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summaryyou greeted me smiling.
it felt like thunder
i know you to be as gentle
as you are rough.
i need someone
who knows how to touch
so i can learn how to feel.
your name means strong.
you are shoulders
and a smile,
with snaking veins.
today, our palms are like
and you are polite
until your lips
you are a new man.
pierced in vain
i am your child.
i am the sweetest moon
under the breath of bedsheets,
our hands swimming
a thousand rings
wrapped around my body
tight like your arms
on my waist,
loose enough to breathe
the warm summer air.
i caught myself
staring at your hands,
watching their veins
form roads to your arms,
i didn't want you inside me.
i never wanted
a fragment of your heart
to tangle with mine,
a sliver of soul
to stain my own,
just a hand to hold
and lips to kiss
and share beautiful music
with the winds of
a letter of lovedear d,
i'm sorry for everything. i'm sorry you're hurting, i'm sorry you can't see your own beauty, your sadness. i'm sorry i love you, i'm sorry you can't love me. i'm sorry you think i'm beautiful. i'm sorry i'm not. you're the worst thing that's ever happened to me. it makes me feel like marla singer. i feel cold and dark and drugged like you, i'm bleeding words for you. that is a blood stain. a word stain. a "love me" stain. and you can't. you make me want to hurt myself more than you ever have. you take away my hunger, the weight in my gut. i just want to spend forever in your arms, you in mine, forming a basket like wicker, white and flexible but strong, to keep us safe from the world.
i would give you everythingi want to trace your lines
with my fingertips
to know you
as well as i can
to touch you
(close to heaven)
to feel your face
underneath my skin
i need someone
to call me baby
to hold my tongue
when i know i can't
to listen to my words
bones i have broken
or hearts i wish i had not
the constant, reassuring pressure
against my skin
like tension of glue and paper
i would die in your hands
if you would only let me.
a thing like lovei believe in love like some believe in god,
bending over backwards, cause
finally you found something
that will keep you from dying,
finally you found something
that gives you hope,
a home in a war zone,
a sanctuary for sanity,
finally you found your heart,
lost in that hollow body of yours,
always too afraid to excavate
its caves on your own,
always afraid of the monsters
you'll find in its corners,
you were always hiding from things that might have been.
and when you finally opened your eyes,
there was love at your feet,
waiting to be made.
the line between lovei use oxfordian commas
to let myself know
that we are not
we are not
we are not
we exist like seashells
on the beach,
like sand on the street.
the hardest hit
is the pluck of your guitar
playing the song you
wrote for me once
when you loved me.
i write you into my bones
carved like hieroglyphics
in the enamel,
stinging sores erupting,
hard-boned and wild,
spoken in light.
i (for)give and (for)give
but i never (for)get.
i am wrongi am wrong.
i promise my heart
to the closest body
i promise my body
to the closest heart
of the matter.
my hands still reach out
in the night
for another person,
another blanket of skin
stretched tight over bone
i am wrong.
i never told him i love him.
(i am right.)
he means more than the sea's
breeze to me,
more than the bee's
pleas to me.
it is wrong of me
(i am wrong)
to tell you this.
i cannot tell you of the
utter throb in my chest,
the dull ache and panicked stutters
when i think of your freckles
weaving into his.
i am wrong.
i cannot tell you
how i feel.
i can only hope
that you won't love him
again as i do;
i can only hope that
i am wrong.
why i always write whenbecause you are static
and magic and gems
pooling in my palms.
because you are finite
and fragile, pale
because you are numb
aching and regretful.
because you are cocaine
crystals and ecstasy,
joy and loud color.
because you are graffiti art
spun from aerosol cans
along the expanses of freeways,
because you are sad-boy-blue
because i love you.
to god, love ei once held you
as you fell apart
in my arms;
you, like smoke,
beautiful in its toxicity.
i am too afraid
to say your name.
you are water vapor,
i love your most
i love him so completely and wholly,
the sun can't even shine
unless he is shining first.
here is your beautiful
so achingly in love
with the world; he is
just to make it
i only have nonsense.the tip of my tongue has never tasted a tragedy quite like you.
by now, i should know better than to do these things. but i don't.
so i will. the only sense of right and wrong i have anymore is
trapped between the edge of my teeth and the curve of your lips
and i'm losing it. fast.
not all of us spark when we kiss, but you've started the fire that's
raging down my spinal column and through my heart. i'm burning and
it hurts everywhere. i still can't bring myself to mind because at
least this way, i still get to feel something.
last night i promised myself that i would never say another word i didn't mean.
so hopefully, the next time i say i'm not in love i'll mean it. because
i can't take another minute of watching you fade in and out of my life
when i'm just ashes on your fingertips.
i remember when i wanted you to completely destroy me and then put me
back together, but you only ever got halfway there. my heart still skips
beats even after it's been burned and i still fall asleep alo
spooning"i want you"
doesn't necessarily mean
"i want you to stick your cock in me"
it doesn't necessarily mean
"i want to fuck you"
it might just mean
"please hold me"
"i want you on top of me"
doesn't necessarily mean
anything my mother wouldn't like
it could maybe just mean
that i feel like i really exist
i am a real being
when you are lying still on top of me
(it's not like it hurts, you're pretty skinny
we have the softest heartbeatsi don't know what it means when you say
you don't know what i mean.
the implications of my every sentence stain the
atmosphere like neon lights and i'm left wondering
how you can still be so clueless. how after
all this time. after all the sentences we traded
with each other. after every minute that makes
the miles smaller. you still don't get it. how
you could still not get me.
this is the part where i need to remind myself
that you were never mine.
you've never been anyone's because there isn't
a sentence simple enough to make you stay so
three words and eight letters won't leave you
breathless in between my bed sheets. it won't make
you feel the same. and there isn't an idea complex
enough to make you stumble into love, because
to figure out that the world is so much more than
black and white would be admitting you've been
wrong all along.
we're not the people we once were, but maybe our
expectations are far too high.
i can't see what's real.the problem is to me nothing is ever going to be as beautiful as you.
i feel like i'm going blind.
this would scare me except i know it's just that the whole world has dimmed down a few shades since i last saw you. and my eyesight will never adjust again because now all i do is look for you everywhere i go, even though i know you're miles away, because all i want is to see you smile again. even if it's the last thing i do.
i want to see your face because i've gotten so used to seeing no one at all. it's too empty here. i hear his name and voice, feel his fingers on my skin and his breath against my cheek, but i don't see him. maybe he sees a silly quiet girl with dull eyes and a silent smile that he wants to get to know, but all i see is 600 miles stretched beneath the tips of my fingers that i will never again cross and the person who lives there that i will never get to see and the lonely fact that i know where my heart is.
and it is not here.
it's there with you.
i'll never get it b
i can't promise you anything.i made a mistake
when i told you that i could love you
forever. i know now that the only thing
i can know for certain is that nothing
will ever be certain again. we could
wake up tomorrow and feel something
completely different. we could wake up
tomorrow and be completely different.
that's the exciting part. it's also the
part that makes it hard to even fall asleep
in the first place.
my heart attacks
my every whim and everyday is this whirlwind
of terror and elation and i don't even know
where to end or begin or if this makes sense
anymore, but the one thing i've come to realize
is the worst kind of lie will always be the
ones you don't even know you're telling. so
i'd say i'm sorry, but i'd like to think you
already know. it's nothing worth repeating.
nothing ever is.
when i'm tired
i tend to miss you in an overwhelming sort of
way just because i'm not strong enough to fight
these feelings full time. i'm more of a halfway
girl, but there are a few things i fully understan
antagonistic, i have no pulse.hold on.
hold onto what?
hold onto me, hold me,
when nothing else matters
because my arms are open 24/7
25/7 actually, even that extra hour
on the longest day of the year
because that's how special you are
(to me? i guess. but i never know
if i guess correctly or not)
"wait, did you say something important/poetic/meaningless?"
"hold on a second, i'm busy."
well, i've never held onto a second;
time always slip through my fragile
fingertips. never held onto an hour
either. or an our. a your? fuck you
pronouns. just hold onto something
(i'm a thing; hold me) hold me like a
second. for a second. instead? you
hold me like a second-place trophy;
for a second-best, runner-up (no, i'm
walking down, head down, just down)
i told you i'd wait that extra hour for you,
but holding onto this second is too much
even for me. sorry, but it's closing time.
i'm contradictory at best.i wonder what it's like to look into your face and not want to spill every secret i've ever had. i want to be startlingly indifferent. i want to say i don't care and mean it. i want to be reckless in more than that jaywalking every morning on my way to work sort of way. i want to say something that will completely change the course of everything forever. i want to be the sort of thing people need to invent a new word for, because "cataclysmic" won't cover what a disaster i am.
i want to be someone new.
i worry about why the air always tastes several degrees colder than your skin. i know there's a correlation that i haven't figured out yet, but my mind doesn't work fast enough to make the connections anymore. i worry that all the synapses are breaking apart and my brain is shutting down. i worry that i'm dying in slow motion from the inside out so no one can even tell. not that anyone would care, but i worry about the most absurd of things. and then i worry that i don't worry enough abo
maybe we'll cycle like seasonsSummer never came this year.
It got hot, uncomfortably so, and you would call me every Thursday like clockwork. Like always. But the taste in the air was different, so were the things you would say to me.
I spent the long nights, curled in my front window, watching the fireflies flicker in the yard. Letting them blaze and die before my eyes until I couldn't pretend to be okay doing this anymore so I would pull the curtains shut and hang up on you. Hang up on the only semblance of normalcy to split up these warm days.
The sky was pinpricked with stars--always brighter in the warm evening air and the lawn was sprinkled with violets again. Everything was as it should have been. Even the sting of sunburned skin against sheets as I crawled into bed each and every evening. The only thing that had changed was this year, you weren't here, and so for me, everyday would be as cold and empty as winter.
I never thought of the last time I saw you as a goodbye. I should have been better prep
second chances don't fit here.i never feel colder
than when i'm talking to you.
i don't know what this says about us.
but i know that i worry about the way
you complicate something as simple as
the beating of my heart. i don't think
i love you. not yet. not since. not
ever but maybe that's just the strong
sense of denial i've built up in the
past few months. i don't think i'll be
okay. not now. not really. not quite.
maybe you were good for me once
but you're no good for me now.
i often wonder what would happen if i
stopped speaking for awhile since all
my words ever do is make a mess out of
things that should be easy. the thing is
that when i'm happy i let myself write
a better story than what i have. i get
carried away and i make believe myself
to be a more lovable character than i'll
ever be. but this isn't fiction and the
fact is sometimes all we get is one
perfect moment. my moment was you.
but darling, when it's over, it's over.
there are no chances left. not anymore.
i don't really think i'm hopeless even
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More