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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.
Saltit's one of those
goldfish bowl empty afternoons,
gills grasping for water,
spilling over my aquatic limbs,
so thin boned and cold-blooded,
swordfish lips so sworn to
i cannot see a way out of drowning
in all of this
my fins lie still
as does my two-chambered heart,
you never actually did need any bate,
i hooked myself,
then released my own salty ghost,
you only just laid me out to dry,
gutted and seizing.
a taxidermy fawn,
existing yet comatose,
my soul flickers within a lantern,
releasing a smoke with the scent of
pheromones and vanilla verbena,
but your necromantic whispers
linger in my ears,
so sweet and succulent as peaches,
give me breath,
filling my lungs upon a full moon,
oh i'd so like to take a bite of you,
you and your jungle bred lips,
tropical to taste,
organic to kiss,
jaguar, leopard spots
cover your skin
in patterns painted by the forest,
then a low, throaty growl
slips from your jaw,
haunting me like a past mistake,
but you are wild bamboo
and the sound of my heart beating,
palpitating against soft winters,
pulsing with the rhythm of summer,
for some reason you suit me
in all seasons,
and like gravity
you hold me
so no, i cannot escape you,
for no one can bypass
an autumnal equinox
or an eclipse of the sun,
you only continue to
kindle the flames
you used my wooden ribs to make
and i truly love
that searing sensation in my gut,
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.
HallucinationsHe buries his head in the neck of a girl, who smells of flowers,
her aroma plagues his inhalations
like the smoke of weeping willow trees,
now as he exhales, he exhales kisses into
the long unending lines curving around her eyes like crescent moons,
for she is but a shy reflection of the sun
and he holds onto her like a shadow;
grasping at clouds with the outline of her silhouette,
using her as a tube of Vaseline, placing her over his eyes at night,
oh but then the daylight washes over him like bathwater,
waking him into a crisp clean air
where she cannot rid him of his wrinkles or internal emptiness,
because she only comes to life in the space where the subconscious reigns,
so he continues to live beneath layers of illusions,
building daydreams like skyscrapers,
breathing simply to sleep.
I dreamt of a flood and you were the waterLight bulb eyes,
burning through me like
crash into me
as I dream,
your ocean spits me out
through seaweed teeth,
and I love you,
but you blink light
and breathe water,
so not only am I blind,
I am drowning.
Sugar TeethSugary teeth,
oh I'd cough up my own blood
just to see you smile,
but you taste of cotton candy
and rotting lungs,
making every lick of the lips
a gentle exhalation.
To love like a rocking horseYou 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 remember how the connection was instant and how looking at you made me nervous. Then when you first looked at me; chills.
I really do need to get over these feelings though. I need to detach my heart from my spine and stitch up the places I let your soul embrace. I need to patch up the places where your light touch took me away.
Screw all of this. I don
let your wildfire run freei. It's a warm kind of rain and a growling kind of thunder,
throaty and crackling booms,
I've dreamt of this place before,
there's this room made up of tall glass windows,
outside is a wrap around balcony made up of stone with high ledges,
small fir trees grow in between the crackled rock
and I'm breathing slow, soaking in the sky's sweat.
ii. Perspiring and porous clouds melt over this broken land
and I'm realizing this place lives only inside my soul when sleeping.
iii. It is a hazy painting running over the contours of my unconscious mind,
it is airbrushed afterthoughts swirling with watercolor wishes,
it is the place where my nightmares breed and my hopes climb trees,
it is the place where intuition ricochets off instinct,
it is the place that says burn the place down and let your wildfire run free.
DaughterI have seen my father on his knees,
his hands yanking at his hair
as he cried and convulsed.
He said, "I promise you, it's not worth it,"
and looked up at me
half-empty pill bottle clutched to my chest
with red-rimmed, sullen eyes.
I had never wanted him
to ruin himself for me,
to get caught up in my drool and sleepless nights,
my mud-caked ankles and monthly bleeding,
my hormones and dramas.
I brought him to his knees
made him look at me and say, "Please, don't.
It's never worth it."
Please Hate Me As I Do...I felt as though my feeling of happiness would stay along in me,
Though now that it has faded once again I only wish to bleed,
Cartooned a little wish, to wish upon a scar,
My skin brings only pain as blade pierces through my heart,
I hate you for the loneliness,
I hate you for the wish to be eliminated with your fist,
I hate that I feel judgement when you are so fickle,
I hate that I am who I am and not dead yet...
My face has a gaze, one full of emotion, one filled with eyes that look up with hope and,
Everytime I gaze upon those that are happy, my eyes drift away and it feels so maddening,
I cannot be wanted, cannot be held,
I wanna kiss the 12 gauge lying atop of my shelf,
I hate you for all that I can be,
Hate you because you are not me,
I hate you because I'm standing in the mirror,
And I hate you for making me fear,
There is salt in the wound, and there is not enough for me to feel,
Make me wish, make me see, make me feel just what is real,
I hate you,
Anatomy of loveA broken arm is nothing more than a bone,
You put a cast on it and the healing is on.
But a heart... a heart is attached to your soul
Could a simple cast ever do the job?
Two hands we have with ten fingers to feel,
Yet even half of them can do that still.
But a heart... a heart is very sensitive to touch
Could a damaged heart feel love as such?
Our self, our sense of being is there in our brain,
You can take one side away and be you again.
But a heart... a heart cannot be broken in two
Could a broken heart ever feel for you?
An ever growing knowledge of how we work
An illusion of power and security for what we know
But for love we still have no cure
And a broken heart pain must endure.
My StoryThat little girl lay her head down that night to go to sleep
She was tied down to her bed, instructed not to make a peep
Still sore from her beating earlier that day
She silently cried and wished there would be a way
Someone would find out, get her out of this mess
If given the chance, she would've immediately said yes
Nobody would've suspected there were problems at home
Yet nobody noticed she always was alone.
She heard the stairs creak, she knew what was next
Why they even did it made her completely perplexed
Laying there sweating in the stifling heat
She knew it was time yet again to be beat
The windows were closed, nobody would hear
The result from her mom after having some beer
She tried not to scream, but the pain was too great
Why was she the victim of so much hate?
By the age of six, she was already dead inside
Having only her stuffed cat for her to confide.
She didn't know, she would never tell
She just hoped someone would hear her yell
Her teacher always used to ask if she w
Unfinished - A Portrait's PoemThe orange sky bleeds blue, onto
skeletal husks disguised as trees,
limbs lost, and searching,
barren of leaves.
It is strange to think
that I feel alone,
They wave to me, please,
chop those lonely trees down.
These golden-frame walls,
they used to hold
life and love and hope and breath,
and may yet,
should these bleak brush strokes change.
But what fruit will grow,
when the stem is cut?
My father has long since withered,
and I am not yet complete.
Snip, snip, snap my tendons.
Sip, sip, sap the blood from my veins.
I am at the mercy of your eyes and mind.
No, please don't look away.
I am not yet complete.
SafeA beautiful girl cries in the night
She's sick and tired of hearing her parents fight
They hit her and tell her it's all her fault
She wipes away her tears and tastes the familiar salt
She packs her things and sends a text
The text says "help me, I can't take it" so the boy knows whats next
He takes her to his house, where she sits and cries
He hugs her tight and she says "I wish I could die"
She starts to shake, so he holds her tight
He kisses her forehead and tells her it'll be alright
She tells him what happened, and he wipes away her tears
He soothes her and tells her there's nothing to fear
"We'll find a place where you're safe and sound
We'll move somewhere nice, away from this town"
The girl smiles and falls asleep
Safe in his arms, she no longer weeps
He whispers to her "I love you so much"
She snuggles up to him and their feet gently touch
The boy can finally sleep peacefully
Knowing his girl is safe and can live worry-free.
Death of a Queen The Queen of Olomar had always been a stunning beauty, but in death her loveliness was magnified. Her face was white and pristine like a porcelain doll, framed by the golden, perfect tangles of her hair. Her crystal eyes were closed, peaceful, as if dreams, not death, had taken her, and her pink lips were parted, a permanent mold of her calm and final breath. But it was her warmth more than anything that made her so lovely in death, for although life had slipped from her ethereal form, the warmth of her heart remained, and her body could not grow cold.
This was the tale that the people of Olomar would tell in the months following, amongst each other and to curious foreigners passing through. In a few years many would actually convince themselves that the tale was true. But no one who had been there would ever be able to forget the horror that was the true death of Queen Emma.
i l o v e y o ui
Tumbles slowly down the curve of my bottom lip onto your tongue, where you savor the sensuous taste.
Dances up my spine and runs down my arms onto your shoulders and up to your neck, where you're so ticklish you can't help but stifle a giggle and shiver at the sensation.
Infuses into the air in my lungs as I exhale and surrounds us both as you inhale it like smoke,
creating a high like no other.
The sound and the silenceThe sound of a heart breaking is not like glass shattering
it's a loud, roaring scream of despair
and then silence
for the longest time, all there is, is silence.
But slowly, slowly a beat returns.
Faint, unsteady and fragile.
Like the tentative flutterings of a baby bird's wings, as it learns to fly.
So afraid of falling.
But slowly, slowly, the beat gets louder.
Like a drummer in a marching band.
Nervous and hopeful.
The sound of a heart beating again is like a soldier being welcomed home.
Covered in scars, but happy again.
Ready to face whatever lies ahead.
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More