Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login

Similar Deviations

Sutured together by artists,

devoured blasphemy-

hallowed out, & spit back up,

( you are afraid. )

Hooks longing for her ribcage embrace;

god-hands that can't seem to keep to themselves

grapple the gargoyle exterior of her deflowered frame.

( spread your legs. )

Red-inked and trembling,

prosetry masked as screams

knots into her anatomy.

Written for =dreamsinstatic's poetry contest: [link]

Chosen Prompt: A Debt of Bones

I really tried to step out of my comfort zone with this piece and write something darker. What do you guys think? Did I succeed?

How is the flow?
My word choice?
The length?

Your thoughts are greatly appreciated!

Edit: I took out the last line. I feel that this piece stands much better without it.

featured: [link]
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

these words are not poetry

swimming liquid fire through ashes

of dead phoenix veins.

no, they are rough and callused

with over use, their own faithless artists

spewing black tar from their lungs

in the hopes to one day breathe again.

nothing moves her.

she would rather scribble her heart out

on physical manifestations of her own reality-

on skin and bones she worships like a temple.  

"Write of me," he says, "right here."-

planting sun-stricken kisses  

along the hollow of her burning throat.

"I want to be where your heart sleeps."
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

(I wrote us in free verse over every inch

               of your tattered surface ).

you were the beatific grin

of a kindergartener high off oxygen,

mouth stretched wide as the entrance to hell,

black tongue bleeding virtuous sin like ichor.

(You taught me praying was for the weak

      as I fell for your gypsum nails,

               white teeth scrabbling over my chalkboard frame).

scribbled flesh tells no love story

but three layers of skin

worn thin along the length of our feverish bones.

(Garden flowers tucked away worms and dirt,
      my ribs hoarded misspellings of my mother's name).

dipping your origami limbs into my ink,
you lost yourself within the dark tangles
of my labyrinth roots. Like a child,

you twisted my path

until you found a home-

staking claim to my clavicle.

(Your mid-morning coffee still rests
       on my kitchen table, stale and smirking.

There's a note on the counter.

        My name is not Stephanie.)
Collaboration with the wonderfully talented ~winterkate.
I think our styles fit perfectly together!

If you comment/fav mine, please go and show her the same love and respect you gave me! ( [link] )

Featured: [link] [link] [link]
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

Your words tore into my abdomen like vultures feeding on
the raw emotion their filthy wings stirred up from the dust.

My ribs cracked from the blow.

But, I think sometimes
of how these were the ribs
that should have chased you away from me,
quietly wondering how you managed to
slither past this cage of bone and flesh
to engrave your fingerprints into my marrow.

You were sweat & spice & scars-

Your eyes,
a thunderstorm of black and blue sex
jarring and devouring my insides,
shaped a faithless religion
through the cracks & broken shards
of my hollowed out womb.

(I want my insides back.)

Collaboration with the wonderful ~SiennaRevolution
Go fav hers! ---> [link]
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

this is hard for the world around us to grasp:
these wildfires raging in our retinas
& the sins we wear like demonic similes
on our tongues- they are not enough.

& i am so fucking sorry of saying i'm sorry.

but, tell me,
what is a young poet(ess) to do
with veins made of kite strings?
Haven't really been feeling myself as of late.
Words are hiding from me.

Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

i.   On some nights,
    street lights guide
    this lonely heart
    to her lonely bed.

ii.  In this universe of twilight skin
    & mismatched bones,
    I wonder just how many poems sleep
    beneath the inkwell of her eyes.

iii.  My body is a house of stars,
     and her palms are black holes
     sucking ( me ) into their vortex of


iv.   She says, "Pleaseómy moon,
     pleaseógive these bones a reason
     to stay."

    & I am whispering lovelies
    into the sanctuary of her heartbeats.

v.   "Goddess temple,
     sunset eyes, &
     my windowpane love-

     Let us eat the stars
If you follow me on tumblr, you might have seen the birth of this little gem. And I have to say--I am very impressed with myself. I've fallen in love.
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

I like pretending I mean something to the ghosts
who wreak havoc on my bones-
impaling these masochistic butterfly wings
on railroad spikes
between heartbeats and bedsheets,

I got a heart in New Orleans,
palms engraving names like
Juliet, Alexandria, & Christine
on the seats of greyhound buses.

& I'm offering up 102 degrees of skin to a godless moon
as I breathe in her night scent.
This might confuse you, but it makes sense to me.

I'm sorry for my jumbled thoughts--I enjoy writing when I am half out of my mind.

Free write, enjoy.
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

I've got a filthy mouth,
& a house of stars
thriving in my throat.

21 years

& I still have yet to tame
this grounded constellation
I call my temple. -Slithering
tongue hissing too many
"fuck you's" against my teeth.

I fear I will write myself hollow-
or until my bones are corroded away

& I am nothing-
an insignificant nebula
orbiting the wrong atmosphere.

But, my veins bleed sweet ichor,

& words are only words, Mother.
"Beauty is how you feel inside, and it reflects in your eyes. It is not something physical." - Sophia Loren

Featured: [link]
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

she tries to fall into the night,
tipping her strawberry heart
like a tea bag into hot waters-
always scolding herself
kissing ocean beds.
Her hips, tides rolling
towards the antagonists
of myths & legends.

with a thousand leagues
of sea behind her eyes,
she will always save herself.
I wish I could see myself as the heroine of my own narrative.
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

Over 1,000 letters have found their way
to the pulsating heart of my wastebasket.

Until you.

You carried them away saying, "I'll use these
to fill the empty spaces of my universe."

You proceeded to tape them to your eyelids,
wear them like Augusts leaves along your limbs.

"I will be your voice and I will sing your words to the trees."
Slender spider fingers prancing across my misspelled scrawl.
I hate titles.
If I had it my way, everything would be 'untitled 1-2-3-etc etc' -_-;

Oh yeah, I have writers block.
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.