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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 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.
BeautyI'd rather wear flowers in my hair,
forming a delicate chain
Than diamonds around my neck,
covering my tender blue veins
For with every precious petal
and every lucent leaf
I'm a living lesson
teaching beauty can not be bought
But rather it grows and flourishes
with every living thought
Expensive LiesI sit and stare at the toilet bowl.
A guy I know is bulimic.
When we compliment him
I see the twist of agony in his eyes
as his brain reprograms it
to sound like an expensive lie
that costs him another tear
in his tattered dignity.
Friends hurry to him,
to reassure him, to love him.
They tell him how beautiful he is.
We didn't know him before,
but he's definitely not fat now.
We whisper things in concern like;
body dysmorphic disorder.
'I know you'll never believe me
but you are so gorgeous -
not just on the inside.' Not just.
And they're right, I join in,
because they are right to say it
because it happens to be true -
he is stunning. Not just on the outside.
And we want him to see himself
the way we see him, beautiful.
And I join in because
I've felt that strangle of pain
in my stomach, bowels and belly,
when someone used to tell me lies.
So I know how he feels.
Only, he is beautiful on the outside
and I'm not.
He's not seeing reality in the mirror
and I am.
And people rush to correc
Fearing MeI'm not afraid to cry
and I do it
a lot more than you would guess.
It isn't always sadness,
I just feel like I need to,
feel everything so strongly
that it's the only way
to let go for a moment
because if I hold on for too long,
if my grip gets too tight
I'll break myself,
I will break you like glass
and we will both
I am a good guy
who hasn't yet found a way
to show it,
I am a good guy
who still identifies with the villains,
hides everything important
anything to throw you
off of my trail....
and I don't know why,
but I am trying.
Maybe I think
that if you could see me,
the real me,
you wouldn't want to look anymore,
want to be anywhere near me,
and the idea
that I can't add up
to be enough for you,
to be enough for me,
is so fucking heart breaking
I can hardly fathom it.
I can't say that it doesn't hurt
because it does,
it hurts a whole hell of a lot,
I've come to depend on pain,
to befriend misery
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 -
A Kiss not Forgotten (a special tribute)Like a frost spread across valleys silent and dreary,
ever my longing lost in shimmers of shadow & wind
And days bled into years, the seas became deserts
But thoughts of thee would not perish
Thru memories untamed I staggered far and long;
upon solemn nights lit by the torch of your soul
O’ how deep I miss your fragrant cheer ..
Of warm evenings shared across Lake’s reverie,
watching horizons journey into Autumn’s dream
— wherest our hearts once bloomed a fabled sky
Those passions shared will forsake me not
Lest the Moon would bestow solace upon my ache:
I will lay marooned, haunted by thy seraphic-figure,
Or the ever fleeting caress of your gaze ...
So my soul shall yield to this mythic abyss; –
as I peer from my carriage to Nirvana
And thou away, from my arms, the Sun weeps
Unto eternity—my dear beloved, we are entwined
Forever our footprints cast in golden firmament
A kiss not forgotten in a ballet of light softly falling
I now bear the want
Black hole BulimicThe Composition:
I birth poems — not amaranths
in graveyards — not gardens.
sows seeds of doubt
into skeleton weeds.
A farmer plucks the bones
from Apollo's hyacinth; his
I binge on broken
cracked collectors of rocks,
of pebbles kidnapped
from barren beaches:
where crooked kings
buried in books whose
pages creak to crickets
in an abandoned abyss
of an attic—caskets on
an antiquated shelf. I
choke on the dust and
twitch in recoil.
The bickering sky
A cloud coughs—
The clock's scythe hand
swivels to the beckoning
twelve. Spastic ticking—
each bleak stroke
of a midnight heart.
The sundials do not work
now. The vampires know
I kill poems—
obligation steam machineas always
grinding the cankerous
of your cognition
until the lack of compassion
leaves you unlubricated
seized frozen bound stuck
only then the machine of
your fears will burst to steam
squealing to suckle
at the genius of my
the unsung soiled hero
of middle-class ferocity
savior of the undeserving
winding slowly deftly dying
martyr to the self-justified cause
as love for summer fades.late morning-
there's the tease of
snow in the clouds,
in the air, and the trees
have finally lost their
the sunlight is damp.
alters the room
as it graces my skin,
and for once
i don't wake up right away.
instead i lay
between my memory bitten
sheets, and i think
about all the times he said
that he hated winter.
i don't remember
when i began to love it,
and i don't care.
nothing can shatter that.
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.
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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