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block/headI don't write,
- any more
I don't think I remember how to
or how to take my dry-throat swallows and let them be birds
how to turn words into things that matter, or how you
wrap up your heart like a four-cornered blanket
like a bundle on a stick before you leave town.
I don't remember how to start a sentence with "you are"
and end it in anything besides "drifting away from me".
I don't write, any more. Not even to you,
I just sit cross-legged in front of a thousand screens
and I touch my palms to the keyboard like you'll feel the heat of them,
I don't write.
loving you nowloving you the way i do now is like a revolution
bodies swarming back into the streets
flags and hand signs and guns thrown into the air
loving you now is thick ropes with sharp hooks
necked around the bright marble statues of you,
pulling and pulling and shattering,
loving you now is fallen idols in the streets
and the smell of sweet breads, and the sound of
hammers and nails and wood skeletons going back up;
loving you now is like rebuilding a city i nearly bulldozed
(loving you as a friend is easier than loving you as a god)
loving you now is so much better than loving you then
he slides you a coffee across the table and says
the ladders in your tights look like rollercoasters
and the bottom of your stomach drops and you smile
because he has nice eyes and he bought you coffee
and you want to be a girl that wants these things, you want to be
a rollercoaster, and you take a sip of your new drink
even though he ordered one with everything you hate and you say
and you hope he doesn't notice that you touch the cup again
he hands you a picked daffodil from just down the road and says
your smile isn't half as bright as this
and you take it in your hand and you snap the stem gently near the bottom
while he kisses you smooth on the mouth and steps over your
doorway like a creeping root and you think about the way daffodils
and dandelions are both yellow but one of them gets to fly away
while one of them just shrivels up on windowledges and you say
and you hope that he is a dandelion that is nearly ready t
i will rest by the river and bloomi have eaten so many cherries i have lost count,
my fingers bundled up with their stems, my teeth aching.
with the fruit flesh still threaded around them, the seeds
look like little organs, little stone hearts:
i eat them all, every one. maybe they will hatch in my stomach
like bitter eggs, and a thousand hundred giant trees will
grow slowly though my bones and my bloodstream, maybe they will
burst up and out through my mouth. i will be a bleeding flowerpot,
a forest floor with shoes, an incubator. i will be the zombie
apocalypse of cherry trees. i will grow my wooden teeth through the roof.
my bad decisions will touch the sky.
science saysScience says that one day there isn't going to be any time left.
Science says - it does, I read it, on the internet
or on the back of a newspaper left on the bus
or I heard it on the radio come zooming by through someone's car window
(although why you'd listen to that and not music, I'm not sure,
so maybe it was the bus, or the internet, or someone at a party)
but science says that time is going to scrunch in like
gravity around a black hole, that time is just
one day not going to be there, and that
we won't notice when it starts to leak out of the world
like a broken radiator or a bottle in your bag
with the lid not quite on, science says that
we will simply all slow down
as one, until we
So anyway, I was thinking that if we are all doomed, according to
the newspaper - the internet - a car radio - a friend at a party -
I was thinking that there are worse things I could do
(have done, if we're being honest, I have done much worse things)
than being the person you have holding you
romance! death! i don't even know if i like you!nothing good lasts forever - so that's okay
we'll be holding hands right into the apocalypse
fox skinthe heat is rolling in like a bad omen
and i will be waiting on the doorstep
with my arms open wide as if for the rain
one day you will come home and i will
fit you into my palms like you were built
to cradle between my lifelines and crooked thumbs
to tuck into the folds of my too-tight skin,
like your lungs held air
even when i wasn't breathing into them.
summer means three things:
i. my fingers tangle like headphones in your pocket and i drop letters and don't care
ii. i would hook my hands into my neck with fishhook fingers if i could pull you out of me
iii. i choke on my own tongue trying to summon the words that will summon you.
you drag behind me like a shadow, nestle under my tongue like a scab,
i would pull-pop every muscle in my mouth and spit you out like blood
if i weren't so busy nursing day-old water
and waiting for your lips
remembered on my neck
to pass over me:
i am waiting for you to die in my heart, where it matters most
call me your coffin
as long as you do not ac
weathervane"I would like to kiss you,
very slowly on the mouth
as soft as a sunrise."
I have a pen between my teeth
and this is all I have written to you
in shaking letters. I have plasters on my fingers
like my goal is to keep my claws in,
when they are really there to keep my teeth out
and I have not washed my hair in days.
I am the parody of the beast and my letters to you
are fumbled and dropped and bitter peeling
behind my teeth. jammed into the gums, and I
cannot write anything that does not growl with a lie.
I want, I want to kiss you, just once,
just one single time to know what your face feels like
under my hands, I want to swallow you up just once,
just once, but even as I write the promise I am crossing it out
knowing in my turning stomach that your lips are a firelighter
and I am a forest, knowing that you are the feast and I, I -
do not have the good in me to do anything
but call you messiah and drink your bones down,
do not have the soul in me to drag my fingers over your arms
schadensomethinggod, do i miss -
and i level the words against my shoulder like a shotgun,
weigh the thought out on my tongue like teeth
- well. does it matter what i miss,
when none of my shots have ever hit the dead
of their plush-pumping targets? i miss, i miss,
god, do i miss. god, do i always fucking miss.
shaky fingers, if you ask me. weak wrists and hollow elbows
and wire-boned shoulders and broken ribs and rattling spine
and, and, and, and, and.
i've tried writing about people who aren't me for so long
that sitting down and pressing probablymy keys to the
letters feels as fake and scripted as it always has. i've
tried writing about people who aren't me for so long that
i've become yet another person who isn't me. i've tried,
and god, do i miss. pull up another target, paint the old
bulls-eye on, cover your ears. maybe this time -
maybe this -
maybe, maybe, maybe. and, and, and
i tilt whatever fake metaphor weapon i'm holding
up and under my chin like your fingers
(because of course, of
I Will MarryI'll marry an intellect
and we will have endless conversions into the night,
exchanging profound words and infinite meaning,
and we will wind
the roots of life
and the universe will be ours.
I'll marry a musician
and we will serenade each other with
wild harmonies and
gentle melodies and our instruments
will weave themselves with our bodies
and the future will become a
symphony of swapping songs and singing ourselves
I'll marry a girl
and we will be more delicate than withering leaves
and we will be extensions
of each other; one continuous
river of soft, whispering water
that mirrors the pale sunset,
and its sparkles will dance
across our skin.
I'll marry myself
but we will be lonely;
we will sleep together but dream
of others, of those who could have been
and of those who were,
and we will be numb as the night
and cold as the bottom
of the ocean.
then it happens all over againokay, listen up:
writer's block is just
another term for neutral--
no emotions, no nothing;
yes, this is bland.
even for me.
rush the semantics,
more to the point:
i had no inspiration,
no motivation to write
until i tripped (not fell,
like former supposed love)
onto you -- stumbled upon
r FACE---- it's so sweet
BOOK. but i cant read you;
oh god. why do i still do
(Not you) this to Myself?
because we still have unfinished busine---
Tangential AsymptotesI think about falling in math class.
The boy in front of me is writing diligently, noting each and every word as though he forgot it was all in the textbook. He has dark hair all tangled up in the back like a bramble of thornbushes and his green hoodie looks like it could use a good washing.
The professor is rattling on about asymptotes, about two lines that go on forever, getting closer and closer but never touching. He tells us about the Greek roots of the word; asymptotos, that it means "not falling together," and he scribbles nonsense equations on the board and hopes that we understand them better than he does because tenure is the only reason he's teaching this class.
As much as I hate math, I have to admit there's something beautiful about the concept. Something romantic and longing, something I can relate to in a sea of cold precision and dispassionate numbers.
I think about falling in math class. I think about fractals and their intricate patterns, turning equations into art. T
Kiss And Kill :SasuHina:He cautiously made his way through the hotel. The danger was not in the hotel itself; it was in the fact the he was yakuza. Uchiha Sasuke, last member of the Uchiha family, found the room and carefully inserted the hotel key card. Once green, he readied his knife and opened a small crack in the door. At first, there was no sound. So he opened the door a little more; then the door stopped. The young man reacted. His knife cut through the thin chain those pathetic people called a lock, and he forced open the door only to hear the sound of a young woman's surprise.
"S-Sasuke-kun!!" He quickly dropped his weapon, closed the door, and wrapped his arms around his secret lover: Hyuga Hinata, member of one of the oldest and most dangerous yakuza families in history. Their love was taboo. Sasuke was an Uchiha; Hinata was a Hyuga. Their families were age-old rivals. But none of it mattered. To hell with their families. All they needed were each other.
Sasuke kissed the beautifu
I didn't know.We were best friends.
She was a good friend of mine,
I came to his house every day after school.
She'd play with me in the backyard.
But some things happened.
Her parents got divorced.
I wasn't whole.
She looked absolutely ripped apart.
He didn't care.
She doesn't know that I cried for her.
I wasn't popular like he was.
I wouldn't talk to her inside of school because I was afraid to make all my moves in one motion and scare her away.
He met girls that made me feel pathetic and tiny.
I like attention, okay? She wouldn't talk to me anymore.
And I wasn't worth the fucking air he breathed.
I didn't let her inside my bedroom, because I was afraid she was going to see
I know he kept porn magazines.
The letters that I wrote to her, begging for her to just fucking look at me
Glass from a broken mirror found it's way into my hand, and it's all histo
tell me the song, i'll sing iti'm just full of insecurities and i don't think i'm ready for you to be one of them.
i could tell you anything. i really could, i would be open to that. but it seems to be three am and you're not around so i find myself telling this blank sheet of paper instead. but if you were here right now, i would talk to you about my day, and my family and my life and how scared i am and maybe, just maybe
you would understand. and tell me it's okay. and keep me company through the night and tell me if you were here you would be holding my hand. maybe you would make everything okay, after dark. i'm alright with that, i'm alright with you, and i could be alright with us if maybe i could find the courage to tell you and if you could find the ears to listen or the eyes to read or the mind to pick up on all the clues i've been dropping like bread crumbs.
i'm not gretel, but you could be my hansel, if you wish.
i mean, i would let you. i would let you be my anything, really. you are just so pleasant - s
And We Will Bend and BorrowAnd We Will Bend and Borrow
One winter's night when I was almost halfway out the door, Casimiro woke up .
I hadn't known him for but twenty-nine years then, which, to a vampire as old as I am is a short time, and yet, faster than I could imagine he had fallen from my side and into my care. Like the snow that smothered the ground outside, he was silent and only slept and slept as the years built up like frost. Throughout this time, the only stirs he would make were, on rare occasions, tortured mutterings, not even concrete enough to be human, more like those made by a wounded animal. I knew little about his strange condition, I was aware only that it was my burden to care for him as long as he needed me to, and that while he slept, he had only the worst kind of dreams.
I had been a man familiar with death, I had witnessed it, been a victim of it and had caused it countless times for a variety of reasons. But I had never killed a f
The Girl Who Has EverythingAnd she really is
Quite the beautiful girl.
Quite the talented poet.
Quite the genius artist.
How can she feel bad about herself?
How can she want to be someone else,
When every time I read her poem,
See her picture,
Hear her voice,
I know I'd give anything to be like her?
What can I say to the girl
Who's scared of herself?
She's not afraid that she can't do it.
She's afraid that she can
Better than anyone else could even dream to.
What this all comes down to
Is that she's scared
Of scaring us.
cloudhandedthey tell you that you're strong and you
imagine them handing atlas the skies
and whispering the same thing;
you only wanted to put everything down for a few moments:
it is not weak to need to breathe in again, it is
not weak if your lungs cannot hold down saltwater
it is not weak
it is not weak
it is not weak
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More