[x]

note 28you are beauty
written over and over

just a thoughtdon't let your sadness
carry you. you can look at it-
and rock it to sleep in your
arms and let it melt in your
hands, you can put it out
on the windowsill for
the cats. they know
how to kill fast-moving,
sharp things.

you can
blow it out with black dreams
and the sky will eat it,
she will cough in 200 years
but she will eat it. you can
digest it in a concrete pill
that you can't snort, but know
that the sadness will come for you in
the morning like the motley hawk to
the long-dead doe who thought sleep
would offer some peace, but no-
you thought relief would offer some peace, but no-
the sadness will come for you in
the morning.

you will

justit started out as a message of honest to god tears
honest to god honesty
and she was saying she was saying she was
a mistake and we were we were mistaking
meaningless signs for road signs to somewhere where
the great elsewhere
and a qu-quiet whisper-per transformed
twisted twisted and bent and bled and
her voice her voice became this monster this monster of
feedback and static and feedback and feedback and heartache
(the sound of heartache rips
the space between your ears till you are nothing
left but lightness and heaviness all in one space all in one space
and you can't breathe you can't breathe you can't
fucking breathe or hear or see or taste a goddamn thing)
it was all noise noise noise noise no-oise-se
bouncing in the fissures of a love-torn mind
and it was it was the sensation of falling
away
then the greatness of the jumbled sound
dissipated like a f o g
and
you saw along the path
w

As Paper People Livethey start as cigarettes and we as sculptors
taking parts of them in young lungs
until ash towers stand upon the floor,
our city built burned

with no cost to us but
for the sound of paper maché lungs
giving way to caustic embers and the flecks of
them we find in our throats.

we live as paper people,
close to the heat where
our bodies are food for fire
where

we know no more direction than our smoke
swirling about in the wake of the ceiling fan.

women in scornwe bought a fire pit and put your bones in it
(end to the days in which we wore
your limbs on our eyes,
on our hearts,
heavy with contempt)
and we burned you;
wrapped the wreaths around our heads
and undressed bare to dance
in exaltation of
our freedom
(a king is dead tonight
and a queen
reborn)

note 32
i am

so

terrified

lukewarmshe had the kind of voice
that seemed to be stuck
in the hour of four o'clock
in the morning - soft
and tired and luring,
mumbling her way through
subways and tunnel lights
all pale yellow with noise.

there was tea and long baths
and longer absences,
hiccups of breath
the best
she could do.
long springs and
longer falls,
one equinox to the next
and still the bad
was never that bad
and the good
was never that
good,
and she continues to hum
the birds continue to sing
the apples continue to
grow and
sour and
fall,

and bury themselves
again.

FableMoon cloaks
fallen from
shoulders,

(and you are)

left clad in only
the softest of
shadows.

PaginationI perused the pages of your spine,
like a desperate and dying woman
would cling to the collar of the last man
to walk past and say
"I'm going and I'm okay with this."
Turn around.
And hold me around the hips
so when I fall apart,
the last part of me to go would be where
you spent the better of your time
with me.

copaceticyou know when the person you love and
you decide to break up, and you both say
to each other, you both agree that you
will be friends. and you think it, for a day
a week even, and he is still texting you and
you are still texting him, laughing like you
would do when you were one. and then you
meet his girlfriend at the mall, some butter
blonde bitch whose decolletage busts out
in peach ovals and she can't even tell you
how many guys she's fucked or let alone loved and
your boyfriend, or your lover who no longer is
yours is smiling like he has what he has always
wanted, all that is not you, and you become
bitter and backbitten and say something rash
and laugh and he gets it but his bitch doesn't
and then the next few weeks you are quiet
and he doesn't seem to think of you in his
experiment. you become an enemy and you
watch him from a window on your laptop
every move every suggestion every shirtless
whore make a common thing out of something
that was once undeniably yours. a

[i]my mother always told me that you should never use your thumb to check your own pulse and though i knew it had something to do with the thumb having its own, i never really knew why she told me not to. just like she told me how wedding rings are specialized by anatomists though everything ultimately and eventually comes back to the heart.
even fucked up things like adrenaline and sugar and anxiety and pain.
her logic hasn't hurt her yet, just like it did with my grandmother. she believed that women didn't have heart attacks. she died believing that because she never had or saw a woman have one - she died of a haemorrhage. i miss her.
i never really knew her. and i always thought that it's good that she didn't live to see me. because grandmothers don't like grand daughters who stay up late to wet their pillows with dreams and tears and form sentences with breaths tainted with toxins and sleeping pills. and i just know that she would never have liked how i cross my legs when i sit. she j

Take me homeyou live in me,

cancerous white noise,
high tide of danger.
you consume me,

oceanic burial ground,
reddened memories,
love-making stranger.

to the counselor who thinks i am suicidali really hope
that this isn't one of those things
where you check in with my teachers
and call my parents if i don't show up
for school
one day,

because you know
that could really fuck up
my sex life, and all the
drugs
i've been doing, and all the
cars
i've been stealing,
people i've been murdering,
etc

and definitely
all of the
poems
i've been writing

not to mention
all of the sleep
i haven't been
getting

shallow breath, aching bones.this feeling is too big for me.
too giant for my small frame to contain
and its spreading and spilling out and
over my insides and leaving me waking
up with bruises from dreams so real
they hurt.
this feeling is too much for me.
i can't carry it all, it leave part of it
dragging alongthe ground behind
me and i tend to forget its there
and i trip over it and fall to ground.
i decided to collect bruises
but i dont have to look to far
they tend to seek me out
and scatter themselves across my skin.

may.i lost track of how many days
you were wallowing around rock bottom
instead
i just counted how many shots of espresso
it took me putting in your cup each morning
to make you human again.

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note 52i don't know how to properly
wrap my love: either
in words
or whips

pacificher longbow mouth is un-
strung; loose bottom
lip with a cocked
jaw -
.
she
births into him like
a womb

note 51we'll meet in the north somewhere
bus-tired, train-worn, back-seat
bent from sitting so long.
we'll meet here because it is far enough
to make you forget that i am a chance
with too many losses, far enough for me
not to be called back

hvirfilbylurin the morning i throb
against a lilac bruise
from the ache i've
carried for you

what if i said i wake up and i look at you
and your skin has not blackened
from disuse, has not paled from
neglect and still
i find perfection in the way
your arms hang like
a willow and the
arch of your back
and the width of
your ribs like a
marrow-cage
for me
what if i said i loved you?

note 48i've hit the part
where you say
'i'm leaving' and
i don't ask you
to stay

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Submitted: January 12
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war

by *KaitForest, Jan 12, 2013, 5:01:24 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

are you singeing in

my lungs? i breathe

you in like morning dogwood

caught by flame;

the exhale will

wait its turn.

warby *KaitForest

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

~TheEmptyChest Feb 13, 2013

Damn. This is perfection.

*KaitForest Feb 13, 2013 Writer

wow, thank you!

~TheEmptyChest Feb 13, 2013

You're welcome! <3

*UnspecifiedUnknown Feb 9, 2013 Writer

^{omg.
"the exhale will
wait its turn"

you are a goddess of words}

*KaitForest Feb 10, 2013 Writer

no no no.
you

~voltairemarx Jan 12, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I Like the abruptness in your shorter works like this :3

*KaitForest Jan 12, 2013 Writer

thank you :3

~voltairemarx Jan 12, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!!!

*hazeltown Jan 12, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

"morning dogwood caught by flame"

i tried to imagine this in all caps. either way, it reads fantastically

*KaitForest Jan 12, 2013 Writer

thank you, love!

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warby *KaitForest

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