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the destruction of destructioni leave
toenail clippings
bobby pins
&empty watter bottles
on your floor
in case you decide to forget me.

this is just our dynamic
this is just how our relationship works.
i read you chapters of the
silliest,
strangest book i know
&you have me create
voices for each character.
i am most comfortable as the narrator,
plain &unassuming,
but you like my crazier caricatures best.

it reminds me of how you like
the stranger ways my mind works,
&how you will pry sharp things
from my clawed fingers
&show up late for work
just to make sure i eat;

the hateful frustration i feel
when my body yearns for its
self destruction
only to be thwarted by somet
breathe deepbreathe deep.

breathe it shallowly if you need to,
if filling your lungs to bursting
is too much,
too soon;

but breathe the depth-

of ocean,
of history,
of tree roots
and ethnic roots
and the roots planted by love.

breathe deep
and the orgiastic fullness
it gives the empty shell
you try so hard to stuff
but nothing sticks;

breathe deep
because deep is star-soaked
with constellations,
desperate with creeping beauty
like attar and trellis
and the june moon.

this is how you keep her.
this is how you say,
this is our permanent address.
this is how you say i love you
with something more than words.
go to sleep for the love of godi kind of feel like ripping my face off.

look-
it's not one of those sad, suicidal stories.  i mean, if i believed in suicide in the way that means i could do it, then yeah, it would be.  but i don't, and i guess you're kind of lucky for that because now you can go to sleep with a clear conscience.

i won't ever tell you about how many pages and books and scraps of paper and unsent text messages and notes on the backs of my hands i've written for you, or how inarticulate you were when you wanted to say how you felt.  i won't ever tell you how i wished for a few words that could tell me that i was loved, even a little, and i sure as fuck won
the tidiest white bedthe tidiest white bed means nothing
under flower sheets covering grandmother's hand-sewn quilt
and power rangers blankets-

this is waking up in sunshine and warm skin;
clean sheets and dirty nights;
love and peace and holding hands before sleep ends
for the subconscious fear of losing the other.
charlestownthere are days where everything-
every ladder,
every sister,
every river-
reminds me of charlestown

i jump to correct those
who are talking about south carolina
when i remember they're talking
of charleston,
but i can't flush out the feeling
that they're wrong,
or when there are no dropped r's
hitting the floor beneath them

there are days that nothing
but green eyes or gapped teeth
hold interest for me,
and nights where i feel myself
break
down
and i dream of you,
just you,
and you stand before me
in your newly-shaven hair
and dark-framed glasses,
and i can only feel
the most overwhelming sense
of completion.

it is nights like those
that t
100 theme challenge001. morals
there is nothing wrong with leaving behind politeness for happiness and we could all do to remember.

002. parade
the aches in my skin parade within my bones like a sin.

003. prayers
i say your name over and over like it is a prayer to keep my head above water.

004. clear skies
just because things are cloudy doesn't mean there's no sun behind them.

005. happy birthday
i give you a feminine loofa, funny boxers, and your favourite candy- i want this to show you i love you even though i'm broke.

006. apples
my white flesh browns under my thin skin- i am rotting to my core.

007. letters
hours of letters written and phone calls si
vasha ptichkai want you to read me stories,
the very same ones
as i wrap you into,
catch you in their bindings
and smell you,
clean and summer,
inside the pages.

standing in your shower,
i wear the bodywash
that is a signature of yours,
foreign on my skin.
sometimes you are there with me,
and we are children again
as we splash water
on one another's naked bodies.

i am turning you into
a bigger reader,
a braver hero,
a stronger soul;

you tell me that
you put your phone down
and buckle your seatbelt
when you get behind the wheel
because you imagine my face
if you told me you didn't.

i want to be something new for you.
a better lover,
a happier smile,
th
the best way to remember somethingi cry
every time you write me a letter-

me,
in all my damaged glory,
still loved across miles of river and fields.

you are unyielding and unforgetting,
finding the words we never had
before.

there are many moonlit stories
to recount and to expound upon in
coming months-

i've got a burn on the toe of my shoe
from getting too near the fire with you-
the bruises on your skin
lasted for days;

the headband your sister gave me
and the way i cried
when it broke;

climbing up stairs, skewed like piano keys
in the winter air,
and entering your house, where you told me
to tug on my sleeve
because my battle wounds were exposed;

your dog curling up
alpengloweverything hard-kept in the heart is falling onto paper.  each word so well-fought to be kept within the chest becomes a snowflake from november skies, but the winds are unseasonably warm and a fire is kindled inside each bone in place of a bitter chill.

there are ten thousand things i can never tell you.

the way that wars are fought, i wage battles among my selves to keep the quiet.  you will never hear my voice, too soft like the pillow beneath your head each time our bodies find each other, say how my breath becomes a porch swing when we touch and i sway.

i can never call you by any name, given at birth or given by heart.  you will neve
there are monsters in my head.there are monsters in my head.
they scream and rattle their bars,
fingers round my bones
to shake the cage.

i cannot sleep.

no amount of blood spilled
or water thrown down
the throat the way the camera
and knife
will in the morning
can quiet them.

i wonder if the doctors will see the monsters,
or if they have learned to keep quiet
and still in the light;
to pretend they are not there
until no one is around to see them;

and regardless of their sessility,
regardless of their muteness,
the moment the darkness comes,
i see their faces
again.
155this is not the time or place for us to speak like this.  we are sitting in your car at the walmart parking lot.  it's not a mile from my house, but it's better than stopping at the dead end of my street.

we don't move for the five seconds following the moment you cut the ignition; from there, your eyes drop to the stuffed animal you won me -- a token of the high-noon days of our summer -- that oscillates between your hands.

the sun shifts from low to lower, dipping behind clouds and city silhouettes until the lights come on.  the list of things i need to tell you becomes unreadable in the failing light, so you press a button and i can see
things i don't know about you that bother me thati wonder what it's like
to fall asleep beside you
in a post coital haze,
and to wake in the morning
to run to class.
do you wake me,
do you kiss my forehead,
do we make love again-
i don't know,
not yet.

and do you wet your toothbrush
before applying toothpaste,
oh,
tell me you don't leave the sink running,
it must get awfully tired.

and what do you dream of
when i lie next to you,
blissfully more than just a body;
what will you dream of
a year from now?
please tell me i can fit into
your big picture
as easily as i can fit into
your arms,
eternally.
dissociationi have entered a tunnel,
archways and curled walls
of the clash of unwanted bodies,
fingers in my throat
aching to summon blood,
and palpitations.

i hear nothing.

trapped in the fence of my head,
i am thinking in scattered seeds to plot
in further regions, safer than
they can be now.

i am thinking loudly
about amorphous concepts and rhetoric,
the wavy distortions of my body,
the undulations of my skin,
the black vignette of my vision.
i am gulliver in lilliput,
enormous comparative to my surroundings;
the world is tailored to fit my body,
but nothing else.

i am dissociated,
i am a sliver of the moon
untethered-

at best, i am a petal in t
one hundred waysthere are one hundred ways
i have to fill myself
that still keep me empty,
and for all the love for you
i hold in my heart,
i treat you like you're nothing.

you have built structures
and outlines of cities to press
against a dark inked sky,
you are the blood of a broken pen
coursing like a river
through my veins.

i look the other way.

i look for holes
in the sweatshirt you gave me
because there are holes in you,
and i wonder if they match up
with mine.
i leave it tucked just
inside of my closet
so that i don't see it
unless i look for it,
but when i do
i pull it in piles
up to my face
to be sure
it still smells like you-

four months later
bukowskii wanna be a real poet,
live by the rules of bukowski

& no mama,
i can't get out of bed
not before the sun
sits high in the noon's time

& no mama,
my grammar school rules
are gonna go to waste

& no mama,
i can't use tall letters
when henry chinaski himself
leaves everything
low,
feeling low,
lying low

i don't know any girls
named jane
i don't drink beer
or sleep with
innumerable women who
just fuck me & run

but i wanna be a
real poet
the kind who fights
wee people in bars & loses
and hurts when
the beautiful suicides
are the only ones we see

i'd drink my pains away
but the last thing i need is
another glass wide
Browse More Like This

More from *ohsostarryeyed

the lotus-eaters.do you know what i mean when i say i just want to fall,
like the leaves and the sky and the numbers under my feet?
i have to let you know i'm not good enough
so i tattoo it in my freckles and write it on your walls.

my hands smell of sulphur and clay
and no amount of soap makes it fade.
it's like a tangible version of you,
soulless beast roaming my mind.
i find myself reaching for you
in my sleep, waking with a start
and revulsion in my arms.

i've carved birds into my wrist to keep me happy
because things like shopping and counting calories haven't.
every time you leave me,
every time i say i love you
and you leave me with si

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lovedrunk

:iconohsostarryeyed:

she looks at me, all big doe eyes and cupid-bow lips, tells me, now i'm not trying to say i'm about to kill myself, but i'm about to kill myself.

the traffic light is glass.  not that it's reflective, not that it's bright, but that it's so slow, a liquid, moving like a year.  it's also what my blood has become with these words.

we're in my car but i'm scared.  i know i'm the one behind the wheel, but i don't know what she's got in her purse.  i don't know her name but i do know she's drunk.  so am i.  i know we shouldn't be driving but i couldn't leave such sad eyes at a bar.  i guess, if i'm being entirely honest, i also couldn't leave such a beautiful body at a bar, either.  especially if some guy with worse intentions than i couldn't pass her up.

talk to me, i say.  i don't glance up from the road because i'm scared of what i'll see, and what i won't.

you're not my fucking therapist, she tells me.  i know she's wearing red lipstick and i imagine it turns to venom with those words.  i owe you nothing.

no, you don't, i concede.  you're just too beautiful to leave this world.  i like your face; your body, undoubtedly; and your soul.  i can taste the sadness just in the air of my truck, but please listen to me when i tell you only a beautiful person could make such sorrow permeate the thickness of the alcoholic fog i'm in.

we're not in my truck anymore.  my bedroom.  she's on top of me, muddy eyes from crying and swearing and closing lids.  i tell her i love her, she tells me she's forgotten my name and i tell her i never even knew hers.  our lips mashed together and i know i'm wearing more lipstick at this point than she.

i love you, baby.  i love you, i want you, let's go for it.  just tonight.

she freezes up and her lips stop moving under mine.  her eyes still blacked like raccoons, but frozen.  

"you want to see all this--" she pushes up her sleeves, unbuttons her jeans to reveal her hips and thighs, "--naked in front of you?  you want all this on you?"

i look closer, seeing angry red marks fading into military arrays of white scars.  her eyes are welling up and turn into stormclouds as the rain begins to fall.  i have very clearly just entered a hurricane and the lightning will strike me enough to kill me, but i surely won't die: since when does a body do what you want it to, anyway?

"yes."

there are more ways to fall into people than with mistakes: i fell into her with love.

590

70 54 7
:iconohsostarryeyed:

lovedrunkby *ohsostarryeyed

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not sure how i feel about this

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©2013 *ohsostarryeyed
Category: Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

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February 26
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:icondo-they-collide:
~do-they-collide May 4, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
"now i'm not trying to say i'm about to kill myself, but i'm about to kill myself."
i fell in love immediately from here
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed May 20, 2013
you're so lovely to me <3
Reply
:icondo-they-collide:
~do-they-collide May 22, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
because your work is just so lovely and so are you <3
Reply
:iconvvolatile:
=vvolatile Mar 10, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
the first sentence - yes. ugh. :heart:
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Mar 26, 2013
thank you :heart:
Reply
:iconvvolatile:
=vvolatile Mar 26, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
you're welcome <3
Reply
:iconsammur-amat:
=Sammur-amat Mar 9, 2013   General Artist
gawd this is scintillating and beautiful and uggh :heart:
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Mar 26, 2013
i do love your comments, they're detailed :heart:
Reply
:iconsammur-amat:
=Sammur-amat Apr 6, 2013   General Artist
haha, you think so? XD
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Apr 7, 2013
oh yes!!
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