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Does She?
Her nails
a deeper red than the tint of my dreams
in which she whirls and bends
with skin
a darker shade of lucious
that leaves me thirsting
to drink
the salty spray
from the rolling waves
of her undulating hips.
Ghosts of memories
in mid-decay
stand as stalwart scoundrels,
barring gates
that could lead into the fervent flavor
of her kiss,
a gracious collide of bodies
I can only fantasize....
The tilting motion of her neck,
the angle of her chin,
if her tongues whirls and darts
or teases at the precipice
of desire
with coquettish glee
or the intensity of a hunger
to be satiated.
Does she feel the electric atmosphere
that sizzles and pops
each time
our figures share the same space,
or am I just another shape
in her kaleidescope eyes
no more appealing
than the other spinning colors
of her subconscious?
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 10 5
She is pure light,
unbound and without a hint of shadow,
gleaming down the street
in a way
that makes everyone notice.
She gives it away for free,
intangible something
because she doesn't know
she has it,
and none of them can define her,
but they all desire.
I'm watching
from behind the dusty glass,
and I know her everything,
the fine print
that they cannot read
because the pictures are too
They don't want to know the details,
they just like the image,
the shell in which she's kept,
but I
love the scars they do not notice,
and the pieces of her
she tries too hard to conceal.
Every day is a game of hide and seek,
she hides the truth,
her fears and all her unpolished edges,
and while they
worship at the altar of
this disguise,
I admire
all the cracks and smudges
you can only see
if you're really looking at her.
She gives it away for free,
she doesn't believe anyone
would pay
for the cracked spine
she hides beneath
a carefully constructed dust jacket
or the pages s
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 11 6
She Forgets
I write these words
for the one person who won't read them;
Swallow the black mass
into my chest where pain
like cold water flooding
into my heart.
I cling to fragments of dreams
as they begin to fade,
holding tight to memories
I treasure,
ones you've cast aside
even the courtesy to burn them,
and me.
I feel love like a hammer
hard against the ribs,
my veins still pump pure fire
for your name,
while you grow cold
and forget that I exist.
In the darkness of every evening
I speak to a God
that I doubt more than I believe
seeking answers,
digging for the slightest sliver of hope
as you dream
of other names and faces
foreign to me.
I stare,
eyes glazed with lack of sleep,
at the silver shine of a ring
that should
be on your finger,
instead it sits boxed up
like a dead dream
where I relive it every day
and you
can't even speak my name.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 14 10
I still see her,
the ghostly vision of what once was
the figure that shaped
a universe for me.
Dark hair
and eyes a subtle shade of sunet
stare out at me
from corners of memory
that refuse to subside.
Whispering words to empty spaces,
if stars can transmit the signal
from my lips to her skin,
if she still recalls
the sound of my voice.
Endless questions hang unanswered,
the chaos of a heart
unsure of where it longs to beat,
and I exist
only in a blackened space
she chooses not to see.
Somewhere between the cynic
and the dreamer,
I swing from dark to light
trying to decipher
why a love alleged to be so strong
could be abandoned
so easily.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 13 1
Battle Feel
White skin on fire,
black waves of madness come whirling in
when the sunlight shivers,
cowering behind the specter of mountaintops.
I breathe
blue smoke and gray pain,
swallowing capsules of memory,
swigs from a dirty glass with an amber glow.
She stretches a day out for weeks.
Broken clocks,
with empty bottles
scattered on a dusty counter
and she keeps track of time by the bruises
collecting on her legs,
the darker the shade
and the redder the sting,
the longer since the day she shut down.
Dry lips shape the same words,
gifting them
into a darkness that cannot reply,
two shifting figures curling into broken shapes,
jutting limbs
and eyes like broken glasses,
vision blurred
and desperation pouring out
salty and sour.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 14 2
I've watched you
since before I knew your name,
this whirling glow
of brilliance and beauty
and a laugh
that can seduce anyone
within range.
This growing distance burns,
a dying star
caught between our shapes,
and though it scorches
and scars,
my eyes have never shifted
and I watch
like an adoring fan
does his favorite film.
And I see the darkness
that has closed in around you,
but I know
I cannot pull back that veil,
its a battle
you must wage for yourself
and I
can do little more
than witness.
So I press my palms together,
and whisper
into a universe which once
and though I long to beg
for your touch,
I bargain
for your joy,
and promise to close my eyes
if indeed
it resides outside of my soul.
I try to grasp at faith,
the very same
that you once taught me to find,
and though my heart
I know it will beat on
so long as you
can find a smile for the world,
even if
not for me.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 17 7
       The first time I saw her was one of those moments you think are only real in movies, banged out on the typewriters of men in business suits and fedoras who have long since faded into memory.  My breath caught in my throat and I thought, for just a moment, that I was going to have a panic attack.  As it turned out, it was the first subtle clue that there was something about her which would forever tie my fate to hers.  A chance encounter, just two people working the same crappy job and yet it would eternally alter my path and change the course of my life.
       She was wearing a white shirt, and her dark hair fell around her face in this way that if I were describe it to you would sound all too flowery and unreal, but it was that and more.  She had these sensual dark eyes, but the longer you looked at them the more you could see that what first appeared brown was more a shade of gold than mahogany.  Her lips were p
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 6 1
We began as strangers,
two sets of eyes
watching from across the room.
She was scintillating magic,
dark hair rolling in waves
like a perfectly carved mahogany frame
gently kissing
delicate porcelain cheeks.
We became lovers,
tangled like bedsheets in the morning,
where one begins and the other ends
was lost somewhere
in the shrinking spaces between
parting lips.
She was ethereal,
a body like smoke that whirled around me,
but that I could never grasp
so I just breathed deeply
to drown my lungs in her infinity.
We became strangers,
when she pressed my heart between
the pages and closed the book.
She walks like a temptress
through my mind,
and if I squint hard enough,
and hold my breath long enough
I can see the ring
and her perfect pink lips
behind a veil.
I just fell
into the blackness that swept in
when she vanished,
and left me
with wet skin and endless dreams,
so vivid and taunting
that I pray
for insomnia to consume my mind.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 10 1
Ben E. King and bourbon,
a dark room
and a cluttered desk with a glass ashtray,
dry lips and aching fingers.
The ghosts of memory come creeping in,
and the shades of those
better times,
blend into a single shape upon the wall.
And in the unmistakable darkness
I confront
the pieces of me that
I most desperately despise.
I'm not a good man,
a broken brother and a worse son,
a flawed figure
shapeless and lacking definition.
And my mouth knows your name,
but fears to speak it
for I wasn't a good lover either,
and I am painfully aware.
Here in this empty room, this
empty chest,
I swallow smoke and choke on the billowing
numbness of discontent.
Too much pain to be deceased,
too much regret
to truly be alive I live now
in emotional pergatory.........
too afraid to dare to dream
of the light
I helped to cloak.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 17 3
Why must it hurt so much......
To have been in your bed
and to now
be floating somewhere outside of your atmosphere....
Does love surrender
like a soldier beneath a white flag
or does it writhe and rage,
scream like an archangel angry and hungry
to persist.....
I can hardly breathe
and yet I continue moving because stillness
bring me any closer
to you.....
A stone man
with a human heart and a begging ache
I'll crawl through the mud
and choke
on ashes and dust
just to get another glimpse of the light
you beam....
And yet you may
strike me down and cast me aside,
one more memory
erased and another replaced,
a ghost
exorcised and forgotten....
But my skin still tingles
at the thought of your touch and I just can't believe
you could bury
the magic that cracks and sparks
when our hearts are near,
they still whisper out for one another;
Can you not hear them
or have you clamped your hands over your ears
to silence the sound?
And if your body
no longer shivers at the thought of mine
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 8 1
I am landlocked and yet
I am still drowning.
Breaths come few and far between
as this suffocating grip
enricles my throat,
always releasing before I
can be set free from the pain.
A single set of eyes watches me
from frozen memories,
a beautiful shade of amber
flecked with gold
but the heaven they once held
has been replaced
with an indifferent stare.
Something so strong and majestic
has twisted 'round my body,
a darker specter
sliding over my skin and I
can barely move.
Trapped in the hopelessness of hope,
lost at sea
without a current or a steady wind,
adrift from the shore
I so desperately long to set foot upon.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 12 3
Memories so visceral
I can still taste them,
like the salty sweet wash of your skin
after a slow morning run
in the dancing summer rain.
Eyes a shade of amber,
golden flakes glowing in the warmth
of a crackling fire,
your lips parted like an envelope
I'm aching to seal.
Words whispered silently,
a tender glance exchanged,
an undulation of emotion,
a burst of color and a blast of light,
two lone figures unite.
Hands in the dirt,
knees in the slushing mud,
battle weary and fatigued,
I trudge step by step
toward the peak of this moment,
a banner raised,
emblazoned with your name.
For I'd rather die on the hill,
swathed in the regalia of my devotion
than quietly in my empty bed
with your name resounding
only in my dreams.
My heart knows only one cause,
and memorized only her name
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 24 7
Her headphones are in
and she moves
like a dancer on an empty stage,
like liquid lightning,
completely unaware
of my ghostly apparition.
My hands ache,
dusty skin coiled in balled fists,
from the memory
of the times they were graced
to harness
her electric Elysium.
I can't look away,
though every second she lingers
is an hour of pain,
dull eyes burning
in the scope of an eclipse,
staring too long
at a sun whose light can warm,
but also
can scorch the earth.
My ribs retract,
and a hand not my own
the beating tumor
from the center of my chest,
a sacrifice offered
to a goddess
who never even notices --
or chooses not to.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 12 6
I only breathe now
out of instinct.
Love comes in like a storm,
drop by drop,
suddenly you're drenched
and laughing
at all the craziness
that once made you run
for cover.
Joy dies out like a drought,
and bit by bit until
all that remains
is the hope for its return,
wasted prayers
spit out
to an inattentive
my skin seems so white,
and I can count
every vein
like crisscrossing interstates,
moving now
only because
they know nothing else.
Illusive sleep,
chasing the ghosts of dreams
like pictures in frames,
of a time when the heart could feel
something other
than the dull ache
of longing
it cannot name.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 15 7
The haunting light of day,
when a Home becomes a house
and the vacancy
comes creeping in like
a memory,
not forgotten but
in the corner of your eyes,
in the locked room
behind the veil,
where dangling shivers of light
dare not
The sound
of a swollen scream comes
up a copper tube throat,
aluminum bones
too dense
to know they're dust;
And the silhouette shape
throwing new shadows
over old forms,
dirty sheets once white
hang gray
over the jagged outlines
of what was.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 13 2
Odds and Ends
A cup is just a cup
until it's the last cup that she touched,
and a car
is just a way from a to b
until it's the way that she arrived
at z.
A picture in a frame
is lovely to see, even if only ever viewed
in the background, passively,
but when the image
locks in place
the last smile on her face
then your grief turns to regret
for the memory
trapped beneath the glass.
An old pair of slippers,
tucked neatly beside the door,
stepping over
every time you cross the threshold,
until the day
when you have to toss those old things away
and they are as heavy as anchors
and more treasured
than diamond.
A scent that fills your head,
the comfort of a familiar figure and
a warm embrace,
but when you can no longer detect it's fragrance,
it becomes a mystery
impossible to solve,
a memory lost to time
like the ghost of a kiss
lost somewhere among the rest.
A name is just a name
until it's torn from the tongue and carved
into the stone,
and a dream
is a just a thing between the nigh
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 198 72

I want to Commission a Piece of Art - Who would you suggest? 

No deviants said Comment
No deviants said And tell me
No deviants said An Artist




Copyright Information

Copyright Information

© 2007-2017 dreamsinstatic. All rights reserved. All work displayed here are of my own creation and may not be used in any way shape or form without my direct written consent. My work is deeply personal and my greatest treasure and I will not permit it to be plagiarized, edited or outright stolen from me.

Commission Artwork and Trace Evidence

Journal Entry: Tue Aug 29, 2017, 8:10 PM
Hey everyone!  I am looking to have some artwork done for my podcast!  I have a very specific idea in mind so I need an amazing artist who can pull it off.  Who would you recommend from dA?  Please comment some amazing artists so I can reach out to them!

For those of you who aren't aware, back in May, I started a true crime podcast called Trace Evidence.

Over the past three months I've been growing it and expanding it and at this point it's becoming larger than I thought it would.  So far I have written over 100,000 words over 15 episodes.  It's not poetry, but it's nice to be writing something.

If you're interested in checking it out, I could always use support.  The main page is Trace Evidence if you want to take a look.

Also, if you have iTunes, I'd really appreciate if you could leave me a nice review on there.  It would really help out.

I miss the community, and a lot of you who I used to speak to quite a bit, but hopefully, I'll be able to be around a bit more once I get a stronger grip on the schedule of the show... and stop procrastinating so much.

  • Listening to: Trace Evidence
  • Reading: This is the Zodiac Speaking
  • Watching: AGDQ
  • Playing: Friday the 13th (PS4)


dreamsinstatic's Profile Picture
United States

I can't stand the idea of never knowing an answer. This feeds into my fascinations with history, criminology, philosophy and psychology. I have a need to know, to get down to the core of something or someone and understand the reasons why. I tend to view the world through analytical eyes and while most are losing themselves in the moment, I am memorizing it. My mind has so many topics to focus on that often times I have difficulty dedicating myself to a single one because they are all arguing for my attention.

I started writing as a child, making little books about cartoon characters, including creating my own. I grew serious about writing in high school where I joined the literary magazine and won several awards. All told, I began writing 28 years ago, wrote my first poem 19 years ago. Often times I write a piece, I am not sure where it is going or why, but upon completion I find myself looking into my own mind and discovering what it is that I am feeling or thinking. A subliminal glimpse into the essence of who I am lies somewhere between the lines I scribe.

My interest in history is extremely broad, with favorite historical figures ranging from Alexander the Great to George Washington. I am also hung up on unsolved historical crimes, the Zodiac Killer and Jack the Ripper, for example. I am an extremely picky reader. Many classical authors fail to catch my attention though I love the works of Edgar Allan Poe, J.D. Salinger and Emily Dickinson. Philosophically I am drawn to Baudrillard and Kant.

I am always open to discussion or random conversation. You can feel free to contact me either through deviantart or on one of the various instant messaging programs I use, my usernames for which are listed below. I have been a member of deviantart for over 8 years and love being a part of the vastly talented literature community. I hope in the future to take a bigger part in that community and to contribute and promote it in whatever ways I can.

Location: Western North Carolina

"I like a look of agony / because I know it's true."

"Progress is a nice word. But change is its motivator. And change has its enemies."

"Better that we die on our feet than live on our knees."

"In a world of global deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act."

"No target on earth and no purpose in Heaven."

"Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth."

Twitter: KillingPoetry
Facebook: Facebook




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PennedinWhite Featured By Owner Nov 29, 2018  Hobbyist Writer
I know you aren't around much these days, but...

Happy Birthday :cake: None-the-less. :heart:
specialized666 Featured By Owner Aug 5, 2018  Professional Interface Designer
 Have a great day :D
Ultimate-Psycho Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2017  Hobbyist Photographer
Serendiipitii Featured By Owner Jan 23, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
The great Baguette bids you warm greetings, and waves you into the crispy temple of enlightenment ...

Thank you for the support! <3 Please feel free to click on the stamp above and ask the most pressing of questions
to the Benevolent Baguette. He will ensure you receive a response most worthy of the question.
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