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The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.
the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav
He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.

The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.

But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a
PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint
with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.
SurelyIt was raining
when we kissed for the first time,
for the last time.

Thin rivulets
sunk into the shrunken space
between our bodies
and divided us
like nothing could before,
like everything will
from now
until that never again
when we will
see each other once more,
no more.

Your eyes were
that bewitching shade
of dull brown blue
with all of the light darkness
whirling
in a placid pond
around a pupil
overflowing with vacancy,
and me
and my frowning smile.

The winter heat
fell like a rising tide
and,
for our every breath
was another death
so black and full of life --
embracing our boiled ice skin
as we drew apart,
came together and broke free
Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –

survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,

how many graves are we standing on, today?
Life, Death And A Pork Chop SandwichAll tangled up, hard to breathe
This steel cloud day that swirls
With heat and pounding hammers
I shake in my boots and cough up
Blood, rust and damaged flesh
Waiting for the second coming
Maybe next time around there'll be
Some chance for more than this

A twisted barbed wire halo
Wrapped tight around my skull
Blinding white light aura
Swarming with flies I'm flying
To pieces, thousands of shards
Cannot be brought back together
But I will remember the summer
Of my first Chevrolet in each bit

Gleaming bits of glass in the desert
Each reflecting a different moment
Still, now, enduring until the waves
Of a new ocean sweep them away
No pain
SisterSister

A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.

A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.

I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!

I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
to come,
in the future.
Pretty little things called words and dustif you weren't a hypocrite,
you'd be wrapped in the sweetest
perfumes
(learning
how to engulf the ocean
with your lungs
and think of how to cup it
in your hands
despite
your broken prayers and
still be beautiful)

dance with the gypsies
'till noon
(a quake in
your hips like the thrust
of continents
and the faultlines
emanating from
your spine,
but still
so, so graceful)

sing with the nymphs
in tune
(your voice,
it's growing old,
raspy even.
your throat's burning dry
like a monsoon
faltering in a desert,

and tones
still octaves
powerful)

be nestled in a king's arms
soon  
(oh, you precious
little thing.
how
Lost In ConfusionMy mind is spinning without a rest
emotions whirl and twirl around
A merry-go-round gaining speed
Until the world blurrs before my eyes
What's happening? What's going on?

The simplest thought slips away
Right from my mind, fading so fast
Trying to focus, I stare and stare
Until my eyes are heavy and unclear.  
I don't understand, what is going on...

Emotions rise and fall again
Within the blink of an eye
I'm crying, laughing, and depressed
A rollercoaster ride that never ends
Am I losing my mind in this ?

I try to close my eyes and rest
But the world spins me around
I feel like I am failing this test
Voices and noisies echo in my min
A Night By the FireNo light,
The light sired by the night
All above whilst the day's delights
Now disappears from mortal sight.

Faded away is the sun's power,
Taking the stage now is night's sallow flower;
Now mortals may behold the stars and falling shower.

Set in a pit Nature's skyscraper ablaze
And revel in the emanating heat as you gaze,
Looking down on occasion when you hear a crack from the fire
And witness "fireflies" flying away from mother's blaze;
Dying shortly after but not lacking burning beauty do they desire!

I look out towards the teasing shore
And meditate as we sit upon her door,
Thinking on what my future has in store;
Who I am now and even
Puppet  My tears fall,

      like invisible

               diamonds.

 My heart beats,

      like soundless

               drums.

 Unwanted,

       because of the

             strings attached.
Why meI wanted sleep very badly
I tried my hardest to rest
I closed my eyes and laid there
But sleep didn’t come easy
I would doze off
And wake back up
Again
Why me? When I know I have to be up at 3 AM.
DangerousMermaids; they seduce you then hold you under
Vampires; will kiss your lifeblood away
Mages, will turn your own mind against you
While trolls will hunt you down if you stay
Run through the woods, don’t stop for nothing
Monsters wait with jaws opened wide
Ignore that pretty elf, who’s probably plotting something dark
For she will torture you once she’s lured you inside
Orcs; will have a craving for your flesh
While dwarves are just prejudiced against your height
Dragons are very skilled when it comes to fire
While faeries will torment you throughout the night
So run little weakling, don’t stop now
The faery realm has go
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More from ~saturnineguise

faint traces ofThe mountains are deranged winterfolk: dandruff heads, scabby elbows, knobbly gnarled knees and the twisted toes of the comatose. Reclining calm in cold repose over the landscape.
I am a piece of confetti waiting to fall, shaken from my container marked 737, onto the smiling heads of the initiated.

I lapse back into discordia, the loving child arms of nightmare sleep.

I can feel my teeth jelly mould fold out of their sockets and wobble leak gelatin blood crystals out of my surprised face lips.

From the start: bang.

Kiss all the boys that make you cry.

Sorrow is just a word.

A smile is just a muscle crinkle, contortion. (Did I ever show
Look straight aheadSo it starts with a colour. Red, I think. But I'm not so sure I know what red is, travel to a vision of the doctor asking if I can see the numbers in green, and I say, of course, I'm not an idiot.
Eyes closed, lie back, don't be alarmed it will feel a bit cold.
Don't worry now... you'll start to feel a little dizzy... that's normal... just... yes, great.
You associate pain with a scent--or was it you relate everything back to a scent--I don't quite remember.  But I know I fall back through webs of years when I catch a stray smell. Cut grass: a smile.
When nights get so cold you can't get warm no matter how many blankets you douse yourself
Dietary SupplementI push the berries into two and make little lips. Something to fidget with before I let it rest sweetness racing along my tongue. Before the seeds bury themselves into my teeth and I can feel the tang wave along my throat.
I don't think I really learnt to savour anything. Maybe this is why I never believe things have changed until I get to a point years later, dropping in unexpectedly at friends' houses, smiling to a forty year old in boxers instead of a twenty year old in a slip.
How I get lost in the city I grew up in because my personal map contains shops and houses and other seemingly forever posts of where I am. And not exact street n
close up.He reached up and touched me. Like I had forgotten how to be touched. How it felt, and how it tingled taste bud rushes down my back. Like fireworks contained, or a butterfly struggling to fly away from your fingers. Caught.
I reached inside myself and struggled to bring out a light. A small, warm soft and slightly lopsided--like the teddy without the right eye--light light. All that fell out was half a button.

He took that too. And left.

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[x]

it isnt really an island, but

:iconsaturnineguise:

this skin i'm in
it isn't me so much
as my toes
are my feet

my fingers are my hands
my eyes my face;
shoulders, knees
floor

and it isn't me
so much, when i smile
or cry, or fall apart
down splitting sides

it isn't me so much
these lips (that speak
for me) and i rarely invade
the privacy of my heart

but then i get lost, in
all the things that are
supposed to be (me, but
aren't), in who they are

and why (no matter
how hoarse i make her throat
with screaming after her)
she doesn't come when i call



I have I’s in the back of my hedonism.



When I finish there will be a river
Translucent and cascading



“I know you are a busy man, but just try to think of it from my point of view."
“What, in a g-string and bra?”



When I begin there will be no end
:iconsaturnineguise:
Why, she doesn’t even have a lake to swim on out to the island (it isn’t really an island, but we just say it is) with. It must be terribly sad for her, with all that grass and not a drop of water, currently.

“How exciting!”
“Yes, but there is fear for the afternoons.”
“You musn’t fear, and why are you?”
“Because night breeds a morning with the moon, and why I am, I cannot say for fear of over-exposure.”


--


this probably really should be a scrap. just incongruent randoms. hard to puzzle fit today.
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:iconkittytsukasa:
~kittytsukasa Sep 7, 2007  Student
Oh, but I like it. It reminds of the Bella and Edward in the book New Moon, and the part of the land and water, it's very beautiful.
Reply
:iconsaturnineguise:
~saturnineguise Sep 19, 2007
thank you so much! :heart:
Reply
:iconmesmeric-revelation:
~mesmeric-revelation Sep 6, 2007
nonscrap. this is beautiful jumblimgs of thoughts, i think we should demand a category for that.
Reply
:iconsaturnineguise:
~saturnineguise Sep 6, 2007
yes!we should make so many new categories up, like ramble and blather and psychobabble. :D
you always have the best ideas, my sporkling! :spork:
Reply
:iconmesmeric-revelation:
~mesmeric-revelation Sep 6, 2007
hahaa psychobabbly nonsense=P

:spork:
Reply
:iconsaturnineguise:
~saturnineguise Sep 19, 2007
the best kind :D
Reply
:iconloveshoteyes:
~LoveShotEyes Sep 6, 2007  Student Writer
I love the joke in the end. No scrap. I'd threaten newspaper but you'd threaten water and we'd both be screwed then.
Reply
:iconsaturnineguise:
~saturnineguise Sep 6, 2007
:evillaugh: hehee i know your secret now.
Reply
:iconloveshoteyes:
~LoveShotEyes Sep 6, 2007  Student Writer
Ah! But I can get a cardboard roll! Ha!
Reply
:iconsaturnineguise:
~saturnineguise Sep 6, 2007
i can get lots and lots of water! ha-ha!
Reply
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