[x]

palpitationsMy veins,
blue born licorice whips,
weaving webs for blood spiders on my thighs,
thin cerulean shoelaces tying knots around my wrists,
hold fast, heartbeats pumping like gasoline,
I am living, but I am not alive.

cadaver she was born with arctic lips
and overcast skin.
her hair fell like fresh snow
and she was far too thin.
her bones in locked closets,
joints creaked and shrieked
like a rotten floorboard
under gossamer feet.

Under The Murky WatersChildren of the first sinner,
Dragging his filthy soul at his tail.
He does not dare to look up
Where God's face resides.

Walking the earth; a pack of wild dogs
Scavenging the last pride,
Snatching what is left of mercy.
Down creatures, leeches in the murky waters.

Always on the move to a new pure land,
Hunting down every butterfly wing,
Slaughtering every young green bud.
Children of the massacre, slaves of the cannon

You have your hands down my throat,
Your knife sliding down my spine,
You say: "Keep your smile and greet Humanity"
I swallow the rocks; I wave for my brothers

I fell, I died , they walked over me,

cobblestones.

i pulled a napkin from the silver tin,
wiped the table clear, drops of ketchup staining the center.
i crushed the paper in my palm, felt the dampness reach the edges.

hurt cloud, she said as i let it roll across the table.

.

shooting baskets as the day ended,
the ball went over the backboard, disappeared into the dark.
she shrugged, then bent low, picked up pebbles.
aimed
and threw.

.

your poor hands, she said. you have so many scars,
and you're still so young. (she, younger than i, saying this)

she touched one hand, then after a pause she took the other
without looking at me.

some things take so much

unzippedi.
it was all skinned knees
and stop signs between us.
we pushed too hard
or not hard enough.

ii.
the last star i wished upon
turned out to be a satellite,
and the last time i kissed you
really wasn't the last time.

the scent of romance- pine needles
and sawdust clung to my shoulders
where your fingers left goose flesh
when i least expected it.

iii.
i'd be tangled up in you and bed sheets
if i didn't know you better than that,
[sweetheart,] you're thunderstorms on
Saturday nights and "Why don't you stay
for awhile"'s and the infidelities
that line my cheeks.

why we cannot sleep at night.i.
we have grown so accustomed
to wearing our masks
and yet
we still wonder why
we feel
so
alone.

ii.
the night sky
is calling my name
and i find that
i cannot close my eyes
because
my corneas are stars
and i'm falling
like coins-
rusted and fading,
forever switching owners
forever out of place

iii.
(sometimes
i think,
loneliness is a disease
and
the world is infected.)

Slutit implodes on the walls of your skull
and slides, sickly
off your tongue
like the body of a slug.

when it hits the floor
it is not quiet,
not heavy
nor dull
but sharp as a slap
and totters out of
the room

suddenly,
they are disgusting
and you are ill.

there is no more room
for regret,
washed away by the slime
coming out of your pores.

the fault is yours

dead starshe told her once that her eyes
were like burned out galaxies
the light in them
already dead but fading
fading slowly
and that her pupils
were like black holes
liable to pull
you in and never
never let go.

and all she said was
we are all just dead
dead stars in the end.

MelpomeneHear her sing of sun-kissed,
heavy-lidded tragedies that roll
off her tongue as sweetly as
sugared violets and as naturally
as nightfall; but bruise the lungs
of those who breathe them in.

She is no poet's muse, but
these summer-drunk revellers
will never know better.

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.

ink bloodi am a thing of words and ink blood

and you, the proverbial book thief
albeit with loving intentions.

you bend my spine and gently crack me open
to the sunlight without asking.

for who gave you permission
to walk your fingers along every tale interwoven
through my vertebrae?
to have your eyes
browse each piece of my nonfiction,
where the day and night have kissed my brow
and ran me through in equal measure,
as if i were truly an inanimate thing
of pages and dust?

under your scrutiny i am no longer a volume
left face-down and dusty beside the armchair
by the window,
unloved by hands and falling prey
to the patient gluttony

My Beautiful DisasterBroken boy
with your coffee
and cigarettes
I should have been
forewarned to stay away
but your lips
curved in a cynical smile
and your eyes
saw the bitterness of the world,
I longed for your artist's fingers
to give me a caress,
I see you smoking in bed
among twisted sheets
while we for a moment
forget the pain of the world,
but in the end we are
destined to destroy each other,
it was never love
that drew us together
but the beauty of your mind
and the languid litheness of your body,
the cracks in your heart,
and despair in your soul,
but I was never the one
to give you what you require,
you are an ideal
I desired

steam
I'm sprouting crow feathers from my scapulas
while the air is much too thick to swallow,
my body melts into a pool of oil,
poisoning already noxious waters,

Then you find me in the ocean's center
and the water starts to boil
as we become the equator
and lose ourselves under the sun.

a love affair.(blessing: noun
a favor, benefit or mercy;
a gift bestowed).

she was never
meant for man;
nor woman.
she loved another.
a being brought forth
from the tip of her tongue
and stored away in every cell,
awaiting in anticipation
with dragonfly trembles
for the day to be called forth.

she loved language;
bespoke of lexicon and linguistics
with a caliber of wonder that
often caused her diction to run away.
words filled her,
consumed her,
strewn like a wildfire
stirred up by a tempest wind.
and oftentimes they tore her asunder;
bleaching her skin like newspaper print
and coating supple curves with endless discourse,
and carvi

all poets are used to deceitare you still savoring
the taste of deceit
off the edge
of your limerick tongue?
you know what i mean
you "poet of unusual sorts,"
with your
chaotic green eyes
and skin of pale misfortune
leaving scents of sweet seas when oceans
begin to spite you.

yes, your silent panthers,
loyal only to the sound of sonnets
of broken piano chords
and keys and torn six-strings.
those slithe things will
prove to you
once,
that betrayal is just eight letters
of pleasure undercover.

it's these little beauties that
will make you see;
every liar was an artist
and every poet was a whore,
just till the point
they owned you no more.

ever

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AmphibianI've got five fluorescent tree frogs
bathing beneath the currents
of my basilisk blood,

they hop from
vein to vein
as though they were seashores,

within an hour
they release their own noxious waters
to clog my lungs with the colors of fire,

red, yellow, orange, and gold,
my skin cracks into crevices
until I look like volcanic rock,

the lava, the magma
seeps through my pores,
and spills onto the ocean floor,

then like snowy fingers against summer flesh,
hot and cold collide,
causing the snow to stick to the lips
like a fine powdered sugar

or a crushed, crushed vine,
my oh my,
what a delicate, little amphibian spine.

Venison, Carnivores, and Empty HeartsYou would never guess she swallows drops of rain like symphonies,

You would never guess she's a storm drain on the moon's sidewalks,

You would never guess she wolfs down venison like a rabid, rabid dog;

Foaming from the mouth she lies wild and reckless,

Bleeding from the gums she lies savage and carnal,

She is not tame,

She is not sane,

She is the epitome of an empty heart

And she lives within the confines of a winter born mind.

I've got the skin of snakesI am nature's baby
with human hands,
I breathe in with the trees,
to breathe out rings of smoke,
I am floral, I am a cumulus cloud,
I am a solid gold tombstone,
engraved with animal bone.

What I Don't Want to AdmitHe lays down to bed with another woman,
he probably puts his arm around her
and tells her he loves her too,

Now how can he do all that
when I feel the way I do
about him?

It does not make sense
and my entire body aches with sadness,
then the emptiness settles in, right as it does,
and I'm left wondering if he knows
that what he is doing is killing me,

And it is killing me,
running its hands all over my sensitive skin,
and I cannot take it,

I cannot take the way he looks at me, the way he looks at her
and I cannot take another second of this lackluster kind of longing,
because I bleed as I breathe
and I break as I love,

To love like a rocking horse You are the highlight to my lonely night. You rush my mind like young currents rising onto the shore. I have no feeling in my fingertips and the air is thick and heavy and almost sweet. But these past few months have given breath to the void that lives in all of the empty places; space between ribs, backs of knees, and collarbone indentations. Oh, if only your body could bridge the gaps.

You know, I am sick of writing about you, nauseous actually. I don't want to smoke your pipe only to get high off loneliness anymore. The way I have ached for you, the way I have pined, is effervescent. Do I want you only because you are not mine?

No, I re

Alcohol and EmptinessIt's Wednesday night (I think)
and I've had too much to drink,
I feel like talking too much,
maybe saying things I shouldn't,
and it's sad because all of those things
involve you,
the way you are,
and the ways in which I wish we could be,
you've completely emptied my veins of blood and
of hope,
you are the alcohol I should never have let in,
but now I can no longer
let you go.

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helium balloon lungs

by ~blackdahlia911, Aug 3, 2012, 11:56:52 PM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

_{i. 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,
inhaling intuition,
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.}

helium balloon lungsby ~blackdahlia911

Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

_{i do not like being away from you even if away isn't all that far}

~HeartsNeverBreak Sep 1, 2012

This is so super great. What inspired it?

~blackdahlia911 Sep 1, 2012

Thank you

It's about wanting someone so bad even when they are already taken and even if you eventually got them, they wouldn't be any good for you, because they would most likely break your heart.

~HeartsNeverBreak Sep 4, 2012

Aww. Been there. ):

`dreamsinstatic Aug 17, 2012 Professional Writer

Your amazing work has been featured in Friday Night Features.

~blackdahlia911 Aug 17, 2012

Thank you so much, I really really appreciate it!

`dreamsinstatic Aug 18, 2012 Professional Writer

You're welcome.

~Adonael Aug 13, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I loved stanza five. You use very picturesque and vivid metaphors

~blackdahlia911 Aug 17, 2012

thank you

~Adonael Aug 17, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

No worries

~August-Green Aug 5, 2012

I suppose, reluctantly, I'm vain enough to say that I'm a tough customer, so I don't comment often. However, this was impressive and I think you should know that.

i. v. vii. were fantastic.

Keep writing.

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