white rock exploded into perfect form
primary colours washing
the need to stay
the quiet is a heart beat
muted for a mother's
the is of a
a camera empties itself
as of faces
is your face
mask painted downi am not waiting
(i was never waiting for a coffin
procession, as they awaited
coffers opening, gleaming)
i disregard my blood;
imagine grimalkins warming
their crooked fingers
punctuating their gripes:
my mother suffered.
in turn, as i
when the day comes
there will be no thanks;
he will be happy
to have less
she will be happy
to have her breath given back
say we carry our memories with us
is just a large
handle on a hole
expressing your love
with a store-bought
mask, with plastic
painted tears streaking
down does not
endear me to you
(your love is a fictional entity birthed into an effigy
you burn cigarette holes into)
no, i will
i feel my capacity
battering my face
like an unlikely prediction
lets goRelentless as an ocean eroding
the creases of my cliff face
tidal waves of you
crash along my boundary stones
the push and pull of blue:
emotions white wash
i don't think the ground will keep
beneath me and i'll plunge
the push and pull of you
(are you waiting)
(are you waiting)
(are you waiting for an sos on the sand?)
arent said - WhenThere will not be any words when the time comes. Emotions will circle back on themselves like the snake eating its own tail: an endless cycle. Existing, not existing, consuming itself into oblivion, only to expel, excrete, create itself again. Constantly extinguishing, constantly setting alight.
I let the ink melt away the words I write on my naked flesh. Lick my finger again, rub out my emotions. I wrote them; childishly hoping they would find you. Like the words I say quietly in empty rooms, in empty expanses on other continents, hoping the wind will carry my thoughts to you.
I wanted to tell you, but being the coward I am, I don't know when I will. And if it will matter, then.
Words lose their meaning when they aren't said. When the receiver, the reader, the listener is never in attendance. Having never been invited, they have never had a chance to RSVP the event, to ever be allowed to show up.
(Meaningless: When not followed by action.)
In time, you'll completely forget about me. M
daily - like waterI come back to you unwillingly it seems. Walk back down these streets I've forgotten to walk along. They say it is never easy going back. I don't agree so much; I think it's so easy that this is what makes it so hard.
Where do you go on those days where all you need to do is walk? Hoping to find yourself in the brickwork of old stable buildings, do you ever look up just to see if the sky still exists, up there?
Maybe it only happens to those who look too intently at their own shoes, mistaking this for politeness I wasted too many years staring at worn leather. Maybe it wasn't very polite of me to say goodbye as I did, but politenesses are always so easily forgotten, I think I just wanted to stand out a little this time.
I assured you I would call every day, this became every week in practice it meant once a month if you were lucky and I remembered. I like that, luck and my memory being related. Maybe I should remember to be lucky next time.
This tea tastes the way you
home-boundi catch little insects with my fingers
it makes me feel so powerful
and having become god in your eyes, also -
take your sorrys with me,
shuffle through turnstiles,
take the line closest to the door.
i speak erratic, tongue sore
explaining away this
he said it was "very zen"
to undo, unravel,
of course i cringed.
having had your breath taken
you have the gall
to ask for
the city. Burnt outA violet tag catches my attention as the metal moves towards the city. Burnt out buildings sit comfortably silent in the fenced in wastes of grass; I wonder if anyone lives in there, knowing where all the holes are, sleeping between empty bottles and filth.
People shuffle around inside themselves, volleying thoughts in tiny spaces; a child tells his mother he would rather stand. A forever exists when I close my eyes, pinch the space between my eyebrows; breathe in deep into a sigh. It's black there, confused and consoling, but then one speck appears, and another, conjuring coloured hallucinations to dance along my lids, telling me to open up again.
Floodgates releasing, bodies sprawling, clustering in front of each booted step. I head for the stairs and take three each stride, hoping to exit quickly, escape the undertow. Advertising excrement greets me like a dementia patient, hoary, useless make-up, insisting I'm a naughty girl: I should visit more often. Bypassi
imagine my surpriseI c
Forget my interjectionsI walked around the cobbled streets wondering about you. Thinking I had important decisions I had to be making, come January. Comforted all around by another month of frolicking on another continent, I wished the world smaller so I could take you by the hand and show you all the broken stonework on the buildings I have fallen in love with.
So I bought my bread and cried in the neon-light because the feeling of being isolated and free at the same time corrupted my soul so brilliantly that I had to let my eyes record the moment silver. I don't know if you would lift your head and look at the same things that make me stop the flow of pedestrians, but maybe we could swap notes and get a crowd of really angry people behind us.
CultistOne day, we’ll worship rust
and marvel how it claimed
the world of industrious metal,
leaving nothing but slowing
reddening struts, half-hearted
angles reaching outward.
We’ll dive into the wrecks
looking for half-sparking wonders
that, when properly restored, gleam
into sputtering song or splitting
pictures of different worlds
and the faces of old Gods.
Who will perform the autopsy?There is a forest painted in
scorching red, fire blooming
beneath its dirt-caked skin,
smoke skimming leaves
as plumes of flame snicker
behind the tail of a doe.
Coals coating tree-trunks,
hungry for life, it devours
the same way they ravaged her
when she said 'no'.
Bright eyes morph into murkiness
as the inferno marches.
When rust washed down
her throat, she did not scream,
only begged for them to stop.
Beneath the ash,
they find her body.
RecipeYou said you like your girls
a little psychotic
with a dash of instability,
so I showed you my recipe
with shaky, bloody hands.
Clothes were discarded
and you broke my rib cage open
and shoved a needle full of cyanide
i n m y l u n g s.
(Your insanity was my life support
and I lived off of your insidious words.)
And just as I made friends
with the Grim Reaper,
you abandoned me
and said I was too fucked up for you.
How ironic is it
that my creator
was terrified of me?
He said he liked his girls
a little morbid
with a dash of insanity
so I cut my chest open
and showed him my p o i s o n - f i l l e d l u n g s.
He grabbed my barely-beating heart,
caressed my sunken cheeks
and said, "This is all I care about."
Wasted FleshFlesh, flesh,
Such wasted flesh...
This able-bodied meat.
Defiled by drugs and impurities.
A mind born with clarity,
Yet so blatantly abused.
No harm did you suffer;
Other than harm self inflicted.
Disregarding the hopeless gazes,
Of those who were born without.
No good, no good;
This I cannot abide...
I shall take this flesh from you,
And it shall be tended and made anew.
A gift to those who are deserving,
Of the very gifts you cast aside...
Now then, my dear,
Do stop your screaming.
It will only be painful,
Until your heart stops beating.
- Word of Chen, 1/6/2016
I think of youAs suns set afar and mountains flame
And eagles, turning, turn to fire
Ash cold, alone I lie
And think of you.
Is It Love?If I hugged you,
would you never let go?
If I kissed you,
would you cherish that moment?
If I reached for your hand,
would you take mine gently?
If I needed a shoulder,
would you let me cry on yours?
If I needed to talk,
would you really listen?
If I needed to scream,
would you do it with me?
If I needed to go,
would you come with me?
If I fell for you,
would you catch me?
or just let me hit the pavement?
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
The Church of Self-LoathingAs the candles raze the air to illuminate flaws for his inspection, I confess a horror as I realise that the Minister wears my face. He preaches with my swollen tongue and carves a judgemental scowl into my forehead at the sight of me.
He demands a blood sacrifice; a distorted evolution of self-flagellation. He wants my contrition and I want absolution from the sin of being alive. I manage not to flinch at this decree with a well-practiced reverence. I genuflect, draw my sleeves to half-mast in a silent salute to his dominion over me, and wash up to my elbows as best I can in the blinding black. Blood pools between stony-faced onlookers diluted with the sacrament of self-loathful tears, the only testament to my belief: “I am not worthy”.
OC Meme*Copy this into your Meme..
-Choose 10 of your OC's
-Answer the questions
-Then tag 3 people
1.) 3, 7, 4, and 9 go ice skating. What happens?
2.) Its Christmas!!! 5 throws a christmas party and invites three people of choice. Who does he/she invite? What happens?
3.) 6 catches 2 dancing/singing to the 'spice girls'. What's 6's reaction?
4.) 1 and 10 are stuck in a janitor's closet. How the crap did they get in there?
5.) 4 confesses his/her love for 8. What happens?
6.) 3 walks in to see 6 and 7 making out in 3's closet.. What is their reactions?
7.) 9 and 5 have an argument that soon turns into a fist fight. How did it start? And How does 2 try to break it up?
8.) 6 and 7 are getting married! But 8 is in love with 7. What does 8 do?
9.) You here a knock on your door. You open it to see every one of your OC's bursting in to your home. What do you do?
10.) 2 admits to you that he/she killed 9. What do you do?
11.) Everyone gat