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my spinal cordI both fear and anticipate the day
when I finally come back to earth
and I and my suitcases smell just like you.
They told us falling in love is ethereal and sweet
but I promise these are lies;
falling in love creates the brightest of fires in the darkness we fear.
This fire is prone to flickering on and off
burns you if you venture too close
but you will eventually wither if you don't stay near.
It lights your pathways with daydreamy burning
but casts strange shadows on what you once knew
causing you to let the flames lick you just so you feel something.
You are all angled bones and roped sinew
and I am all stocky and short and a little too curvy
and that's just fine with me.
It is impossible to create bodies out of words
or intimacy with just nervous sex
and spacelessness with spaces.
The closest thing I have to touch
is the wind running her fingers through my hair
and my cat lying still and warm beside me.
I both fear and anticipate the day
when I finally look beside me
and we have
fallI made a tower so lofty and tall for myself
built out of all the accomplishments and sweet words bestowed upon me
and then I sat there, unsure of if I should climb higher or stop while I'm ahead.
I am now standing on the edge of a dark precipice,
all the snarling, twisting darknesses at the bottom
threatening to tear me back into their grasp.
I have fought them before and I have won
but it took my wrists and sensitivity with the blue ribbon.
Can you hear me, screaming for anyone to offer a shoulder?
We are both facing demons of unspeakable horror, my dear
yours behind and mine ahead.
Remember those glory days of diamond confidence?
Do you remember what it felt like to look high and proud
instead of burying myself inside of cybernetics
old pages full of confused words
and vague nonsense about nothing relevant?
Oh, oh, do you remember what it was like, sweetheart
when I didn't speak with this confused emptiness
when glow and dazzle were my middle and maiden names?
He loves me because I a
PuzzleWe are puzzles, and we are each aching to solve each other.
Between us, there are technicoloured Lego pieces from older models and older times
there are bits of twine which were once guitars and our best friend bracelets and heart strings
there are pieces of paper which once folded into one another as perfectly as we do each other.
Between us, there are jigsaw pieces from Sunday school boredom and rainy afternoons
there are nails and screws nestled in the splinters of projects you once completed with your brothers
there are the glistening shards of a broken bottle I once threw into a mirror because I thought I could not be ever put together.
Between us, there are the frays of emotions we have worried on because we care too much
there is the empty space of our words which we try to use to express what cannot be expressed
there are the too-quickly ended kisses and the too-slow to start gazes which are crystal in our memories.
Between us, there are unfinished novels, thoughts, ideas, word
lovers in the sukkahI have a special talent for bringing things back to life.
He's a bit like a campfire in a way. He burns deep and hot and confuses fireflies and draws in stragglers who like a pretty sight. Feed him, and he'll burn brilliant hot and wane back down to a slow devouring.
'I won't let you fall,' the little boy smiled, holding onto the hem of my shirt as I swung wildly and clung to the tire swing.
I inevitably did fall, but it's the thought that counts, his little fingers digging into the cloth.
The sky twisted, black velvet courting midnight.
The sun and wind play with my hair while an old sailor's rope digs his arms into my hips and bruises unapologetically.
I never know when to say no to you.
Every time I see you, it is by mere miracle. I do not know if my god approves, or just plays tricks with my heart for Job's amusement.
Fire breaks the bones of the earth just as fast as it breaks my heart.
We have started breaking so many traditions and so many customs that we have had to reinvent th
a little fasterwhat's it like to breathe soft and slow, guilt-free and beside yours?
how does it feel to run till your knees burst and your shins sever and your bones crush?
where are you in your puritanical slitherings, all twine and brown and tender things?
when do yours and I's silhouettes brush at the mouths?
why do all the pretty little insects of summertime hurt like I do in the barest sensibilities?
what are you, all jagged wingblades, honeyed summer hair, and snowflake eyes?
how am I to spin a cocoon when the carmines all conspired to eat straight to the juice?
where do we go when we've gone everywhere, the purgatory of traveling?
when will my teeth stop spitting out these foul little questions for my fowl little friends?
why do I love you still?
what is essentialEmpty thatches of wheat beating back against the wind --
that is what reminds me of you.
I am one of St. Christopher's lovers stepping quicksilver all 'cross the globe
but I am not a faithful girl
for all I really want is for someone to sit in a field with me, at four o'clock each noonday
calling on me, beckoning with spicy apples and bitter herbs.
Even the strangest of nightmares doesn't scare
but reality in all her tender fragility, terrifies every lingering sentiment of myself.
'Let me make this simple do you like me still?'
I have the worst sort of burning habit about breaking down everything
and leaving the pieces in a pretty sort of disarray on battlegrounds
cutting fingertips in order to stay awake to what end?
Technology is a cheap imitation of human intimacy
but what happens when we become the faux mirror images ourselves?
RetrospectionEat my heart like they ate the king's heart,
skewer it on a piece of river cane and nibble at it like the burnt crust of a marshmallow.
Once upon a time the princess sat on quicksilver waterfalls
and told herself she didn't believe in princesses, therefore she should die.
He slid the vermilion pepper into her wide mouth and told her to shut her teeth
the burning echoed in every cavity of her chickadee body.
Overdue library books gather dust on the desk, listless with the empty promises
of love and sunshine she once imparted on their dry pages.
The slivers of tiger lily fish squirm in the dwindling water
and she promises to add more every day and it grows less and less each night.
Barely started, unfinished diaries sleep on the shelves of a stained bookshelf
along with childhood toys of names long forgotten and misremembered.
The princess was never bothered enough to buy a torchlight so she fetched a lantern
from some dusty store on the street with a little dust-girl and dust
Bells on my wristHe pointed lazily at the ceiling while we laid under a sheet of faux snow
we took a picture out of exhaustion and while I stared at it to avoid staring at you
I've memorized the hole-pecked tiles and the ceiling fan
and the warmth of your twitching hand in mine
which blindly squeezes when you forget your dreams.
Like wolves under observation we curled lazily in the see-through glass room
head on my lap, my hands in yours
rubbing away temptations and fears and breaths and doubts
and struggling to memorize every little nuance of you
when memorizing Juliet's cries were far easier for me.
She doesn't understand we hadn't the time for modesty or resistance in those days
I thought this as you asked me if I wanted to stand and I said no
because what use was standing when your touch is a baseball bat to the knees
and we were doing something far more dangerous then fighting with knives
we were having our first kiss all coiled on a leather couch in a lazy summer rain.
A rash flushed full-bloom a
ignition pulseAnd you took a wooden match and struck it across the lines of the space between us
how it sparked, how it roared alive
the dizzy little fuse wire I ran about ourselves without a care began to alight
little flames raced across the streaks of gasoline we thought were tears
and then our hearts were on fire
and I let out a breath of darkened flesh-smoke
only to realize we set the whole world on fire, baby, we set the whole damn world positively aflame.
Icicle EyesDecember girl:
the snowflakes glittering
in your wind-blown hair
to the icicles
in your eyes.
6:30 ante meridiemI open my mouth to suck in a breath
The morning’s frost kisses my teeth
And I shiver.
IciclesWarm, soft air,
Breath as a ghost on the breeze
condensing into a fine mist,
Dancing bitter pirouettes
and whispering silken omens,
as petals in the snow.
Cold, hard earth,
Crunching miniature cities
with a single, gentle footfall,
Loping, silent, singing
liquid silver racing,
Urgent, fateful missions
as glacial rivers flow.
Delicate, crystal bells,
Delightful, intricate daggers
deceiving battered flesh,
Garnished, bruised, marked
fantastic rainbow shades,
Radiating fractures leak
as veins of shattered pearl.
Harsh, rasping nails,
Driving blizzards shrieking
blue, murderous claws,
Acute fangs clenching
against blasphemous vows,
Fall to the depths
of ostracised perdition.
CuriosityMy name is Curiosity.
And I didn't kill your cat.
Stupidity led the angel towards me, where he had set a trap.
So much crimson had stained my hands because of their work.
By "they" I mean Stupidity and Nerve of course
They take the lives of the innocent.
But the burden always falls upon me.
"Curiosity killed the cat" they say.
But how could I, don't you see?
My only weapon is wonder.
But they all still look upon me with hatred, dread, and misery.
As if I had centuries of blood on my hands.
When I never could
Take Me to the EarthTake me to the earth,
Where ancient gnomes
And sweet russet nuts
In sturdy stone hearths
Whilst they swap tales
Of olden forest mothers
Giving birth to bears
And hares in the places
Where the tree spirits
Ensnare colorful flowers
And use their powers
To call down the rain
To empower the soil
Making it rich and loamy
To nourish deep roots
And blades of grass
That surround magical
Waters that display
Reflections like glass
Allow me to gather
The squirrels and
The bees and the
Birds that dwell
Within the trees
To drink from these
Crystal clear and opaque
Pools whilst humor-filled
Fairies dance like fools
Until my stomach
Swells with a healthy girth
Oh ye elder gods,
Take me to the earth...
winterIt is 21 degrees Fahrenheit outside
and the air shudders in its icy grip:
pine needles frosted in fairy dust
and breath lost in the elegance of silver spiderwebs.
Ice, white and black, coats sidewalks,
sliding dogs' paws out from under their owners
and disappointing children in its solidity;
ponds drip like spoiled milk onto the pelts
of voles burrowed in their homes for the winter.
Harrowed birds flutter and squabble
over the remainder of seeds lost
under a bench by the rats' nest.
They wheel and peck above summer-flung stones
hurled on a day when a different kind of pond froze.
Hiding The PainOnce held safely by her lies
Then torn apart by the truth;
One who was so angelic
Now a demon in front of you.
It all seems so new and horrid
A fresh scar in your mind;
But you're here in his embrace
Safe from that who harms.
Hatred does not fill your heart
It is filled with sorrow and grief.
All the pain is eased though
By the love you both share.
Though the memory will never leave
Always there before your eyes.
A veil hides your nightmare,
So you may enjoy the moment at hand.
Wildflower bonesDesperate fingers peruse the dying earth and caress the bones of the lost eon of summer's touch.
Hollow sounds echo as I press the carcasses of wildflowers into a bloody wheel-barrel.
Watching the skeletal sunflowers being taken away is a relief a promise
a compromise that even after winter's ordeals, be they idyllic flutters or angry conquests,
spring, that slutty lover, can still twist me around her gnarled finger.
on old sanzu - absolutely true fictionlast fall i stole my friend down by the tama river. we sang. we danced. we skipped dead fish like rocks and watched them get swallowed by the undertow. we got sick off of bad chinese food and went skinny-dipping and then a week later she drowned herself.
her uncle was a yakuza, i think, but he really just wanted to be al pacino or something. anyway, she loved him a lot. maybe that’s why she went down the way she went down; cement shoes. not real cement, but it was the same idea. she had two cloth bags with yellow-painted cinderblocks inside, and they were tied to her ankles like the prisoners’ chains from o brother where art thou.
in my mind’s eye i can see her, limping dreadfully close to the edge of the current, her left hand gripping at her breasts through a loose t-shirt. kneeling by the wastelands, elbows in the gravel, crawling forward out into the water. angry like a dermis under wool, all teeth and salt and sand. sleepy, submissive, sublimated.
Keep in Touch!
^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