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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,
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.
i am a book of blank pages.We're playing that game where we trace letters on each others backs with the ends of our fingers. So I drag my fingertips down your spine slowly, savoring every embrace. I'm drawing electric currents through each vertebrae and I can feel you twitch under my touch.
I'd like to hold your ribcage like guitar strings and play chords that echo beneath your skin. You'd sound like a long, soft lullaby that tugs at my eyelids to close so I can dream.
My dreams are the only place we can actually be together, my subconscious takes control
and it's your lampshade lips along the shadows of my feet,
then I'm spilling my shoulders like chandeliers onto your carcass
and I'm drinking in this surreal moment like wine, because it is so bittersweet.
In my conscious mind I'm lying awake at night with toothpicks propping open my eyelids
because days are tasting like stale bread and empty space
and I'm realizing that space might actually be what we need,
screw that, what we need is each other and I need you
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.
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
i want you because i shouldn't want you at alli want you like i want succulent strawberries dripping over a white lacy dress,
i want you like i want complete silence on a sweltering august night,
i want you like it's dead rats melting over hot gutters and then it's your hot guts on my body.
i want you and your collarbones tied to my strings of saliva,
i want you smelling like you're some wild wolverine with incisors as sharp as rose petals,
i want you broken and bleeding just so i can nourish your wounds.
i want you dangerously close and always so,
i want you angry as you are passionate,
i want you in ways i don't even understand.
as we become ghostsThe air is smooth and thin,
running over my shoulders like buttermilk,
curling wax fingers
and smoke escaping my oak tree bones,
I don't know where I'll end up yet but
I know I'm close,
and I know I'm close because I'm still breathing,
inhaling that charred floral scent
where dahlias are breeding in the curves of my collarbone
and lilacs are blooming between each vertebrae,
intertwining with every rib, climbing them like strands of DNA,
oh you know I wouldn't mind if you used my ribs for a ladder,
go ahead and use me up like some sort of construction worker,
for my body is yours to take, my heart to break,
but I should let you know now that this love is a disease,
it will leave you in ruins with teeth like Aztec tombs rotting inside your mouth,
and it will leave your hands forming empty circles in the sky where the stars should be,
but all of this is okay because when we're together I can see the moon in your eyes
and the sun in your lips,
when they dare form a smile, your kiss
I'm Not Ready to Let GoYour fingertips carve melodies into my songbird skin,
carbonizing my charcoal bones
so I can write sonnets on the sidewalk
with the ends of my chalky joints.
Oh how your grazing hands
Your propane eyes
burn me up,
your toothy smile
ties me down.
I hold my breath
because these moments are fragile
as they are finite,
and I close my eyes
because love shouldn't be this ugly
or this hard to find.
cadavershe 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.
Lightyears at SeaHis whispered goodbyes caught fire
in the whites of her eyes as wild dogs
and empty oceans devoured him.
Standing still for years, she with
a waiting heart and waiting fingers
gave birth to ghosts with feathers.
Haunting in his sleep, swinging like
sharp jewelry and pendulums
carving cryptic messages upon his floor-
'You, with your tattooed baptism skin
and slithering tongue of sweet poison
left her aching ashes to mix with gunpowder.'
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
missingyou wrap me up in ocean water-born smoke of the midnight aegean seas, the misty wisps suspiring into my ears as your sweet serenade fingers trail sonata whispers down and around my ribcage. these shoulders of hundred-mile journeys should suffice for the safety of the norway fjords. your fingers trace the trembling arteries down my arm and linger at the mass of veins at my wrist, sweeping sadly over the harsh remnants of selfish black nights.
some days, i wish you were heartless too.
life is supposed to be good; i wish i could make yours better. december nights are for people together. you are warm but sometimes it's just hard. i push you away, walk to cool corners, and allow myself to hug me instead.
none of it is fair; i know you'd jump canyons just to steady me but i just can't get better for you.
your silk jasper fingers free tangles in my hair and i talk into the air, "why do you bother? it'll only tangle again." the world seems a never-ending circle of showers and powdered
Missing BonesWe spent our nights star gazing
on the top of that local bar on 5th street.
You said you loved me by night,
that no star or moon in any given universe
could compare to me; that we were lost warriors
searching for a home within the roots of one another.
I believed myself a wandering ghost among the living,
searching for missing bones and the warmth of another's grave.
You shook me then,
kissing me where it hurt most-
just to test a theory.
"Like dead birds,
you are not faceless;
your rib cage has a meaning."
And I believed I loved you then
underneath the moon and stars
tipsy on your smile and your words
and your warmth.
Your hands must be the thieves
who stole these thin bones of mine-
because, I never wanted you more.
Looking for NeverlandSometimes on rainy afternoons
I drive for no reason at all with
the windows down and breathe in
the scent of wet pavement,
reminded of the times you and I
strolled and laughed under umbrellas
and sped through rinky-dink towns,
not wanting to grow up.
So I amI feel dead
and the tree outside my window,
says I am,
so I must be.
I like lillies to bloom in winter
and for the sun to live in the clouds,
so as not to burn my skin
or leave me in the cold.
This morning I forgot to breathe,
as I woke up, I choked.
It was not unpleasent,
I was just surprised.
You could not feel the moisture
on my face
as it began to rain because,
I feel dry
and the weatherman said it was,
so it must have been,
so I am.
the little things.The night caves in.
there are no more pretty words on my lips.
the stars fall like planes in a tailspin.
and there is no more beauty in my pen,
only the self-loathing that shadows my mind and the blade on my skin.
and he's seafoam in the drain,
as out of place here as the seashells inhabiting the dresser in my room.
its not poetry anymore,
and the pain in my chest is so real i can taste it like cold steel.
his toes at the edge of the precipice as he burns the night down. your lungs are filled with flour and your eyes with ashes.
its the little things that break you.
so i'll swallow the emptiness inside like a bitter medicine. bite my cheeks until they bleed out my insecurities. i'm rotting from the inside out, but i can't let them know it.
too afraid if i set the rot free it will destroy me completely.
but maybe its already destroyed me.
the acid in my veins has laid me bare and defenseless. the bile and unborn words in my che
TroyYou have too much time on your hands, Love,
folding paper cranes with broken fingers,
wishing to see northern lights in the eyes of strangers.
There are no lions between your bed sheets
who understand your hunger better than I-
You are licking my wounds; one with the wild.
I swear it's you behind these eyelids- untamed
and desired by this lonely poetic canvas
stained with blood, ink, and words I can't fucking say.
You look like a Goddess standing there reading my skin
quiet and shameless, proud of the gaping hole in my chest.
I know it then, like I know my own counterclockwise heart;
I should never trust my own kind.
"I'll build you up, my Troy, just to tear you down again."
And I whispered please, please, please...
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.
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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