i and youwho is it thatyou dream of?is it mewith the knife in your back;do you see methe woman witha wolf jawcut slack in a growl?do i pounce you?do you defeat mewith the knifei gave you?and i wonder the soundof me when you finally put your demonto rest--she is a venus(her body cut fromthe ivory tusk with hips like that of a valley, breasts shaped astwo moons caught inher breath)and i am the trapshe slips into.i cut her headinto a loop land wear her round my necklike lace.
how to healthey say honeyto soften the wound, but i let the woolwet with ethanolgnawuntil i amweeping,again, and again,and again
KATRINALIVES A MILEfrom the sea.she is sallow as a beach.she smells like rain,or a wet earth,with pale hair clippedbehind her headwith pins.she feels as though her hairwould be black. but it isbrown, sometimesand sometimesit is colorlessblonde.KATRINAGIVES MY STOMACHa fight.she doesn't speak.she is silence.i speak at her, mostlyand her eyeslook as thoughthey've been pluckedfrom a lynxto replaceher own.they are blue around the edgesthe deep blue you findat the edge of the sea,if you've been out that far.at the center they are greenlight like a riptide.they tug you in.unmoving, and calculatingwith audacity.KATRINAi said to someone once,gave me head.she didn't.her hands are too far duginto the coast of spainfor her to reach me,far too eagerfor my composure.she'd suck me drylike her mothers didthe caspian sea,like the fields of saharaonce lush with green.she is a barefoot girl.she moans like the shorefrontin the dead of night.i've made love to
i haven't forgottentell me, boywho is your god.do not say itis the limbsthat spread youbetween knowingand comfort;do not tell me it ishands wrapping a headboard, nor a mouthtugging your namefor salvation.i want to know who it isthat makes you lucent,bent beneath the dark,weeping,because there is no divinitylike the one that makesyou bleed
note 59burning it was somuch better thanletting it burn me
thankheaven for books,and mulatto boys thatbreak my heart; thank god for vodka andthank god for urges that slither into deep throatspast better judgement and thank god for his handsthat he lovedme with
fidelic whore-- this is appropriationmy sweet synchronicity ,i have downed your appetitein a bed of front teeth (it is morning in perthmidnight in dublin, and the noonsun has been lost behinda dress of mothy curtains)do i taste ofyour forethought of love making;do i reek ofthe weeds that have infiltratedthe posture of your spine?-you bend overmy lap a curve of guiltand weep all night.i collect each knob of your bodylike a gift. press it to my mouth.swallow, spit.
a love letteri couldn't sleep. there are a lot of things on my mind, and i kept tossing, trying to fling the feelings from me, but they wouldn't leave, so i said to myself, "i'm going to write my fucking heart out, and it's going to feel much like getting slammed by a bus or a train, that immense crash and pain and blackness and the confusion after the hit (do you tumble, crack your head on the pavement or do you die, right there?)" and this is how this letter will go.i'm scared of losing you. shit scared. i go to bed at night, sure that i have you here, somewhere, whether in my mind or in my heart and i wake up and i can't breathe and god i feel like i've really lost you somewhere, in my dreams or my actions or words unsaid. and god, you don't know what it is like to have a person like you missing from a bitter thing like me. i need you. i am coffee, black and roasted and hard to swallow but you make it so easy. you are my sugar, sweet thing, constant love and nothing else. you make me okay. you
note 32 i am so terrified
Sticks and StonesThey say words can never hurt you.Silence does a better job.
hauntedour house is hauntedmemories floating like ghostsscreaming without sound
The DarknessImmortality is wasted on the youngbut fortune has chanced me eldest.I was the beginning, and will be the end.Darkest, truest, endless.
contactwould it be possibleto grow so comfortable withanother person'sskin,that distancewould feel like tearing off your own?
contrastthe capacity to feel happiness grows parallel with the capacity to feel pain.
things that go bump in the nightabsence makes the heart a monster.
friction.it takes more than justfucking someone on a coldnight to keep you warm.
there's a fine linebetween memories and loneliness.
I know Layers of Chaos by Andaelentari Into the Darkness by Cloud-Factory:thumb443788775: Eve by tvurk -Way to the light- by Janek-Sedlar*** by karamelo-serenity Transcendence by insolitus85Sininen hetki by JakezDaniel*** by karamelo-serenity Crevice by Einsilbig Can you blame me? by merkerowinter by karamelo-serenity :thumb431368768: winter by karamelo-serenityAccess Point by vamosver *** by karamelo-serenity :thumb441216146:9 by ananaaReceiver by bliXX-a N 6678342 by IMAGENES-IMPERFECTASmidnight in paris by BlauBeerKuchen Hallow's eve by lostknightkg Lake District by lostknightkgVoodoo by sabbbriCA Disappear by bliXX-a resto by Hengki24Network by Megalithicmatt Entangled by WTek79 :thumb441635304:the big empty by CocoKingsolver The Inbetween by manuelestheim :thumb436955540:Gourdon Exposures by Megalithicmatt :thumb437802398: different by scheinbar_ The Spell _ by EYELIGHTZONE :thumb400151490: :thumb409209240:Waiting Room by CrazyGirL44 Isolation by bliXX-a Defend Yourself by CrazyGirL44:thumb443115642
OrchestraFour a.m is uneasy -time purloined and lefthanging on the bed posts.You said I crowd your sleep,feet and hands slipping cotton,pulling dreams in paper streamslike the nest of waspsgrowing restless in the tree.Your legs make room for me,for the sound of weatherhappening on the roof,and warm the space above us,setting fire to the drapes again.Just let me feel your claviclepress under my hipswhere daylight squeezes inand hinges us.So we both can waken slowly,you know, like kids in summerwho long for everything to never endand the sky to be an orchestra
War and CancerI want to go backand meet us one more time,before the war and the cancertook up so much of the day -before my father could no longerremember what the presentwas supposed to meanand your mothercould still get dressedwithout losing her way.I want to knowwhat it felt liketo board a planeto somewhere hiddenand not careif our names and facesbecame lost;to walk as longas we wantedwithout the sun and mooncreating an argument.I want to feel youroll into my armswhere I forgot to cut the grassand you did notwater the flowers;to hear youwatching the cardinalsunearth the spring.And to know once againhow this placebetween usstarted becoming new.
I am afraid of monsters like you.Bones and sinew clingto the part of methat is not human,the part of me thatis yours.Your lips are readyto pounce mine whenyou lace my neck withthe collar of hope.It hangs too tightly.
a conversationi welcome sleep as it is - a long lost friend returning home from battle, arms draped over my shoulders, weeping. i held it close and whispered - as if it were my only friend, being the prince of the sky, asking of why i cling to my possessions like a dog to its territory, why i harbor insane notions about silly things -"we are all barren, stripping the land, looking for love in white-capped waves of our own destruction."i asked why mother nature was pulling me by the roots of my hair, and being as i am, a girl who speaks vague classroom french and stands at the waterside passing small thoughtslike stones as the brine and tangling seaweed washes over my broad and open feet, i condescendingly believed he would give me straight answers-"all languages we speak are diligent and binding, we bite our tongues against society, and she is just trying to say hello."silence like a trainwreck passes on four feet and i wait, breathing, for the hour to come and announce itself to me in a rain-l
is it blissful?uncertainty pulled the pin from the grenadelike he pulled the pinfrom her hairand locks fell like silkwaterfalls upon her shoulders,future happiness felllike shrapnel, embedding intotense muscles.the inevitability shooklike war as they shook togetherlike love shakes every fiber inour being to convince us ofthe impossible:some things do last forever.but the days dieas soldiers quiver in their wounds,regrets that dig deeper the longer they live entangled in one anotheruntil they die too, eyes fixing into each others starless nights.and how gently they went,he from her, her from him.blown apart.
not a real poemthe only thing that is separating usis Godit's a funny thing becauseGod is supposed to bethis all-binding, superfrivolouscarnivorous epi-beingor maybe i've got it backwardsand that's what he's NOT supposedto be. but that is what he is to me,since i am more prone to physics,because you don't feed your body withinvisible saviors. you eat orangesi once heard a scientist saythat you can believe in God andevolution but anyone who believes inboth is just selling out. you can'tbe an arrow and a shield at the same time.but right the only thing that'sseparating us is God and you don't get it.i wasn't just sad because we couldn't share something,it's that you didn't want to. concept after conceptand i'm still just as stupid as a fetus
for riley i think i have forgotten how to dream for the last time it happened i smiled and ran my palms through your hair sifting out sand and fumbling at the buried shards of sea glass that bite at my calloused fingers. your frothy eyes threaten to drown me but instead i inhale dopamine and carefully trace the thin boardwalks that wrap around your skull where the hair is missing. you ask me if i cried and i said that i didn’t think i knew how to once when i was young i saw a baby cardinal huddled and bleeding in the grass. i watched the ants and the flies skim over the contours of its closed eyelids until i scooped it up and held
i hope the stars will come back to mewhen i was fifteen i wrote about the starsi wrote about the boys i was in love withand the body i lived ini wrote about the hatred i felt for myselfbut i covered it up with prettier poemsand only let people read the parts of methat i wanted them towhen i was sixteen i wrote about heri wrote about the girl i lovedabout the people around me,those that changed mei wrote about happiness and a futureand those poems were for me to exploreand to be more of myself in themnow i am seventeenin three short weeks i will be eighteenthis past year i have written about angerabout the sadness that plagues meabout the life i didn’t want anymorei wrote about family and the little sisterwho was out of touchabout growing upthese days i write about my depressionabout the anxiety that wracks my bodyand keeps me in bed each dayi write about alcohol and cigarettesof my broken family and whatit has done to mei still write about her because she is still thereand i still love h
a letterdear you,when you feel smallknow that there has to besomeone in your worldor only outside it wishingyou would notice them.that's justhow life works,whether you like it or not.while you are looking far off,skimming the ocean in your headto the horizon holding secret wantsyou believe you'll never touch burned and buriedin that sunken, dying star--someone out there has fallendeeply, unwaveringlyin love with you.for instance, it could be me.I could be--amin love with you.hypothetically speakingof course.will you--I mean,would you take a ride with meif you knew? would you walk awayfrom futile watching atop your rocky sea precipice to eat greasy fries at a cheap diner, laugh into milkshakeswith me, hypothetically.can I--would you, let me write you a poemon a used napkin branded with your lip glossstains about lovers that aren't us?I swear. could you nottalk about that one guy you likea lot("he has his issues but he
on being savedi am sorry youhave never known salvationfrom another's touch