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Onslaughtit rushes over me
a gust of tumbling objects
protestations and pinheads
straining the rainbow stitches
that pin my soul together
a stabbing suggestion
complete with kiwi and tangerine
and words i dont quite understand
hurtle towards me
uncertainty bleaches the threads
binding me together
red coals and sweatpants
bits of cloth and ruby dust
are sprinkled across my mindscape
a crack appears
ignites bits of fluff
camo teddies and orange bubbles
a gaping hole
a devouring empty mouth
it occurs to me that i have lost
the black whirlwind that
speeds across the landscape
but from the pulsing red ruins
i once called a heart
a burning parchment flies out
cooled by the howling winds
and on the frayed surface
there are two words
See it in your eyes,
Feel it piercing my soul,
Bitter, on my tongue.
And yet you stand-
Frozen stiff with fury.
It's worse than when you
Rage and yell,
Lecture and enounciate.
It is only meaningless articulation.
You truly feel it.
The loathing, the anger.
And I can see it.
Your eyes, they say it.
Accusing and sad,
"I'm disappointed in you."
DarkBefore the light,
There was dark,
Where there is light,
Darkness always follows,
Even in the purest heart,
There are shadows of darkness,
It would be so easy,
So nice to just fall,
One day I find
That I've fallen.
And I have to say...
It's perfectly corrupted.
Shaking with fury
"I gave you
I disappointed you
I don't want
To meet your eyes
"I judged you wrong"
I stand straighter
I look up
And bite my lip
To be judged again
Pierce my heart
X-ray my soul
Your eyes darken
Cold and hating
The verdict approaches
I'm dying inside
"You are not the person
I thought you were."
My execution awaits
Best Served ColdOn the menu tonight,
You'll find my heart.
Would you like it served
With a poison dart?
Perhaps you'll enjoy it
On a silver platter
Eat it bit by bit.
Delicious? Don't flatter.
Would you like it
Hot or spicy,
Or bitter or sweet?
Grilled or roasted,
Fit to eat?
Go ahead, just ask, be bold...
But if you ask me,
It's best served cold.
Overly ImaginativeWhat's my street like, do you ask?
Well, I could bottle it up in a flask...
Just a pinch of cold and touch of silence
Plus a ricketty row of paddle pop sticks
(My mum calls them fences though.)
The road is a twisted black ribbon
Speckled with white lines.
The night sky; a black curtain
With holes, where the light shines though.
And there's an empty little playground
Where the swing sometimes moves
By itself, creaking like an unoiled gate.
I could probably squeeze it all together,
Shove it in a bottle and tie it with a ribbon.
It's just an ordinary street,
With an overly imaginative occupant.
Computerised HumanityTippity tap, tippity tap,
Don't stop, it's a trap.
Clickity clack, clickity clack,
Too much work, stay on track.
Metalwork, plastic parts,
What are these things you call hearts?
Bottomless pit, endless hole,
Go ahead, sell your soul.
Press your buttons, click your mouse,
Day and night, inside your house.
Fall into the darkest hell,
Molten metal forms a shell.
Turning cogs, moving gears,
This is what I truly fear.
Humanity's fate before our eyes.
Adorn the frigid pathway
Grace the frostbitten door
Flutter in the frozen air
Like pristine butterflies
So flawless, so cold.
Frost the chilled windows
Caress the freezing trees
Lace the artic breezes
Like fine ribbons of ice
So exquisite, so cold.
Is draped in subzero chains
Wrapped in numbing tendrils
Encased in a frosty cage
Like an alien, locked in a foreign world.
And so, so cold.
MusingsMusings...What are musings?
They trace along your mind
Fluttering on the borderline
Of subconscious and conscious.
They invade your mind
At the most inopportune moments.
On the edge of sleep
Amidst impossible imaginings.
They demand attention
Once in a while.
They demand to be put on paper.
They order the tasks execution.
They won't leave you alone.
Not until you do.
And sometimes, musings seem
Change this lifeHiding in the shadows
Resisting in secrecy
Trying to find a way
To change this life of misery
The future is unknown
The past is to forget
The present is dull and boring
Is this what life has to offer?
I want to change
And I keep trying
Only to fail miserabily
Every single time
eight ways you've made me small1. I wish
this was for you.
2. my journal pages - the
brown one with all our monologues -
were jarred with hollow vows of
last poems of
letting you slip into a coma
of bad memories, watching you
fall to your death off
a cascading cliff of disease
and dis ease.
it was never
easy for me
3. there's a reason I ask
whether you're grey
(dark white, elusively black, in between)
or blue (behind the clouds, under wave-foam,
whateverthefuck runs through the back of my
palms); I'd rather have
than the arms
that once held you half-
heartedly. you had always been
my harmony and I
would have killed
to have been yours.
4. it could never have been just me, the way
it could never have been just
5. disasters are not beautiful,
but how is it that you
managed to make my inner linings
converge into bows
and explode into wings the very
night you decided to rebuild your walls
to a lower height?
6. I wish
diaryi thinned recall,
strangled memory until she screamed black
or blue, strung her source of voice along
the willowed incline of vein to wrist and down
let the curl thirstily imply
just how cut it is to pain in numbers:
one scar for extravagant wine dates, three
for the number of times we fucked crying,
eight for forgotten promises of ever after
i heard a sordid song in your tallied matchstick
bones, victorian in beauty & proper repression
of the bloody details like a bruise we push beneath
our hollow skin with dirty fingernails
see, the past is not a headless infant with knives for
playful fingers, though it is not to say
that cribs or birdcages hold anything more than
what we leave them to engulf
i swallowed you whole, ocean— basked by the enchantments
of soft-spoken life, bathed by neurotic erosion.
they taught me that the cleansing of your body now
fades the transient you of yesteryear, speak in familiar tongue:
bathroom stall mirages of rounds, clocks, convey
Whenever I hurt myselfI have a feeling
Someone is watching
So I look around
But there's no one to be found
ExpirationWith you I always feel like I’m
to break in the wrong size of shoes.
Sometimes I sit and stew
over how you’re seventeen and
you think I’m a princess
the trapped-in-a-tower kind
and how you wear suits and talk about politics
and think you know the world.
My throat interrupts with an affronted gurgling sound
sometimes when I think about you,
you deal out advice where it just isn’t called for
you quote science-fiction to justify war
and you’re seventeen years old and you think I’m a princess
and you just have no blooming idea.
Darling, one of these days I will tell you my mind
But until then we’ll never fit
I’m afraid –
that even after that day
you’ll still be trimmed hedges and
Makers Of The Cage. Holders Of The Key.Our eyes are the closest thing we have to freedom.
We see endless blue sky, and the stars beyond.
We see the beauty of the world.
We see our reflection in the mirror;
the reality, and the fantasy.
Our eyes see far and great.
But the rest of us cannot follow.
Our hands probe the steel bars around us.
Fumbling in the dark.
Cut by the sharp edges.
The bleeding never stops.
Our feet shuffle around.
Trying to go places.
But we walk in circles.
Our emotions go from red to blue;
orange to green;
yellow to purple,
mixing in a haze.
Our mind goes to dark places,
and only wanders deeper.
Oblivious to the place right next door.
It knows the freedom,
it knows the pit.
There are endless paths to take.
There's a cage we need to break.
There is a key ourselves create.
In our hands, it's never too late.
on bradbury and table dancingYou are not a wordsmith
whatever you might like to think. ('Smith'
indicates precision and coldness and fire:
words are softer than that unless you mold them strong.)
It's a difficult road to follow, and not many
make it past the fork. Choose a path,
Janus says, whirligig keys spinning on his shoulders:
I am a wordworker, with my tools too crude, forming
rough-edged carvings painted with pretty imagery.
Notebooks scattered across the landscape
of a child's room, to be stumbled across,
read, red-penned, in the thick and choking breath of night.
When the bough breaks
a hanged man laughs. He carries typewriters
in his pockets, and cigarettes in the soles of his shoes.
I will never be a word mistress,
whoring myself to the speech of people I do not know and will never know me.
The oven is set to Fahrenheit 452, but the words were already aflame
before they ever took shape under your tongue.
You love everything they've ever written, and carry
unabashed loathing for every syllabl
Death to the LoversHe screamed,
He tore his hair from his scalp;
But it didn't bring her back.
The beautiful girl
With the gorgeous smile
And witty remarks
Would always lay six feet under.
She would lie in her death bed,
Her arms folded on her chest
And her face full of peace
Known only to the dead.
He would be the first to rot.
First his health,
Then his sanity.
She would forever feed on his emotions
Like a pretty little leech,
Sapping his well being
And happiness from her underground world.
And he would let her,
For a fool like him
Who allowed himself to love,
Delicate white candy floss clouds,
Crisp green forests no-one's ever seen,
A blazing sun rising over a frostbitten world.
Wishing for things you know you'll never have,
Seeing things that will never exist,
Feeling things that no-one else will ever feel.
Twisted black hands wrapping around your neck,
Skeletons stalking you through a misty forest,
Ghouls ripping out your soul by twilight.
People long gone still lingering in your dreams,
Photographed memories coming to life
An old teddy bear that sings you to sleep.
But above all,
The essence of my very soul.
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^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