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can't breathe, at least not steadily,
paint me turquoise
or be the forest to my fire,
actually I'd rather you were nothing, at least nothing to me,
now I can feel nightfall coming upon the manifestation of a July moon,
so let's let those clouds burst and rip wide open
just as though the clouds were my organs and
the rain were my blood.
The Art of ForestryIf it were only appropriate to speak
of a single touch, of what it means,
of what it feels.
Our forearms graze and so I hold very still,
I never want to lose a second of
you against me.
My entire being shivers along the
shores of your skin
and all of my nerve endings are electrified
when I imagine our relationship evolving into
lilac limbs, freshly kissed lips, and
lieing next to you on rainforest floors.
We create a completely nuclear reaction,
a mixture of fusion, friction, and fascination.
So believe me when I say, oh boy I love you,
I really do,
yes, I want you so,
closer than tires upon pavement,
and like a car you turn into me,
and like a car you take me places,
you even take my daydreams to extraordinary realms
where I wake in the midst of the woods,
the air is slick and crisp
and I can feel your muddy, autumn hands
dancing along my flaking, fir tree flesh,
the dirt runs damp between our toes
and we become nothing but creatures of the forest;
living off each other's lo
And I will Always be the MoonWe have gotten so attached to these days and these months,
but a deer doesn't know a Tuesday from a Thursday
and a caribou can't comprehend that it was born on a September afternoon,
but they can understand this instant, this moment, this breath,
only now, no longer the past, and only the future when they get there,
there's a healthy lack of awareness in that,
escaping the fear of death but thriving off the instinct to live,
everything so primal and based off gut reactions,
I guess you could say ignorance is bliss,
but ignorance only actually applies when it comes to humanity,
oh I would like a life like that,
one that is organic, tangible, and ripe with bloody berries,
one where carnal creatures run rampant,
one where we rise from the dirt with muddy thighs
because we were bred into these earthly bodies
to hold seconds in our palms like newborn children,
and to throw our heads back and howl against the awareness that we are dying,
for oh this skin is only our host,
you are my careful ghosti. The air is thick and I'm drinking you in like sunlight through a silver straw,
I'm feeling like my spine has come unzipped and my crayola red innards have become exposed to the cool air,
you're like the slivers in my fingers that I can't pull out,
maybe I should try scraping off layers of skin with tweezers,
goodbye dead cells, hello fresh meat,
damn, why are you so fresh as fuck.
ii. A whirlpool has developed beneath my chest so there goes my sense of sanity,
actually it's more like boiling water, bubbling, spewing out passed my eyes,
and all I've been asking for is for you to either take me or let me go,
let's be honest, I could try to say I am over this whole thing
but I'm not and I don't even want to be.
iii. So let's forget the world,
get lost in each others skin,
tracing ribs like jail bars,
running hands over heartbeats,
brushing lips with lonely aches.
The FuneralHolding hands,
throwing roses over a pearlescent casket
bathed in baby pink,
who knew death could be so feminine,
but funeral hymns plague the fragile air
while the graveyard is soaking up mournful stares,
maybe a few glances of relief are exchanged like drug money,
I look around and realize how everyone looks so alive
when we are surrounded by fatality,
translucent tears spill over flushed faces,
sunken eyes mirror hollow smiles
as the reapers cling to our backs like sloths
and everything feels slow,
everything falls stagnant,
then we drink from the goblet of faith and hope
and we get drunk off the elixir of life,
the fog clears
and our skin burns gold as the sun rises against our withered hides,
we can still feel the warmth which means we must still be alive,
so we don't move on but we do move forward
with our ancestors ghosts living within our hearts,
whispering in our ears,
and guiding us into the light.
helium balloon lungsi. You write me notes scribbled on sandpaper
and I run them across my face,
scraping away layers of saccharine skin,
ii. Your eyes, made of cookie crumbs,
I'd like to dip them in milk
and watch them melt,
smoking like dry ice,
iii. You churn my childish heart
in circles and in circles
till I slip into cardiac arrest,
iv. I just remembered that time you
wrapped your arms around me like vines
and held me until you couldn't,
v. Oh what I'd give for a pair of
fortune cookie lungs,
exhaling self-fulfilling prophecy,
vi. I've been fishing for horoscopes,
pasting them onto my bedroom walls
and on the backside of my skin,
hoping that they tell me that
today is the day you will be mine,
vii. But your soul is made up of sins
and I do believe in forgiveness,
but forgive me, for I cannot forget.
Believing in Roses, Dreaming of DeathWhen she smelled his skin,
he was painted with the scent of roses,
red roses so fragrant
her sight clouded over with crimson petals
and slender stems,
plantlife bred and blossomed out of his pores,
feeding her every inhalation
with pollination and wild sunlight,
and as he escaped into the afterlife,
she took his hand in hers and whispered,
"May you blossom into the stars, my sweet flower child",
and he did because she couldn't
and she couldn't because it was not time,
but with death comes grief
beneath silent gardens,
then with life comes fluidity,
riding rivers as though they were horses;
letting the currents take control.
I am not RecyclableAs if I were recyclable,
your eyes break me down,
your gaze melts my aluminum limbs
and disintegrates my paper bones,
my heart leaps from the flames
and rides along the surface of your tongue,
because if you only knew how much I love you,
your taste buds would be burning for my blood,
if you only knew,
but you don't,
and I sure as hell can't tell you,
because you would use me
only to then throw me away.
I Dream of WolverinesAn alabaster calla lily blooms out of my belly button,
I pull on its vines to remove its roots,
but I only end up more tightly wound
in ribbons of green and of sorrow,
and now I'm sleeping more than I wake,
because I dream of wolverines, long dresses,
and old buildings collapsing like old people,
I can't look away nor can I open my nighttime eyes,
I live in a world of hedonistic passion,
one where we consume salamander hearts
just as much as we consume each other.
MonthsThe stars whisper softly, into the
Ears of those who want to believe
'And if she leaves you, smile, for
It's just the bones she's made of'
They met, in a pet shop up front
He- bought nothing. She- fed the birds
And took them home. They flew away
Instantly, Leaving the boy to fall
The girl bittersweet,
Welcomed him in, humming, and
He kept her up all night when she
Said she loved the starlighted sky
Up on their rooftop she finally
Confessed; "Some would call me
caged, but I believe I'm free"
Only then he noticed, her fragile
bones were ment to fly; he let her go
Alone, not LonelyI'm jealous that she doesn't have friends
She sings herself to sleep, but wakes up in song
She forgets to need the comfort of company
Company is complicated and confining and confronting
Colourful questions come from quiet isolation
While the loud outside world has produced famine and darkness
Where once there was abundance and light
Sometimes I wonder if she even notices...
I wonder what she thinks of, who, if at all
Perhaps it's a great nothingness, all-consuming
Yet hopefully lonely and joyously solitary
Is it the books that she reads, the very words?
Or perhaps the silence of reading is an excuse
A cover under which to retreat into her own mind
Sometimes I wonder if she even notices...
There's a certain silence about music, quiet or loud
White noise receeds and the voices in your head retreat
She doesn't seem depressed in conversation or even uncomfortable
She vacations in loud arguments with still louder people
Yet relaxes only on her lonesome, even while I watch
five.v. one word that reminds you of absence.
we had a habit of sending each other postcards no matter where we were, and i kept each one you sent me in a shoe box.
i remember the year that you got stranded in barstow, california and how you stopped to buy me a postcard in a cvs. you wrote that you'd been so excited that you'd stepped out of that tiny, stuffy store without paying and that you'd heard sirens around the corner and had sprinted all ten blocks in 102 degrees just to pay the 92 cents that it cost so that they wouldn't arrest you. silly boy, i've always loved that about you -- how easily your conscience will get the best of you because it keeps you honest, and you keep me honest. i remember the way your sweaty hand smeared the ink of your tiny script and how i could barely make out your short, bunched up words, but i could make out "i miss you," because i missed you too.
but postcards can't make you waffles in the morning and they can't feed t
four.iv. one word that conveys the feeling of caring.
you and your warm breath curling slowly around the soft lobe of my ear.
if in the middle of the night, i could not find your softly snoring body curled up at my feet, i would fear that something had gone horribly wrong.
how do animals do that? curl up in the tiniest parts of you?
if i died tonight, i'd have to admit that i never really loved another person. but when it came to you and your tiny dirty paws, yes you, i did love you, and i loved you with even that tiniest, loneliest part of me.
it does not take much to love the broken pieces of another human being. i find myself constantly awakening to bits of men still in my bed, men still smothered in whiskey flavored kisses and tossed aside like the empty boxes of condoms and the empty bags of mini oreos that i ri
let's embrace silence and dance"I don't want to talk."
do you remember our friendship? you were my best friend, you know that. we used the sticky, summer sand to have snowball fights by the water, because we both knew it would never snow in the heat. oh, and that sand hurt, but we laughed through the pain. I guess pain is meaningless when you're seven. at night we wandered down the pier and chased the lightning bugs in and out of the tide. if we were lucky enough, we could catch one. your luck was always better than mine. lighting up the shore, we kept them in jars and placed them in a circle. I gave you my grandmother's bracelet, kissed you on the cheek, blushed, and told you the gift would remind you that someone always loves you. we stayed out there all night; I can't recall many of our conversations. but just your presence in the semi-darkness was good enough for me.
do you remember when I started to fall in love with you? we were sprawled on the dock behind my overgrown backy
Six Times on a TrainThe sunrise is silent
Behind the receding hush
Of a city just waking up
Emily's hair reflects
The sun's reds and oranges
And smells of cigarettes
We're lying on top of the pergola
Not interested or deterred
By the dew and the droppings
Just her in my arms
And this: a brand new day
Out of my window drift soft tunes
The first few notes of Parking Lot
Are the sweetest ones for me
We promised eachother
That we wouldn't have a song
Our song was supposed to be
A self-written cry of relief
Etched into the wrists of young teens
But Mineral could say that better
With screaming guitars and off-key vocals
Ironically, it just seemed more poetic
Emily changed her hair
I couldn't take my eyes
Off of that firey red-head
Even before I recognised her
She tried being angry at me
But realised that she was just
Jealous of herself and smiled instead
She smiles a lot now
Not the curiously withdrawn smiles
That I tumbled dangerously in love with
But real smiles; ones with teeth
And precious droplet
3:00 amif all that was left was your toothbrush in my bathroom,
maybe this would be a lot easier.
i've always been terrified of airplanes and forgetting
but when they learned how to make me forget you
i took the goddamned needle into my arm myself and jabbed until
there was nothing left but blood and the bruises you gave me
that time you lost your temper.
but even i couldn't let you go,
not fully anyway,
because once upon a time you'd kissed my nose
and neck and i'd kissed you on a rollercoaster,
and some good things should never die.
even something like us shouldn't die.
if you could've just realized how badly i was hurting,
then maybe even we could be rising from the ashes right now.
I used to miss her, but I used to do many things.I used to trace lines from the tip of her toes to the crook of her neck, and paint her tummy with my tongue. I used to fold her bones between my fingers and keep them hidden in my pocket. I used to build her castles from blankets and unspoken wishes inside of which we could entangle our limbs and breathe each other's breath.
But one day she was gone,
I woke up with an empty space between my arms where she used to be. I woke up with her voice in the back of my head and her scent between my fingers. I woke up searching for her, chasing her footprints over my skin to find that they skipped from my left hipbone onto the mattress and down onto the floor and out of my room and into the world.
I used to miss her. I used to miss the conversations we didn't have, sitting wordlessly besides each other, asking questions with our fingertips, answering them with our lips, or eyes, or kneecaps. I used to miss chasing futures together, and exchanging body parts, and smelting the ends of our nerves to
kissing and pomegranates.certain people just touch you. you know?
in a way that's more profound than you're necessarily comfortable with. and it can happen in a second. in a second when you laugh just as you swallow and start choking on some pomegranate seeds, and you're crying because you can't stop laughing and because those goddamned seeds went down the wrong goddamned pipe again but this is just too fucking funny!
and you're mad at this boy with dark curly hair because he's laughing more as your eyes start to cry in the corners and as you turn more and more scarlet. you even push him away as he leans in to press his lips against your cheek but he knows you don't mean it. and he gets that look. you know the look. that look where everything around you goes away. all the noise, the lights, the people sitting inches away from you. and it's only his dark, dark eyes that you can see. and that mess of hair. and it's only his laughter that manages to pierce through the roaring in your ears as he leans in.
cratersI like to think that over this past year you've come to understand
that my heart is a cratered sun
and my veins make up constellations across my vulnerable vertebrae,
because when I close my eyes,
it's you that my subconscious summons as I sleep,
There's just something about you that completely electrifies my skin,
your touch draws conclusions between the freckles on my forearms
and I'm left wondering how you even connected the dots,
But you make me nervous in a young kind of way
and there's this fragile sense of longing that I'm not quite sure i understand,
although tonight I could feel your laugh settle between my palms like a lost lamb
and for a moment I let your innocence brush over my fingertips
and it felt like that moment was ours and ours alone,
So let's hold onto railroads
like we're about to be run over,
and let's hold onto candles
until our waxen limbs burn down to the wick,
and let's hold onto each other
while the stars drip down over our shoulders to melt away our sins.
Keep in Touch!
^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