world of dreams more real
than the world around me. Another gift
from him to me.
I remember late phone calls,
strung together as lanterns;
the only thing
that brightened the winter in my heart.
I was a risk not many would have taken,
with tears caught in my throat
and a howling in my head.
You gave me air
when I couldn't find my lungs
but love isn't a respirator.
I still have tears trapped in my throat
and I gasp for air occasionally
but the howling has grown faint.
Sometimes a man tugs at my mind again,
I remember lanterns
and a world of dreams, all our own.
My Only LoverIt's not a back alley and I'm not wearing
just a trench coat
but this is snaking around me like smoke,
like cigarette smoke from parted lips;
I can feel
I've been here before
but we've exchanged places and suddenly
my breath catches,
snagged in my throat (you always said
I smoked too much). Except
you're not here, it's someone else
but I can't stop, not anymore;
that song is playing in my veins,
I don't care,
this is what I've died for. Remember?
And I will empty myself until
I can be filled no more.
The Boy Who Wouldnt EatIf you can flutter
I have failed you,
for you were not forged
to be so insubstantial as that
You were writ
to be an epic fable
of endings ignored,
of outlasting your body
through the sheer will
of a writers starving heart
through a broken, bowed
but bravely abiding body
that fights the soul
to comprehend Beauty.
................written in a frenzy and run-on
and exclamation points
used in rapid succession
words all blurred
so bare bones it's bloody
strung out and on display
in a frightening combination
of paragraphs and stanzas
punctuation gone mad
ellipses my new black
used and abused
then spit out
in gratuitous repetition
there is no word count here
no hearts dotting the i's
just a string of letters
done up in cursive
but not very pretty at all
Five AMPre-dawn darkness again, seething, quiet
A monster hugging the city
How heavy, how suffocating it is
The clock has run down on time for dreaming
A void between night and morning
Ready to swallow everything up
A time for old men's reflections
On love, and loss, and sorrow
Oppressive black sky, you eat everything
But the all-night diner
Where lonely old men sit
Drinking coffee at five AM
you're just a question marki met you so long ago
but back then our bodies were made of metal
and nowadays they’re made of the blades of
grass and dirt settling
underneath my fingernails.
my fingers are having a hard time
reaching the keys and
my organs are shaking mostly because i haven’t
eaten in two days but also
because i’m worried about the things you're doing to yourself.
we didn’t meet very long ago at all but it feels like forever ago
and you say you don’t know me
that you don’t know anyone
but baby you're turning into a skeleton and i’m peeling back my skin
to try and reach my bones, just like you.
i hope you're happy,
i’m covering the hard wood floors now
the bits and pieces splattered.
they are calling it a suicide but i’m calling it
a way to see my brain and
just how dark it has become, and honestly
i don’t want you to try and see about your’s.
i’m mourning the loss of my heart and wish you weren’t either -
Sound PoemIthrumden, ithrumden delsum
nith mul thruss elmrissull.
Eth rut mundelliss
Curmiette dessel renrin
irme trell ithrumden.
The partyFlashing lights
Smoke all around
About to pass out
My head starts to hurt
I can't take this anymore
So without saying anything
I find the exit
And escape that place
"How can someone have fun in there?"
Coming HomeComing down the ramp I spotted you in the crowd
Your tenderloin skin always stands out
Your aura was particularly bright that day
Whirling dervish colors in the pale sun
You wore a chauffeurs cap and held a sign that said “Anyone”
I knew that I wasn’t anyone, so I walked away
“Strange days,” someone said, and I agreed
I hate crowds and old garbled memories
Arriving home, my wife and cat didn’t recognize me
I looked in the mirror and noticed that I was someone else
Still carrying my old baggage, I turned away
I should have taken your limo
~days eat days
like I eat potato chips
on a couch whose
springs have thrown out
their backs no longer able
to hold even the remote up.
it sinks between the seats like
I do every lonely saturday night
or every evening I can’t quite
make it to bed, cupped with
similar back problems,
a similar sag.
I’ve begun to
take after my furniture.
"the only unattractive curve,"
a girl once said to me with a few
desirable curves herself,
"is the one a person develops
in their back.”
we dated for a month and
she called me her
hunchback of notre dome
(it’s dame, babe.)
and I called her beautiful.
and nothing else.
but somehow her leaving did nothing
to straighten my bent back but
only managed to deepen
my parenthetical stance on
those who love me
(they don’t exist).
things i cannot doi cannot sleep
and most certainly stay asleep-
with the black edged creatures
trembling at the corners
to trap me in tendrils of nightmare,
i shift too emptily for peace.
i cannot brave an appointment
i need hands to hold
this broken ship
caught in the waves with no crests.
i forget about the things i love,
but things i hate include
how i am haunted everyday
how i cannot seem
to call him by name
or directly address him-
there is no "you"
in my words,
only fear and flashbacks.
i cannot leave an unfinished crossword out of my thoughts
just like a relationship that had tapered off;
i cannot let go of things that have melted into my grip;
i cannot break a heart
You uproot the browning trees,
anger at the kidnapping of Persephone,
anger that everything grows.
Lightning flashing from your eyes
could be better used to raise Lazerus
or even a stitched together monster.
Better used to rake the dead into a pile
to jump into and feel the prickles of leaf wafers
crackling into your cranium.
Better to grab a handful of the intruding grass
and play God to the ants.
Run your pencil fingers
down the spine of a shady nymph,
who is losing her hair with every passing day
and wish she could spring to life
or uproot the dead.
She's wrinkled, sure,
and burned from the sun,
but she is smiling still
as you rip her arms off her body.
Remember the dust
from crushed leaves.
and inhaled by all.
LatreuophobiaI wash off sick-sweet orange lipstick in front of a mirror as dusty as gothic romances. It tastes like oblivion, that is to say, like nothing my tongue can detect.
The door opens with a creak no private restroom could emulate. Some chick with blue bobbed hair and smeared eyeliner. I looked like that once. Ten years ago.
Getting the beer out of my hair is harder. Some men just can't take it when I'd rather they not kiss my feet or call me an angel or-
“Dayum girl, you look like a goddess.”
I gulp, taste of acid.
Vanguard, Chapter 1: DuncanDuncan's Journal: Day 1288
I consider myself a good man. I respect women, elders, my equals, and the dead. I say a morning prayer, and an evening one. Hell, I even thank the gods for a meal, instead of immediately chowing down in the voracious manner as the other soldiers here do. By all logical means, I should be in paradise. No really, not just because I'm a good man, but also because I should be dead by now. So I ask myself: why, oh gods up there, have I ended up in hell?
1288 days. 1288 days of my life have been spent in this misery, and I'm beginning to lose faith in the glory I was promised. Some of the rookies still live in their ignorant bliss, but I've lived long enough to realize that there's not much glory to find here. “Sing the songs of glory and march into battle—-join The Crusade today!”. Such were the words of the posters The Crusade has spread all over The Mortal Realm. Gullible fools practically stand in line for these songs of glory that th
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