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you didn't listen when i saidthe thunder is an earthquake,
waking my bones, waking my blood,
waking me up like a bump in the night.
i want to say
this is for everyone who has realized that
humans are just fragments of regret and hope
but it is more for you than anyone else.
and it is so easy to fall apart without you
but i am holding on and
i'll be okay. i'll be fine.
not a fairytalethe windows are dirty. the windows are dirty
and this is not a fairytale because
i'm not happy
i'm not a good person
i'm not okay with myself.
i don't want you to break this
i don't want you to break -
i don't want you
but i do.
the skeletons that were in my closet have come out,
they're dancing on my bed, they're dancing on my grave
my teeth hurt when their bones shake and they rattle like
the phone in my hands -
it's ringing and ringing and ringing but it's not between my fingers
it's in my stomach and i can't pull it out and
someone has fallen off the steps into darkness, underground,
inside me is darkness.
my intestines will never see the light until i've died and
is that where you are calling for me
are you leaving your hand prints in the dust on my windowpanes
are you calling for me
because i don't want to be rescued.
lovers that went wrong.my blood is congealing,
and you are leaving.
it is night but still not dark enough outside.
i cover the windows.
the light keeps seeping through.
i suppose, if we were meant to be alone,
there is no such thing as
i am the moon and you are the tide,
running to escape me.
but only the tide always returns.
i'm shit at foreshadowing,
but when you pack your suitcase, even i can tell -
you aren't coming home anymore.
my blood is congealing,
and i don't know where you are
running down the timei wonder what the clock is thinking as it
ticks away my life
if it is laughing at how poorly i am spending
all my time - like
loose change in my pocket, as if the world is
waiting for me to figure out what i
want to buy.
and then i realize that clocks do not laugh and
i have no place giving inanimate objects
feelings they have no reason to feel, although i
am still under the impression that
if clocks could laugh - and perhaps they do
, when no one is listening - then this one
or perhaps i am wrong entirely, and i am
terrible at telling the emotions of objects (and
of course i am, how does one tell how a clock feels?)
and maybe the clock is
crying for me.
for these are lost moments
because they could be better spent
holding someone's hand making wishes on a hundred
thousand dandelions looking out over the ocean
on an airplane but still afraid
and maybe the clock is not laughing or crying at all.
maybe the clock is just a clock and
home is where the heart ismy bones lay bare on the asphalt
the concrete hot under calloused feet
words like squidink bleed from my bitten lips.
but you love me, i know you do.
fuck the 'maybe's,
our apartment will have white walls, afternoon sunlight shining,
a hummingbird feeder out on the balcony.
i can hear those tiny wingbeats now
like your heart pumping faster when i lie next to you.
i'm drawing images of crumped paper upon paper.
distracted, i am imagining
brushstrokes of your hands upon my skin.
promise i'll wake up early enough to brew coffee for you.
i'm just sorry that when you say 'home'
it doesn't mean me.
as it fell, i fell with iti saw a shooting star for the first time on friday.
it was unearthly, so unreal above me,
skidding silently across the sky.
if you had been standing beside me, i would've
slipped my hand into yours and
[maybe] made a wish.
but it didn't happen -
my eyes were too weak to follow it into the dark,
the distance between our bodies too great,
my trembling, yearning fingers
"what does it matter?"
you said later. "it's only a meteor."
tiredthe stars crumple,
going out one by one.
i slump in your eyes, longing for your arms,
like wet paper.
feelings swim coyly, koi-like, in my veins.
i open dry lips to tell you
but my words are smoke, all you hear is
ash and embers and
i sit quietly.
the flowers outside are waiting for rain.
it's been this way
for as long as i can remember.
regrets and worriesi seem to be staying up later every night
to avoid dreaming.
the weeks blend into a slop of
sleepy lunchtimes and tense evenings and
with each day that passes, i become
even more afraid of saying goodbye to you.
i think you are tired [of me] these days
and my organs are shredding like origami birds
in front of a train.
i wonder what i'll regret in ten years.
i wonder if it'll be you.
we have no milk in the fridge
and i am starving [for attention].
i don't deserve you but i love
your crooked smile.
[it's another long night and it's only 2:10am].
wrong bedsyou fall to the ground, sand between your fingers,
grass tickling the tips of your toes
and you scream
noise is all there is -
emotion drained from your system through way of your lungs
and then, there is nothing left
muscles relax, head sinking into the ground,
falling slightly to the left
broken twigs litter the ground beside you
still clinging onto their leaves -
bright green in the cloud-dulled moonlight
you realise you love them more than anything else in this world
because you know that sometimes,
the broken things need the most love
you burn the book you write in
smoke fills your nostils, stings your eyes
and you realise that the ashes swept by the wind
carry the only emotion you've ever felt
you let them scatter
because you know that you need to destory everything
in order to have nothing
and be happy with it
Linger: A SonnetThere was a time when open hearts did see
Across the city, through the fog and rain
To where my darling held and lay with me
In special places never seen again.
We lovers spun our dandelion dreams,
And kissed each other under naked stars.
We sewed our lives together at the seams,
And pushed away the thought of broken hearts.
But everything must reach it's deadly end
And prison bars must close upon this love.
Examined futures built by loving hands
Now crumble to the cry of mourning doves.
Then from the flesh of fallen dreams there grew
A dandelion place for lovers true.
finally gave up'well what were you expecting?'
'something with meaning'
i felt like a baby when i laid in your arms
when you pressed your palms against mine
my fingers barely reaching halfway up yours
you laughed when i called you gorgeous
and didn't smile when i told you i liked you
but your lips still slid across my stomach
i don't think you know that you made me cry
and i don't think you understand that you
meant more to me, than i did to you
and you say sorry now, with a full stop
as if it's the end of everything; the end of us
but do you even know what you're really
Caught DrowningFirst I notice her hair: dark and longer than any girl I've met, pulled back in a high ponytail and still past her waist. Since I'm following the line of her hair, I see her hips next, round and smooth like a bright red apple, picked fresh and rubbed against t-shirts, ready for biting. Attached there and growing like slender trunks from her hemline are two long, smooth legs. She smells like green grass and old wood.
We exchange the normal pleasantries. She is subtle and graceful; demure and polite. She speaks like an orchestra, her tones long and smooth, but there's a hiss there, like steam from a radiator. It works for her, and I've never done this before.
She laughs at that, a sound like a sour note that tugs somewhere at my stomach. "Exotic," I say; and she laughs at that too.
I realize she's waiting for a sign, so I imagine a flare between my lips and blow it out, a slow exhale. I wobble in the breath, but she catches me with her eyes. Black eyes, I notice, all the way through, but
074i wish i could tell you that i need you to save me
from the images that grow like saplings of oak trees
within the cavities of my mind; the empty spaces
that gave birth to questions for which i have no
sometimes i write these poems
without knowing what i am trying to say
but then i realise that i don't even have anything to say
because i don't know what to feel anymore
and in the corner of a dark room,
the quiet side of the silence,
darkness falls upon me; a cloud across the moon
and oh how endlessly i fall
orange skyi still think about you every night,
trapped in an ocean of images
caught tangled in the sound of your voice;
is it just me,
or did we spark?
but perhaps all you are
is the pretty colours on the feathers
the sweet smell from the flowers
nothing i can grasp -
six : nothingyou know, i sit here every night and think of you.
i do try to write about other things, i really do, but it's always the same.
i'm always left with the same ghostly, sallow face when i'm done, and i'm always feeling these emotions i can't put words to.
and how do i even begin to explain without sounding like a wounded cliche? because every morning i wake up and i see you stretching your skin into the sun, small shadows of your spine cast upon milk.
and every night i imagine you sitting in the veranda of your mother's house, knees pulled tightly to your chest, eyes reflecting every single star you ever pointed out to me.
but it's nothing i've never said before.
and i think i've written the same story over and over so many times, that now it means nothing. and what happens then - when you find the only thing you feel to mean nothing?
and as much as i tell myself i don't want you back,
i know i do. i want your skin, your blood and bones. i want your thoughts and your pulse and your eye
i like girlsbreathing in the scent
of the noisettes, i am so
overcome with hope
dreaming of something
lashing me to willow trees,
grounding me, for now
to a place where there
are never expectations;
i am somehow safe.
please take me, for me.
i know what you think of this...
it scares me to feel
that you will never
really understand me if
one day i'm in love
Dorian Gray SyndromeIsn't it strange, how I used to hate your hidden canvas face? To me your perfect skin hid a demon, a demon covered in pustules, your eyes were nothing more than a portal to a rotting soul. Your words were nothing but trapped and recycled verse, spoken only to lure innocent maidens into your coveted dark lair of love. Of love and broken hearts, I used to picture you feasting upon them before leaving those girls, abandoned, in the desert to rot. To become the faeces of vultures and other scavenging creatures...
So, isn't it strange how I let you drag me down into that den of despair? Then again, what is life but a count of three? A lost stare in a crowded street? A forgotten love song played on the radio? Why do I take in your dusty words?
Ah, but why do I ask questions? I need not ask, for I trust you implicitly. Thank you, for you have warped my mind and framed it. Perhaps you've placed it next
it was cliche but so are wecall me at half past two -
losing sleep over me, as familiar
with your ceiling as i am with my own,
give in to temptation, pick up the phone -
stick a note in my locker -
come find it from the one time you saw it,
and you'll know it's mine when there are too many
books to read, people to beome, and then
leave, ashamed you can't speak straight to my face -
run after me in the rain -
soaking to the bone and aching from the cold
(or is it us arguing that hurts?) and knock on my door or
grab my hand. just don't let go -
show up with flowers -
just appear there, slight blush staining your cheeks.
appear anywhere. after school outside my
sciene class, in the middle of the road as i'm walking
home from school, a couple petals precariously close to
throw pebbles at my window -
in the middle of the night. or call my cellphone as
you see me climb into bed. or shine a flashlight through
the glass after i switch off the light. or climb up the
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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