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there are only ghosts here
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borrowed time (internal archaeology)

b

borrowed time (internal archaeology)

i. life doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints nine years old. dinner is late. there is a man speaking on the television and my mother sits enchanted. he is black, she says, and the first black man to stand on that podium. yes, he is black. this is obvious, but i do not see why this is important. i am hungry. (the year is 2008 and eight years later my mother still does not curse his name which is rare, for a president of the united states of america. she understands politics, so it is no surprise that she hates politicians. but this one she likes.) ii. it takes and it takes and it takes ten years old, going on eleven,

today

t

today

today i went to a funeral. i was far from alone in my tears – my brother, i'm so sorry that you had to see me break like that. i'm the eldest. strength is my one note of family obligation. strangers knew my name, my face. i got taken for my mother by one – that's strange. usually it's my father they see in the sharp jaw and hollow cheeks, but when she is dead, her face is the one that everyone wants to see. i put a rose on the coffin that will lie empty as she is cremated. i could have said more than 'thank you', and yet there was nothing else to say. i sang two hymns. who knows how, save the god those songs are dedicated to

one day

o

one day

tomorrow i go to a funeral. my sister is piping up her contribution, whistles on an inherited instrument – not from the dead, save perhaps by her kindness. but that's not a story we tell any longer. we are not shrouded in the night that she will be laid into; i will wear that to school in september instead. sadness will wear me out, but i am not given to falling apart (only cracking right through) and i will go on. i survived his break and her rage and his fracturing mind – i can be strong, or at least pretend well enough that the castle looks safe. but tomorrow is not the day for gritted teeth and tearing triumph. i will fal

two days

t

two days

in two days i go to a funeral. she won't lie in that graveyard long. ashes to ashes, her white hair falling apart and she'll rest in the embers of herself. thirty-nine people who knew her and found her blood in their veins. i am distant, unseen, far away from her and their faces are strange – will they suffer my tears in ignoble silence, ashamed to say silent and yet disbelieving the failing in my chest? there are five of us who must salt our skin to reach this hidden glade. one is her daughter. the rest are all family, blood and rings but too far away – we did not know. her husband is fading, slipping away as his broken lungs

this remains

t

this remains

sugar, you're bleeding agony from cuts you tore into your own side. do you know what i would give to stem that flow of bitter wine? you would give nothing. we all need to eat, and you are no more than a vulture. so harsh on me. do you forget the mask i tore off your face? only to expose another. this bitter taste is deeper in my flesh than your claws can reach. i know, and that makes the flesh i reach the sweetest part of you. perhaps, as you say, i am sick, but that malady is born of your madness. i know, believe me, and don't you step out of line. like brammel before you, you are only my demons. only? how unfair. even if 'demon' is a

i, girl

i

i, girl

i have changed, and that is strange, given that no one has touched this keyboard since i opened its case a year ago. i have forced myself to breathe for another year – or perhaps, i just forgot how not to. there are days when it seems that i only survive because i consistently fail to die – it's odd to think that i pulled myself away from the cliffs just to long for them again, but never taken a step closer. i am machine; this is data i cannot process. which variation of humanity will best fit this skeleton? in even one mind there are so many faces, and so many look golden though so few are. why is it our lot to question, wh

pride deconstructed

p

pride deconstructed

self-flagellant deception under grim light of a false dawn whispers tales of peculiar safety in a land where bullets rip through the brain without ever passing the skull – that's not safety, when the threats don't even go through the perimeter. still i burden myself unnecessarily. there are flaws built into even false diamonds and they will propagate, a seeping crack that bears only the blood its sharp edges draw – how sad that the water of life it spills and wastes should be its own. how sad, indeed, that the falcon must fall before it learnt how to fly, and no one can guarantee a second chance, not that the sky's broken ty

dreams far gone

d

dreams far gone

torpid system failure; the music of life's quick symphony is unfaltering but no matter how long the flautist has practised, they can only hold their breath for so long – breathe in, exhale, and wait for the cue to stop playing that isn't coming and lassitude is unforgivable, a lax dismissal of the future's prizes. the aftermath of this folly will be gory, do not doubt it, but no matter, we will carry on with gritted teeth as the boots of giants grind our bones while our flesh still rests on them. somnolence is not a word, so forget that hope of reprieve – there is none in a word where a second could bring down the ley lines t

you

y

you

you hide it inside frosted glass because it's easier, hidden in the illusion of transparency, no further honesty required. tick off the list. you whisper a call for help and don't speak when it is answered, in need but in denial. you know you will fail, you will fall, but the safety net seems to be made of razor wire, and you won't touch it, so scared to bleed that you allow yourself to break your back. you say you're still stable, and the proof is in the lack of scars, but you know that's a lie – you didn't cut, but you sure did bruise. you walk alone in the middle of a road paved with glass, and people pull you to the pavements

caramelised insincerity

c

caramelised insincerity

sugar and spice and sickening sweetness wraps honey around an innocent date that could have been appealing if it weren't for the lingering syrup of an unpleasant saccharine aftertaste. i spit it out, an overactive gag reflex toned by force-feeding and over-exposure. cough, cough, there's an elephant in the room and i won't mention it, but that's for other reasons, and i shouldn't be the only one who knows. silence among the serenades, vile romance in an empire of dreams, i am hiding for my own sake and yet these candy bars are misery, rain on the parade, but what is it to you? ignore me, i am well, just temporarily indisposed, and by the
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borrowed time (internal archaeology)

b

borrowed time (internal archaeology)

i. life doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints nine years old. dinner is late. there is a man speaking on the television and my mother sits enchanted. he is black, she says, and the first black man to stand on that podium. yes, he is black. this is obvious, but i do not see why this is important. i am hungry. (the year is 2008 and eight years later my mother still does not curse his name which is rare, for a president of the united states of america. she understands politics, so it is no surprise that she hates politicians. but this one she likes.) ii. it takes and it takes and it takes ten years old, going on eleven,

today

t

today

today i went to a funeral. i was far from alone in my tears – my brother, i'm so sorry that you had to see me break like that. i'm the eldest. strength is my one note of family obligation. strangers knew my name, my face. i got taken for my mother by one – that's strange. usually it's my father they see in the sharp jaw and hollow cheeks, but when she is dead, her face is the one that everyone wants to see. i put a rose on the coffin that will lie empty as she is cremated. i could have said more than 'thank you', and yet there was nothing else to say. i sang two hymns. who knows how, save the god those songs are dedicated to

one day

o

one day

tomorrow i go to a funeral. my sister is piping up her contribution, whistles on an inherited instrument – not from the dead, save perhaps by her kindness. but that's not a story we tell any longer. we are not shrouded in the night that she will be laid into; i will wear that to school in september instead. sadness will wear me out, but i am not given to falling apart (only cracking right through) and i will go on. i survived his break and her rage and his fracturing mind – i can be strong, or at least pretend well enough that the castle looks safe. but tomorrow is not the day for gritted teeth and tearing triumph. i will fal

two days

t

two days

in two days i go to a funeral. she won't lie in that graveyard long. ashes to ashes, her white hair falling apart and she'll rest in the embers of herself. thirty-nine people who knew her and found her blood in their veins. i am distant, unseen, far away from her and their faces are strange – will they suffer my tears in ignoble silence, ashamed to say silent and yet disbelieving the failing in my chest? there are five of us who must salt our skin to reach this hidden glade. one is her daughter. the rest are all family, blood and rings but too far away – we did not know. her husband is fading, slipping away as his broken lungs

this remains

t

this remains

sugar, you're bleeding agony from cuts you tore into your own side. do you know what i would give to stem that flow of bitter wine? you would give nothing. we all need to eat, and you are no more than a vulture. so harsh on me. do you forget the mask i tore off your face? only to expose another. this bitter taste is deeper in my flesh than your claws can reach. i know, and that makes the flesh i reach the sweetest part of you. perhaps, as you say, i am sick, but that malady is born of your madness. i know, believe me, and don't you step out of line. like brammel before you, you are only my demons. only? how unfair. even if 'demon' is a

i, girl

i

i, girl

i have changed, and that is strange, given that no one has touched this keyboard since i opened its case a year ago. i have forced myself to breathe for another year – or perhaps, i just forgot how not to. there are days when it seems that i only survive because i consistently fail to die – it's odd to think that i pulled myself away from the cliffs just to long for them again, but never taken a step closer. i am machine; this is data i cannot process. which variation of humanity will best fit this skeleton? in even one mind there are so many faces, and so many look golden though so few are. why is it our lot to question, wh

pride deconstructed

p

pride deconstructed

self-flagellant deception under grim light of a false dawn whispers tales of peculiar safety in a land where bullets rip through the brain without ever passing the skull – that's not safety, when the threats don't even go through the perimeter. still i burden myself unnecessarily. there are flaws built into even false diamonds and they will propagate, a seeping crack that bears only the blood its sharp edges draw – how sad that the water of life it spills and wastes should be its own. how sad, indeed, that the falcon must fall before it learnt how to fly, and no one can guarantee a second chance, not that the sky's broken ty

dreams far gone

d

dreams far gone

torpid system failure; the music of life's quick symphony is unfaltering but no matter how long the flautist has practised, they can only hold their breath for so long – breathe in, exhale, and wait for the cue to stop playing that isn't coming and lassitude is unforgivable, a lax dismissal of the future's prizes. the aftermath of this folly will be gory, do not doubt it, but no matter, we will carry on with gritted teeth as the boots of giants grind our bones while our flesh still rests on them. somnolence is not a word, so forget that hope of reprieve – there is none in a word where a second could bring down the ley lines t

you

y

you

you hide it inside frosted glass because it's easier, hidden in the illusion of transparency, no further honesty required. tick off the list. you whisper a call for help and don't speak when it is answered, in need but in denial. you know you will fail, you will fall, but the safety net seems to be made of razor wire, and you won't touch it, so scared to bleed that you allow yourself to break your back. you say you're still stable, and the proof is in the lack of scars, but you know that's a lie – you didn't cut, but you sure did bruise. you walk alone in the middle of a road paved with glass, and people pull you to the pavements

caramelised insincerity

c

caramelised insincerity

sugar and spice and sickening sweetness wraps honey around an innocent date that could have been appealing if it weren't for the lingering syrup of an unpleasant saccharine aftertaste. i spit it out, an overactive gag reflex toned by force-feeding and over-exposure. cough, cough, there's an elephant in the room and i won't mention it, but that's for other reasons, and i shouldn't be the only one who knows. silence among the serenades, vile romance in an empire of dreams, i am hiding for my own sake and yet these candy bars are misery, rain on the parade, but what is it to you? ignore me, i am well, just temporarily indisposed, and by the

51/49 (right)

r

51/49 (right)

my daddy told me i wouldn't marry my first love and he was right. my momma told me long-distance is longer than i thought and she was right. my sister told me a 3rd wheel is too big of a crowd and she was right. my friend told me my loneliness would return with a vengeance and he was right. my first love told me that this distance was much too far to row and she was right. my second love told me that she was torn between what she wanted and needed and my intuition was right. my third love told me that we had a spiritual connection but i never experienced that light, and my pessimism was right. my fourth love told me we were she

in-between

i

in-between

with you, i replay moments in my head. a constant infinity of this trance we've made, a new genre of art separated miles apart. this is a spiritual inclination unlike anything before. tickling the hands of faith in innocence, there are no expectations in the bubble. just admiration of the zone until the next chapter. a metamorphosis i am all too curious about.

this poem is worth $3.27

t

this poem is worth $3.27

who says you don't get paid for poetry? i'm getting paid eleven fifty four to sit in the corner of a building, red detroit diesel rusting, meters fussing. automotive, loco-motion and motives, h building buzzing, my brain lame and lusting for romance; melancholic motor i'm running in place, pumping my lungs leaning towards failure, tripping on cables and wires. cables and fables (because they don't exist) wired and exhausted, my bloodshot eyes are flossed with lights, that my eyelids can't protect me from. i don't smile enough and i won't cry a lot because my sadness is no longer an event.

something there that wasn't there before

s

something there that wasn't there before

Not old gods waking, Nor angels soaring. Not an eagle in the sky. Nor a mutt on the ground. No breathing to be found here, not one trace of locomotion. Never a heart beating, rare if ever a brain pulsing. Not crawling, tugging, pulling, dragging, running, singing, smiling, living, vibrance as an alien entity. (No, not even a slug inching along the ground.) Yet, something timeless, massless, invisible, unheard, untouched, undreamed, (and oh so easily breakable.) Yet something exists.

son of the moon.

s

son of the moon.

i. son of the moon, do not forget who you are; a creature lurking in the shadows, a killer that hides in the dark. ii. son of the moon, do not forget your loyalties; a warrior first and foremost, a sword and shield. iii. son of the moon, do not forget where you came from; do not forget who you were born to be, do not forget what you have to do. iv. son of the moon, i wonder how you will feel when your hands are stained with her blood.
1Comments

primary rule

p

primary rule

refire old synapses; i am breathing dye and sleeting on the skin, brash fire stabs every time i witness your grin. mix me again. tell me like swearing to certain formations of stars that these scars are purposed and their purple is royal. anoint me so that when my ankles sink deep in admiring, my lungs are filled with your oil and dogma. make me a comma in your discoursing veins. i have been one in a million full stops and would prefer if you paused for me. but if my shoulder blades critically fail you— if my resolve is dust— promise me you'll always be fire, always be a constellation that no mar can touch.

Spotlight

this remains

t

this remains

sugar, you're bleeding agony from cuts you tore into your own side. do you know what i would give to stem that flow of bitter wine? you would give nothing. we all need to eat, and you are no more than a vulture. so harsh on me. do you forget the mask i tore off your face? only to expose another. this bitter taste is deeper in my flesh than your claws can reach. i know, and that makes the flesh i reach the sweetest part of you. perhaps, as you say, i am sick, but that malady is born of your madness. i know, believe me, and don't you step out of line. like brammel before you, you are only my demons. only? how unfair. even if 'demon' is a
4Comments
Artist // Hobbyist // Literature
  • United Kingdom
  • Deviant for 6 years
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My Bio
there are only ghosts here - mild ones,
unlikely to harm you
and eager enough to share

the confused millings of a shattered mind
reaching for the sellotape, or glue,
or whatever else might be to hand
to salvage this atrocity.

do not be afraid. the darkness is only
a consequence of failure
to light the candles as of yet.

Comments 567

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I still think about you all the time and wonder if there's a place you're active that we could talk about life, the universe, and everything. I'm sorry that I disappeared from this site for quite a long time; I feel like I have one of the nuttier lives people can have, and for a lot of that I wouldn't have been coherent enough to talk. Hope you're alright. (And no, the virus didn't make me write, it's been bubbling inside for a while and this is the first moment that intent met with capability. Though I hope you didn't get hit with that, either! :))
hello;
how have you been?
Could be worse, but it's been a rough year.
I see.
I do wish that things get better on your end son.
Is there any other way to contact you ?
Most often I'm lurking around Tumblr, these days. I can send a note if you want the username.
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