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relapsebirds hanging helpless
from tangled nets of twine.
I try to pull their traps away
but my fingers are bruised
by the cracks in your windshield,
the cracks in my ribs,
the crack in her lungs.
lemon scented dragon chasers,
burning white and smoky,
won't stop me.
I don't care.
just listen to my veins collapse
and feel the disappointment
stick in the back of your throat.
there's nothing you can do.
a farewell to rock-bottomi can feel
glaciers, centuries silent,
begin to roam within me.
the cancer that dragged me down
is disappearing in tiny flurries
of black and rotting wings,
it leaves me wild, wide-eyed
and gasping for a breath
i thought would surely choke me.
i am stretched over oceans,
a different pulse
beating through my lacing veins,
and my trembling lips
have never been so sure.
gardeniathe five-a.m. floor protested
my sleepless dreaming.
i got up to make you coffee,
no sugar: you were never fond
of sweetening things that needed it.
i drank it on the autumned porch
in the stupor of dawn
and watched my breath unfurl,
like the smoke you spew sometimes
when you're stressed or have something to hide.
i'm sorry i took
your favorite sweater with me
but i knew it would be cold
in the soil with your secrets
and the brooch she left behind.
emma toolips shiny and red,
cheeks swollen with loathing
for that which feeds her deepest fear,
she sways on the scale and
confirms what they all deny.
she papers her bedroom walls
with reminders of her failure,
remnants of her weakness,
entrails of the unachievable end.
she only shows her bones
to smudgy artists drugged
with the beauty of her annihilation.
so this is the new year.the smell of a certain cigarette
is never gone by the next morning.
the creeping warmth and
toxic comfort lingers in my hair,
my clothes, the spaces between
my fingers. you are never here but
you are not easy to get rid of.
i opened the windows in hopes of
a gust of independence.
your scruffy smile and liquor-slicked
new year's lips are no longer needed,
i am no longer suffocating under
your easy promises and heavy hands,
or his, for that matter.
say what you will, my lungs
are filled with a different dawn
and a western wind,
and i am leaving everywhere.
a modern opheliashe found fennel beneath her pillow,
and felt the familiar flutter
of glassfish between her ribs.
to distract herself, she
scattered the reddest petals
in her bathwater.
she braided poppies in her hair
let regret invade her lungs.
fever dreamasleep, you smolder, radiating things
you would never admit when conscious.
your secret delusions which churn within you
are burning through your slumbering skull.
you thoughtlessly twist in the covers
you had so carefully turned inside out,
and everything you should have said
is now slicked across your sickly skin.
matar as saudades, you cry and you cry,
but your matchstick bones and paper heart,
all ash-filled, consumed, cremated,
are only proof of a phoenix forming feathers.
chordiality-where are you tonight?
i stay locked inside my own skin
every second i live.
i take apart the useless blue appendix,
pull it from my mouth,
up throat, out of the solar system
into every me there ever was.
we're always here
for no one cares what the others say
they hate being more than matter
and formula, a perfect equation
always divisible by two, no less.
i am divisible by all the holes
in my jaw, where my smile used to
cradle my face like a bastardized doll.
sewed eyes tweak my skin
with cool wire where all the fenced
unconsecrated ease into my
dolls wouldn't like
this minced play,
they live on the shallow side
of all our smiles.
risks and shreds and stitches
tell me all i'll ever be.
i swear they'll know my
name out loud--
i swear they never, ever will
and i'd fall into the
same grave a thousand times.
i'll die before twenty-five
burnt out, you know
but after the burn the smoke
always fades away
so i synchronize with the
BacktracksI had a plan to love
until my heartbeats trembled
under the duress of your voice
and the shock from your fingers.
I had a plan to love
until it became a perpetual ache
against the air in my chest.
I had a plan to love
and I didn't stop in time.
i wont break evenshe dropped her love along the streets,
poured her heart into a drain.
hung her feelings out to dry
[and left them there
no second thoughts]
she sold her soul to the open road
and wouldn't you know
she'd still give more
[but you'd never guess that
would you ?]
like a harvesting
pulled in little bits of skin and
warmth until what was left
remote as the moon.
she was bright and static and
tell me about the sex
i couldn't get enough.
she was scared of water
had dreams about
the ocean around her ankles hard
and urgent with want
waking up her eyes were damp
that was the sea spray.
are you still thinking of the sea
are you still beautiful.
do you still remember how
i couldn't get enough.
trespassing slipthe soul is numbered into a cohesive pattern. graphed for the mathematical masterminds and swallowed by the sea. it is drawn on earth-colored paper and taped to backs; for no one has the right to see their soul or steal it, just to roll it in mud or take it off when they feel overdressed. she's always overdressed for you but strays, too afraid to slip her hands down, over, off. she replies with tiny licking phrases and sheathes her eyes behind a clear mask. so useless. so so ashamed. to blame. we blame you.
talk is nothing but meal to fill the empty stomachs of air. we make it fat with nonsense and diseased desires. the others are just fifteen and free to dream, so free. free attaches to falling in a revolution of seconds and we are the most captive prisoners of all.
you have sweet dreams of tongues slipping down your throat, of medicine. i live to trail your insides but die to move beyond skin. barriers break our chemicals down to singular strands of written codes read only by nature.
Frost and forgivenessI belong on your left knee
with strings attached to my spine
and your fingers playing a melody
too soft with too much coercion
for me to digress.
I belong in your chest,
cheeks pressed against your
weakened muscles, listening
to the faltering pounds
that belong only to me.
I belong between your legs,
wrapped up in pastel ribbons
and silken whispers,
tied together with fumbling fingers
and left to dream for the both of us.
I belong there, thousands of miles
across shattered ocean floors
and star-stained fields
to bask in the descent of orchid air
and to watch each other through
never told youi always drink too much of
this fashionable spring air
but enough isn't me.
gold, god, we climb over
every hill and fall in love
with breaded earth again and again.
i dream of you in payphone
booths when i think of home,
smiling my signal through the chords
hoping it will replace
a lover's flesh.
but sweating all these colors fresh,
oh, it's something to see,
something to me
because we run in empty fields
while you sit cramped inside,
barely pumping the blood around your toes.
come on, darling, you know.
when we drive i sing into memory;
do you remember when i fell
out of your tree? you ran and picked me
up and even though i was seeing stars i
tried on love like a slip
it fit me to fit you.
lover, though the water's where
i'm most alive i miss that
one word, home, for you.
am i just too much?
fever dreams won't be
enough to touch.
miss the waterfalls
all those clouds
during hot weather
i curtsy to the bandits
and play my piano sweet
eating up the world to feel
it in my s
'til deathit occurs to me that maybe i will grow up and get divorced. i will love you as long as i can and eventually, we will wake up and not love each other anymore. i guess it won't happen overnight but it sure as hell will be intolerable one day.
our kids will be grown. they will be surprised because they often saw us drunk together at family functions and honestly staring into each other's eyes. and they sometimes heard us having sex. and they found the love letters i wrote to you in high school. i will be brushing my teeth and you will be smoking a cigarette and then we will be looking at each other in the mirror. i rinse my mouth out and look up at you.
'how long has is been since we had sex?'
'how long has it been since you had sex?'
'how long has it been since we made love?'
'jesus, at least five years.'
i will smile at you and fix your hair, take a long drag on your cigarette and say, 'i can't believe i married you. you are one boring son of bitch. i'll
the sculptor's daughterwhen she was created
i taught her to breathe
in ways that would flatter her figure.
before all of this,
i judged her for her fluttering lungs
and rearranged her ribcage.
now, my creation, my masterpiece
is a worthless piece of
glass, reflection of myself,
and she wonders why i reject her.
i only wanted the best for her
(i only wanted a second chance)
but her sixteen-inch waist
cannot hold up the both of us.
time to start over again.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More