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Virginitywe're not finished
because i'm never satisfied -
i think every time is the last,
and convince myself
but now we're almost three years
into a dysfunctional relationship
of heated skin
arguments and moonlit conversations
about the complexity
of human nature.
(i want to figure us out
because we're complicated).
if you and i were in love,
we would move mountains
to unearth each other;
but at best, we're
unable to walk away from the other -
as if it meant something,
even though it never
JanuaryI find the irony in your witless
touches; you move my hair aside, and with
lips once innocent to my flesh you kiss
my forehead and neck, our love is a myth.
I could never love you because the past
has come and gone. You were an illusion;
although I loved you once, it would never last
and eternity is our delusion.
I have yet to meet another man who
treats me with your brand of respect, that tried
to regain what he lost, in his heart true
love or not, for friendship, to admit he lied.
If he were a man, his character would
pale in comparison to what it should.
Solitary ConfinementI am terrified that tender thoughts
of Him would someday leave me,
as emptiness invites illusion.
And nothingness, where love
could invite tenderness to return:
I should pierce my own heart,
and would rather die alone
than succumb to Love and its woe.
Sonnet For OctoberUntil the morning came I grieved for you,
and once the night returned I prayed alone;
those prayers remain unheard in the dark blue.
Morning rose from the dead, pale as a bone.
The evils of the night remained alive,
but hibernated in peace to rise again
when evening fell and terrors born to thrive.
In the time between, there chirped a lone wren.
I cannot love another, now you came
into these hallowed treasuries of mine:
deeper than desire for riches or fame,
or hope for second best another time.
Underneath self-pity and dark lashes,
hear my lonesome heartbeat: how it crashes!
Mauna KeaYour unholy house is in paradise;
I'm the salt waves that lick your heels,
please and thank you.
I know more of your secrets
than a hard-mouthed God.
Are you on the shoreline?
I'm on a clothes line,
time dries slow in temperate weather.
Skin and soul separated,
naked and shivering.
I would have you blow
up like an active volcano,
your preconceptions and misplaced
heart twisted like metal shards
of disaster, bastard.
We're on an aeroplane
in the space between
Heaven and hello operator;
sit down, babyface
you've some explaining to do.
August BluesIt was mid-August;
sometime in the embryonic morning
when it is always cold, constricting
and the only warmth
was your soul in beat with mine.
You glowed in the darkness.
There was a kind of peace
I had never witnessed before;
written in the smooth muscle of your heart
after I sanded your sadness clean.
It must have weakened you,
and cleaved your heart in pieces to pretend
you loved someone like me.
She rises on the cusp of autumn
and I remember her,
the woman dressed in gold;
for she descended onto me like wind
that comes later in the season.
I will always remember September,
how the dust found the cracks between our toes
and locks were cut, that
allowed love to take root
and multiply inside me like a child.
Because I cannot control the rush of hair
and the innocence that crashes
against the handlebars of my bike,
when I realize what has come to fruition;
the first time is easy.
I first made love in September,
with a boy who kissed my shoulder
and tried to make me surrender old memories
like that afternoon on September drive;
I would fall for our autumn morning.
He was made of vodka and weak sunlight
I kissed him with a secret, and we
shook my bed like a California earthquake;
but he left without looking behind him
and I was sore without someone to hold.
The Night Turned Into MorningIn defense of morning light
that etches patterns of shadow on my skin
and washes the room in white sunshine
in defense of it, morning must come.
When you think evening holds ever-sway
well, the night turns into morning
even in December
and the depth of love's decay.
Come into my arms
to sleep until the sun
bathes the shadowed halls,
warms them in defense of morning.
Aquariusi would rather drown myself
than love what i must lose,
and have you steal my breath
than live a thousand years
without ever breathing.
i could drown in uncertainty
before i ever admitted to love,
if it kept you within shore;
and i would die under the moon
before the tide took me out too far.
i should drown myself
in a seabed of shells and mirrors;
but you would carry the sea to me
to perform your rite if need be.
is the scalding breath of winter.
the piss-thin streaks of dandruff snow,
is a kid afraid to be standing
in that corner because of that madman
with that coarse, red face and
but now he's sleeping
under a ragged coat,
so it might be safe? no, no,
this is the wrong memory,
this is not
how he would like
to have him etched...
standing alert and smoking
brand of cigarettes
and twirling that sad stub with
long frost-tinged fingers
back when he would respond
to his feeble
"what are you waiting for?.."
for a bark.
nothing else to wait for!.."
"the steel ship."
a pocket full of posies;
we all fall down...
what exactly awaits us
when our mind and body
simply shut down forever?
will we be remembered by
the things we did or the
people whose hearts we
that's part of life,
all things eventually wilt,
death - an inevitable event.
a girl bullied for who she is
was found (almost) dead in her
own room, her life
hanging on by a thread
while her body
hung on a noose
that was tightly knotted
with hate and self-pity;
why must the bullying continue
after all this time?
she liked girls,
death crawls up walls,
waiting at every turn.
death sings a taunting
lullaby, hoping to lure
its victims into a pit.
death doesn't care
whether your pain was
self-inflicted or caused
death craves your soul,
not your body.
life gives you one chance
use it wisely.
always remember that
everyone has a different
story than you;
your diet coke will only make you hungrier(just some wolf with big blue eyes)
I don't know when I stopped using capitals in my writing
Or when I stopped talking as much
I dyed my hair because I was trying to show you
That I didn't have to show you anything
I told myself to stop writing poems about you
As if the days I spend locked in your ice cold glare
Was something I could escape
My mother still screams at night
She has the worst nightmares I've ever heard
And I think I might be going down the same route
I keep telling myself to breathe
That it is okay, and I will be okay
We were never okay
and despite myself, i've noticed it
you don't look at me anymore
Moriah JeanShe was soft and warm.
She was stone-cold.
I watched her, the strength in her
spine, the height in her shoulders,
the wave of ebony silk cascading over her
back - there was an unmistakable air.
But that skin, tight and smooth,
pulled over round hips, curved along
the concave of her stomach, crested
over her breast- a desert landscape.
She was sharp and round in all the
Formed from lightning and sand-
a burst of energy, a birth of
Untouchable, but for that treasured
moment of welcome, that break in
tension, that upturning of lips, pink
The knowing glance, the wanting look,
the low eyes, so dark, framed by sharp
lines and light- they placed her on a
pedestal, but she bent down with out-
She was not a goddess. She was polished
and coy, she was music - a symphony,
and sometimes, the cymbals crashed;
But she knew she was beautiful, and
she knew her strength was in the way
she let the music
untitled.the dirt between
running, soles like
humming thunder whisper
hush, but these walls are made of
(i can't hear you).
chest burning, soaring-
past lives mumbling like
a burnt out radio,
you grace the ground with
and your bare feet
brush in the quiet
against the buzz of the earth
in a field of
The Ramblings of a Frozen SoulIt is cold
My fingertips are the most repulsive shade of blue
And my feet linger within the vile chambers of my stomach
Desperation led to this
Fueled by madness
I would be walking out of the cave...
...Had I had the limbs to carry me there
It is cold
Too cold to even scream
But you know...
I do still miss her
The girl who used to be the thing known as my love
Or at least I miss the part of her that was... "alive"
She's still with me
I talk to her frequently
I remember just recently I asked if she'd marry me
She's still thinking about it
Within the chamber that she is suspended in
Sometimes, I wonder if maybe she can't see me
Sometimes I wonder if,
Even though her eyes are open,
She can't see through what's supposed to be a two-way window
Sometimes I think I'm talking through a one-way window
...I really hope I'm not.
Even though she's encased behind the ice
Even though I've lost all feeling
I still "feel" warm when I'm with her
Damn you northern winds
remember melightning steps
haunt the cargo hold
where they let them
doze off... drunken bastards...
lightning steps -
sharpshooter stab marks (neck,)
a stern mother
the glare... bewitched
to the portholes. memento mei,
as written on the daughter's amulet;
she clutches it unknowingly in her sleep.
(will she burn too?) the night is
young but she isn't
anymore; she doesn't
know it yet.
A Sirens Song.A slight breeze ruffled plumes attached onto an appendage.
We have searched so far...
Irritation could be seen within smiles.
For so long…
Six eyes watched as the flare from the Sun snuffed itself,
Cursed with feathers…
beyond the horizon.
Adorned to bone…
A breath of lethargy was passed through the group.
Our bodies grow tired…
Heaviness hung in the air.
Too weary to fly…
Darkness was descending.
Enduring days upon rocks…
Anticipation was setting in.
On a tiny isle…
There, within the distance, a slight dot.
A distinct vessel, traveling at a fast speed.
The winds carried to them the shouts of some...
Licking lips in excitement of the approaching storm.
Liners catch reefs, steering it towards their archipelago…
Three heads look towards the sky.
Lives are lo
I am everywhere
I am everything
I am your world
I am your voice
I speak in your blood
I sing in your tar
I am your lungs
I breathe your suffering
I contract your tears
I am your past
I recollect your misery
I predict your end
I am your friend
I embrace you with sickness
I deliver you from happiness
I am your everything
I am your only love
You. Need. Me
You. Can. Never. Escape. Me
HomesickI am the river's son,
my arteries flowing turquoise
and turning to rapids
rushing around my frame,
filling me with this sense
of buoyancy, minnows
tickling my sternum.
I am the river's son.
My palms caress each
silty shoreline, every
battered bank and bend,
and these places I know
so well become me
as my fingerprint,
even the bridge above me
inflamed by the afternoon
sun-glow, burning rusty and
the steel blue sky.
I am the river's son;
I bring my home along
like hermit crab,
where I step
I pull water from the earth.
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More