what they said?
Or is it just
what you heard?
Brown EyesI love your eyes.
I could write songs and rhyming poems,
and whole books or theses
on your eyes
and the beauty or depths
There are many shades of
from dirt to chocolate,
dog shit to coffee,
carob to bourbon,
but none of these
come anywhere close to describing
the shade of your stupid eyes,
in their beauty (or ugliness).
The way they enrapture me
and distract me from my work
or pull my attention away from
my television shows
has always been loathsome and annoying,
but your eyes are still
my favourite shade of brown
for all the depths they contain
that I wish to traverse,
and to understand.
I don't know what it is,
when you are so dumb sometimes,
when your eyes glitter with
that makes me love them
so goddamn much.
Although, I can guess.
It might be the beauty,
or the humour,
But I think it's the way
get away from so many cliches
and simply add to your complexity,
Ashes"You always smile like you're about to cry."
I remember when you told me that.
We were lying together, and it was nearly dark,
and I could see the smoke
curling up away from your face,
which was lit by a cigarette.
I suppose after you left, I needed to get rid of
traces that reminded me of you.
The scent of your perfume was easy,
as simple as doing the laundry.
But your cigarettes lingered
so now I burn incense
day in and day out while I write,
and smoke my cigarettes,
and drink more coffee than I should.
And I can't help but think
that ashes are all that is ever left of my relationships.
Scattered ThoughtsMy thoughts have always been scattered
like ash in the warm summer breeze
that one morning after.
The magic of that night;
cannot find words to contain it -
could never find the melodies played -
could never reclaim that feeling.
For only sixteen,
we surely captured something fantastic;
Even today I think back to her -
her skin warm against mine in the cold evening
while huddling next to a bonfire
and eating ice cream...
I think of everything from that night
over and again
and never come any closer to solving the enigma of it.
She was like a cigarette,
addictive and dangerous
and I never quite managed another fix.
Chapter 13: Early Sunsets Over MonroevilleGerard was finally in the car, along with Mikey and Ray, when Frank appeared. Gee groaned as soon as he saw the look on Frank’s face. Frank got to the window of the car, and sighed. “Let me guess. The car doesn’t work?” Gee said.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry, guys. But the good news is, the VW right over there works, and I have the keys.”
“Whose Karmann is that?” Ray asked, looking at the dark, mottled purple car with desert dust caked onto it, inches thick.
“Long story,” Frank said. “And I have a couple of things to do inside. I’m gonna get some food and shit for us. Here,” he handed Gerard the keys. “Go get into the car, preferably the back seat. I’ll be back in a few minutes, hopefully before Dracs get here.”
He jogged back inside. Gerard groaned, before he opened the car door and got up. He dragged himself over to the Karmann, as Ray and Mikey helped each other over to the car. Gee unlocked it and g
Roses and the Boys that Bring Themi.
You always brought me roses
as if that made things better.
Their petals bruised as easily as my skin,
and you noticed their bruising more.
I told you, once, the reason why
I love roses too much.
You smiled and kissed my hand
and, still smiling, said
"That's so sweet, love."
My dad cultivated roses when I was a child
and when my brother bought the house,
the roses stayed,
all but one bush. Which
to be the bush that produced my favorite roses.
You cut me roses fresh from that park,
and I remember smiling,
and kissing you.
I didn't realize you took this as an invitation,
nor did I realize
some people see sex as a bargain.
The commonality of roses
when I was a kid
made many people laugh when I told them
roses are my favorite.
And many told me it was a cliche.
You brought me a single rose,
but never gave me your name.
Even though I already knew anyway,
I kind of wish you'd told me
so I could've kissed you.
You told me I was
SadnessMy sadness is so crippling
I just want to get rid of it.
I think of what it would be like,
to be the me I am now,
without the sadness to have guided my way
and the anxiety to steer my course.
But then comes the thought
that keeps me awake at night.
That my sadness, this curse,
while not pleasant,
is what makes me interesting.
And suddenly I don't want to get rid of it.
without my sadness,
I'd just be so boring...
OC Meme*Copy this into your Meme..
-Choose 10 of your OC's
-Answer the questions
-Then tag 3 people
1.) 3, 7, 4, and 9 go ice skating. What happens?
2.) Its Christmas!!! 5 throws a christmas party and invites three people of choice. Who does he/she invite? What happens?
3.) 6 catches 2 dancing/singing to the 'spice girls'. What's 6's reaction?
4.) 1 and 10 are stuck in a janitor's closet. How the crap did they get in there?
5.) 4 confesses his/her love for 8. What happens?
6.) 3 walks in to see 6 and 7 making out in 3's closet.. What is their reactions?
7.) 9 and 5 have an argument that soon turns into a fist fight. How did it start? And How does 2 try to break it up?
8.) 6 and 7 are getting married! But 8 is in love with 7. What does 8 do?
9.) You here a knock on your door. You open it to see every one of your OC's bursting in to your home. What do you do?
10.) 2 admits to you that he/she killed 9. What do you do?
11.) Everyone gat
sempiternalWhen I grow old
For when rainbows dilute and notebooks fatten
on times untimely passing,
when the moon falls out of kilter with a sun that
curdles in a sad, forgotten sky,
and the rain congeals inside the clouds
when the slurry of seconds sinks deep into my bones
and my skin crumples like parchment, my spine coils and splinters
and my fingers buckle, knuckle-cracking -
when my dreams fade like polaroids in sunshine
and my memories break free from their kitestrings
unanchored and drifting in such dulcet mindmurk and I watch
the world crumble from gold into grey.
I want a thousand laugh-lines
for they will be the maps to better times
so I can find my way back
InsanityWhy hello there insanity
Let me walk you 'round the floor
If you look off to your left
you'll see the girl i was before.
The tiles might be broken
But its nothing time can't fix
But if you think its art-work
Then all the broken parts will mix.
And the doorknobs may not work
But you can crawl through like spies
The holes you made with your fist
Are looking just your size.
The mirror in the hallway
Has seen some better days
And although you may see yourself
It's not uncommon to also see haze.
And the windows may be drafty
But i promise its not too cold
And if you can deal with that
I'm sure that you'll be sold.
And you see here in the closet
That the lightswitch doesn't work
But that only because
There are inner demons that lurk.
The picture frames are empty
But thats only an attempt to forget
All the fun i once had
And the soul that I once bet.
There's shattered glass in the bedroom
From when you told it was goodbye
And i let the bird out of it's cage
Knowing it would die.
But the basem
There is nothing more devastating
Than losing a loved one
Knowing that you will never
Hear their voice again
Or feel their touch, or see them smile
It's heart breaking
Time is a powerful thing
One that is forever
Time takes everything
And makes it it's own
They say that time
Heals all wounds
Time only created more scars
As the ones that it caused before
Begin to heal
To lose a loved one
Is a tragedy all in its own
But don't be sad
You will see them again
Because while time takes everything it can
Will take you too.
Time takes everything
And eventually it even takes you.
The Rumour of IcarusIcarus
there is a rumour that your father killed you, that
he bent your wings until they broke and then
told you, "Fly."
If this rumour is true, then it lives in the throats of
those fragile boys who wear your death like Cain's mark,
whose tender hands split like swollen tomatoes when
they pluck strangled seabirds, whose
arms slump beneath the weight of their father's genius.
And this rumour lives on
the under-skin of their eyelids so that when they die
or simply sleep
they dream of their fathers
or maybe just of Daedalus, standing with
his hands full of feathers and wax,
their blood-flecked down under his fingernails.
your face is gone, icarus, you are a warning & a tragedy &
the patron saint of boys who will not listen but also you are a god, icarus,
a god to these boys and still, when you fell
said Bruegel in oils, Auden and Williams in verse
no one gave a damn.
they also say that your father strained the sunlight into an amphora
and told you, "Dri
and we found...we love like we sin, terrified and breathless.
we are tea-at-midnight girls, naming constellations
that don't exist after lost tourists we meet on the
street, reminding our freckle covered shoulders
that even beautiful things can be made ordinary.
we are broken fingers and half-closed eyelids and a
penchant for mischief. we are ribbon skin and frantic
desires and incandescent hope. we are a voice spilling
secrets to falling leaves diving after their arachnid brothers,
mimicking the millions before us who were
judged unfairly, unjustly but all too correctly.
we whisper promises to dandelions because they do not
know how to hold grudges and we refuse to die because
the world can not stand the sight of our scars and
cloud-colored eyes filled with a malady called freedom.
we are believers and dreamers and scared to death but we
are not done yet. we are dusty library windows and thunder
raking through bones and leaving eyes glowing, skin shaking,
burning whispers of 'I'm sorry, but this is
It Has Come To My AttentionIt has come to my attention
that people like me
are generally not welcome in fairy tales.
It's the talking birds that do it.
The minute a sparrow shows up to pipe a direful warning
it's all over
down at the first hurdle
The body in the fifty-fathom well
will have to wait
the old woman turned into a hare
the murdered mother in the juniper tree
as I whip out my Sibley guide and look for the entry
with the fieldmark labeled capable of human speech.
For this crime
I have been accused of a failure of wonder
of having chained up my inner child and sent her
to work in the salt mines.
But the truth
(if you really want to know)
is that I have read too many fairy tales
and lived a bit too long
to be surprised by anything that happens in
the cottages of lonely woodcutters.
I can even venture a guess
to why the bear speaks with the voice of a maiden
(my heart goes out to her)
and why, when the animal has saved your life,
you will be required to make a harp out of its bones.
These are o
Oh art thief, oh art thiefOh art thief, oh art thief
How you’ve brought us all to grief.
How can you be unashamed?
When you stole from people unnamed
How you think about your own fame
Just like others like you playing that game
How you feed off us
How you live on others success
How can you sleep at nights,
Knowing you infringed other’s rights?
How can you enjoy this fame,
Knowing it rightfully belongs to another name?
Do we also carry the blame
That we blindly follow someone’s claim?
To the people that believe everything humans say
To you I say good day
We must always question what we are told
Or we can start to be controlled
By vicious lies and such
To me that is just too much
for unseeing eyesladen with sky
and painted mockingbirds
on loveless branches
folding in our slender limbs
and ducking under our own
voices, fidgety and frail
against the wall of night.
between the dipping blades
and drawn shoulders
we learned to craft our words
a drumming rain
that carved canyons
in open hearts and
drew the sunshine to
our supping lips.
keen-eyed, we watched
remembering the weight
of unseeing eyes
and scalding remarks
and we learned to slip
the noose-knots and slide
through the soul-cracks
build kingdoms under
with lyrical uncertainty
and tender determination
we built a pyre of peace
in the shadows
and watched it blaze
the truth across our
as new leaves still curled
and stretching hands
unfurled in suppliance
we lifted our heads
in broken laughter,
for this light is our burden,
and even a whisper
can shatter silence
and bring the blind