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If you keep your eyes closedI start, but I begin to faulter
catching myself on cliffs of wind chapped lips
gnawing uncertainty with white spears
(oh native tongue)
what's spinning you?
The bastard child that thinks I'm a yo-yo.
I begin again, only to fall into
the same too big for you shoes, same glazed (aspartame laced) over smile,
and you. you are... a
in the future. nowi cannot tell
whether or not
it's the weather
or my toes are
cold for other
on top of me
like all the
oceans and all
and dead things
and oil spills
and a need
it is only a romantic notion
a dream for a higher purpose
special things that seperate
there was something worth it
up there, you told me
no one would ever think to look for me
(i too, deserve the sun, sometimes, sometimes)
you asked never
you asked never to
never to sing
you asked never
-truth-will you meet me in the spaces
between our fingers
indivisible, but one
(and all the smaller pieces
that don't matter)
a hollow note
twenty minutes to dawn
(i know this because we've been here before)
in this moment, and this thing of arms and arms entwined, called embrace
this moment on soft notsosoft ground sheets
it's the same
and in this moment
this moment is again
and your voices
singing as the past
ceilings and walls
that do not house me
anymore, i hear you
The ViolinistOz drew his bow across the violin's strings, testing the instrument's sound. The third string was a little off, so he turned a tuning peg and tried it again.
He opened his eyes and looked around him. The sun was beginning to set behind some of the few remaining skyscrapers-halves of skyscrapers, really-and the ruins of the city were tinted orange. The rubble here was old-he could always tell they were old by the few straggly plants that desperately thrust themselves up through gaps in the chunks of concrete that blanketed the ground. Old ruins had a smell, too, and a sound; a city newly destroyed was a painfully noisy place, buildi
I am the InfernoLook deeper!
You'll see that
life has a deeper meaning!!
Deeperdeeperdeeper than all of this
So I look and I stare
and I gaze and I gander
Until I am looking so hard
and so deep
that I put myself six feet under
and now I can't see anything at all.
1-IntroductionThis is me.
Broken for you
into 100 swallow-able pieces.
I am easier to digest that way.
Janet, I --17 MAR 00 2028p
To my dearest friend and wife, Janet;
Most of the time I believe that you don't think that I Love You, and maybe it doesn't seem that I do. BUT, I do and always always will love you, Janet. You are the only woman that I've ever been in love with and I can say that now because all the others in my life that I thought I loved haden't ever hadn't (ever) made me feel that feelings inside that you give me. I'm Sorry that I don't know how to show you better but with your patience and help I promise to keep improving. I want you to know that you are my (one and) only friend in this world.
Janet, I --
-- put th
- Stain -Stain
Do you remember the old pain,
the tears and the acid rain,
us making love on a fast train,
the pleasure of going insane,
the madness infusing my brain,
the red in that blood stain
I still do.
FourString OutLawI'm an outlaw
Living life by the sword
Living life by the revolver
Breathing once each day
To make my life last a bit longer
The law's on my tail
I've done what they discourage
I've done what they hate
I've thought my own thoughts
and bred my own creativity
My ideas have been sketched with fire
Into the stones of the world
Breathing my own breath
Across this foul planet
Sewing seeds to make beautiful trees
And roses of compassion and destiny
I'm an outlaw
Living life by the pen
Living life by the paper
I write my own melody
I write my own lyrics
I've created my own story
For myself to live by
They want it to end
UntitledThey were worse then the letters that could be something if you put them together.
And the numbers were tight and square and he hated the whole thing.
The teacher came and spoke to him. She told him to wear a tie like all the other boys.
He said he didn't like them and she said it didn't matter.
After that they drew.
And he drew all yellow and it was the way he felt about morning. And it was beautiful.
The teacher came and smiled at him "What's' this?" she said "why don't you draw something like Ken's drawing, isn't that beautiful?"
It was all questions.
After that his mother bought him a tie and he always drew airplanes and rocket
numbtake into me
all of your pain
so that i can bleed
for the both of us
crucify my heart
to purify your sins
tear open my flesh
so i can feel your pain
you can't hurt what's already dead
i can't feel anything
when i'm so numb
lovers+I am told there is a moment
where two bodies are joined as one,
and together you are closer to heaven,
than you ever were alone.
It has been said that there's an instant
when lovers eyes may meet,
and in that precious moment
they can see the soul's seat,
Well I've never been to heaven,
nor glimpsed another's soul.
Nor slept beside someone
who could make me feel whole.
and if all the poets are lovers
and all the dreamers never alone,
I must have commited a grevious sin,
one for which i can not attone.
I've heard that some go to hell and back,
for the mate to their soul so dear.
and hell its self has no bars
for lovers with
oh storm cloudsi will not leave quietly
it lessens on the static touching
and i will leave in honeyed drops of empty
blazing statuettes across the counter, dulling nothing but innocent warmth
cling wrapped dreams fired into a boundless beauty
i was left tracing you onto paper; smudge marks of you
a wind picks up
and down your throat
the notes coalesce
make a sandwicha corpse is strung up like a rose
the exchange of metal and plastic: choir songs; a dirge
raven eyes and vulture mouths
two blooming petals for the hunger
and beaks, a scurry, bird notes (tenk-oo)
jam lips drip summer mess onto the seat
stuck skin on leather. heat mist blurs the pictures in the windows
fading fast into a drive way
open the doors to dolphin deaths on vinyl clad tabletops, bursting with
more plastic than is needed, for anything. the cool slick of the closed up house
porcelain air broken with a laugh
like a surgeon, each precision cut moving with certainty, with your little eskimo
eyes stuck to you like an errant app
effectiveAnd another thing, I don't need a computer telling me what doesn't exist. I know clearly it doesn't even exist. What cheek.
You know that feeling where it's like you're in a little lego land? It's like that, but the kid that's playing with you likes to torture with a magnifying glass.
I cannot be there when you
(Kind of reminds me of me)
Shorn phrases, skin-hot, lip ready and willing to devour you.
I see some of the little ripples and I think I'm going down
and a myriad of song structures pilfering my thoughts, you know I know I could do something like that
like you do with the scissors and the glue
and I think I could ta
Reality number 5011His face is crusted over with years and pain. Dust creaks into the folds; daily dirt and sweat. You can imagine a skilled sculptor etching laugh lines and frown lines and worry lines with a knife. Licking his thumb to smooth out an eyelid.
His eyes aren't brilliant. They are somehow void, like the moon: a common satellite for something brighter. Lacking his own luminosity he crackles in movement, as an insect's shell cracks when you step on it into oblivion. There are cockroaches everywhere. When the light's go out they swarm.
She sneaks in behind a shelf, eyes upon his lounging figure; the tv babbles in her ears too, early morning rises of
Catching just beforeit approaches like a waking dream
softly, so softly
lending tendrils of itself into your surroundings
fibres chasing footholds
it isnt with each breath, so distinct
but slowly within each moment
so smooth you dont realise until it is
just upon you so serene
so soft, so much so that i swear
i will slide swift
broken apart on a shuddering
shoreline, distraught as a
silhouette collected on
sudden as a graceful drift
of down the stairs.
you in your mouthi am curious about you
of course, i'd like
to know how many sugars
if any, i think i'd like
to know how well
done. but i'm not sure
of course, if i should be
curious (or otherwise)
if it is indecent
of me to speculate
ponder how much milk
wonder what textures
maybe i should wait
for the situation
to present itself
rather than spend
these days thinking
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`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More