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in the seams(a) when I was young I was a robin that stole the eggs from another's nest.
fitted upon my stare there was a warning
personal's too personal for me, well i
would not use wings if i had 'em.
a child of rye with a silhouette spoiled by the sun, I was, I am.
and sometimes I see some vengeful sparrows still under my fingernails;
their glistening beaks snap melodies that rib a hundred bird-bone cages,
so light you could blow 'em away with a twist of your lungs.
and there are still words jailed between my teeth and my tongue and I do not speak of,
do not think of
but they rattle between bone and flesh and I
drown them sometimes when I sing.
(b) oh, you:
"love is a hobby like anything else, and I no longer have the time."
she asks me what I'm writing:
I am constructing a corpse can't you hear
me as I speak the meaning out of my name and
you bleed like I smile:
slowly, and without malice.
perhaps a shellthe truth is a ruthless enemy. it settles itself in the back of your brain and taptaptaps at your skull until it's all you can hear, all you can see, all you can feel. and yet the bittersweet taste of a tall tale still swells across the canvas of your tongue as another lie bursts between your lips.
"i am a soldier and my heart is the war."
i am i am i am
an empty uniform at best.
one mirrori. there were buckets of ungranted footprints, memories of paths trodden stuffed far beneath the world. you and i shove paper in our open mouths and let our eager breathlessness carve burning words.
we are falling faster than our wings will grow.
last night, i grabbed a book off the shelf and pressed my fingers against the pages, trying to feel the ink against my skin. all at once, it rose, like blood from a bubbling heart, quiet as the tapping of children in spring rain.
ii. i am surrounded by shovels, a crowd of gravediggers using words and promises to scratch the surface of the earth.
me, i prefer to use a pen.
(oh, how we drown, like screams in a waterfall.)
(oh, how we dream, like ravens gourging on time.)
iii. when we were younger
i knew a tasteless smile -
like the kind i wore
when i passed pictures of you.
they hang like
in an unwritten law.
iv. these garbled sentences that prance across our skin cannot erase the fact that we are
how to pay the plumberthe sun is born of ink that leaks from dog-eared galaxies
and the night is made of copper eyes that pipe the constellations
but we are too polite to stare.
any hand that may brush my back must bleed the alphabet
from wearied fingertips, and this is why:
happiness is ice and crinkled bones all wrapped up warm in the
childless rings of saturn
and your smiling face-of-a-cliff that scorches pretty spring skin dry.
we will never say we will never love so
i will die beside,
you die below.
DancersWe locked love into a music box
and fed its sour tune
with smiles and bits of lightning bugs
from the nighttime streets of June.
(And do you remember
the dark days of December
when the city lights we cherished
all went black?
And we'll tumble so slowly,
we're so tired and so lonely,
but we still won't have time
to look back.
So then we lit the embers
with the dead ends of November,
and the outcry of the sparks
gave us hope.
But if you take a walk
through the moonlit gallows block,
you'll find that there is no room
for loose rope.)
We stuffed pain into a silver box
in the bitter twists of May,
but there's no space for summer storms in spring
so we'll find a different way.
fire hazardi can help i can see -
that the children of forgotten bogs may simmer beneath your skin
that the splendor may burn thorough your marrow.
brush the brooks aside with urgent palm;
perhaps the sky might rain upon your blisters.
i think your smile is scared like there are wolves beneath your stairs and
your eyes search me out,
restless lanterns in the night that will not darken
they do not close.
you are a pumpkin carved in the shape of a boy
and no one dare set a candle inside you.
Silhouettessomewhere in new york,
there is a boy who's remembering what it's like
to open your eyes to subway lights and believe yourself
he used to soak cocoons in coffee dregs
and salute 2am clouds when they splashed down
into the Hudson, searing plastic carts and paper cards.
he is stardust without the confidence to wink,
sawdust scattered on glassy skies.
everytime he feels like his shoulders are crumbling,
the gritty feel of not-letting-go-not-yet-not-here-not-now
falls across his tongue, and he's able to taste the sunset
he is drunk on determination when he pulls out his keys
and starts searching for the answers that he knows
he's never gonna find.
it's too soon to say never but too late to say always,
and being in between makes him weightless.
he's never felt so bulletproof.
tonight he's staring up at the metal moon
and wishing that she had the consistency
(somewhere in apartment c, he's just
put down his pen and is waiting
for her to notice that there are words
a letter to your bodymay we please fall
addictive, escapist, my love -
i want you inside-outside me,
encompassing while delving deep,
up-down and across,
you savage, you cannibal,
from a notebooka lover isn't someone you've
cobbled together from
The List of Desirable Traits.
[check five, no more(or more):
__ loyal, never jealous
__ or controlling (but willful
__ and strong-minded,
__ makes decisions in an
__ instant: lock eyes, smile)
__ creative but manageable
__ traditional and sensual
__ unafraid of boundaries
__ but respectful of yours
__ mysterious (without
__ secrets: always docile,
__ never vile but passion is
but if you're going to pick
and choose, will away the
unlikeable, don't you dare
be someone less than inhuman;
it's only fair.
To Be With YouSurrounded by trees, beautiful arbors
My towering brethren
Each standing tall, strong, without judgment
The leaves whisper to me
And yet I cannot help ut think of you
The grey clouds above relinquish the rain
Each dropp clapping the leaves
My form is wholly embraced by moisture
And still I think of you
The thought of your smile brings warmth to my smile
I came seeking the beauty of nature
The friendship of the trees;
But your beauty is still haunting my mind
Interrupting the thoughts
Of all else that dwells within this vast world
As I stand amongst these beautiful trees
Rain kissing my skin
I so yearn to know your presence again
To welcome your embrace
And to love you for all eternity
the june bearautumn is your hat
and you wear her proudly.
you are as thick
as a landline telephone:
i can wrap my thumbs around you,
my lacking-in-piano hands,
grip your creamy body in my fingers
and melt you
like white chocolate.
you are lovely.
like fresh summer butter,
you are so very lovely.
i would be delighted
if i could tiptoe, and teeteringly
kiss your eyelids,
wish on your yellow eyelashes.
like vanilla ice cream
i am sure you'd melt my lips,
as thin and frosty as they are.
you are so very lovely,
with your beeswax autumn hat.
I take you inYour hip bones stand like shrines that could hold forever
A candle in their shadow to illuminate pleading eyes
Plant the seed in my chest and let it crown in my throat
Blossoms of desperate breaths and blithe carnality
one more timeOnce I caught a glimpse
Of the wild
Wonderment in your eyes
I was a goner.
Caught inside your ribcage
(white bone covered in ivy)
I helped you heart keep time
Oh, how I pled for your hand to linger
On my collarbone.
pineneedle skini wish you were here
to graze my
pineneedle skin, to hear my
breaths like quiet breezes through
leaves, each calling your name
to watch me with faithful eyes -
mumbling, fumbling -
as i nervously pick the
bark from a tree
You know what I mean?
'Cause I'm not even sure I do.
you'd probably smile that smile that
says i'm ridiculous, and
tell me that i always
think too much
i'd stop and feel the sweat
evaporating from my neck,
as cirrus drifted overhead,
minding their own business
and i'd listen the morningbirds that
don't need words to sing, and
Yeah, you're probably right.
Leonard.his graveyard skin reflects the darkness as he
sighs his winter breath into my hair. I found him
in a forest of lonely one day, where we would
both hide between conversations. I tried to be
summer, with a pattern of sunray on my skin
and ice cream eyes and warm evening bonfires on
my lips. he was winter, with limbs like frozen
branches and melancholy breath.
we would entangle our bones and together hide alone in
our forest of lonely. I'd seek his cool when passers-by
threw their cigarettes at me and my dry summer skin
caught fire, and he'd seek my warmth when the frost got
the best of him and his branches started to break.
I'd cringe at the snow falling from his eyes and he'd
sigh at the sun coming up in mine, but we'd close them
and hide ourselves in the crook of each others neck.
Leaving Southampton She was in the kitchen when he stumbled in noisily, tripping as he went past the shelves and catching the edge of the table to keep himself from falling.
Pretending not to hear the stream of curses that followed, she kept her eyes fixed on the dishes, letting her hand trail in the soapy water. There was a loud scraping of wood against grimy concrete as he drew a chair and collapsed into it. At this she looked up, and after a moment's hesitation, she said, unnecessarily, "You've been drinking."
He clutched his head and said nothing. He hadn't shaved in weeks and stank of sweat and alcohol; he looked much older than his eighteen years.
They sat in silence for a while. Then he announced, loudly, "Fuck."
She didn't bother to tell him off. She just waited. And jumped when he suddenly brought his fist down, hard, onto the table.
"Our lives here are s
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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