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HeartfallMorning will come
heavy like a bullet
deep within the muscle
beating in your chest
morning will come
to howl its freight train
back into your throat.
how long it's been
since you smiled at the sun
it rises for no one
no matter how few hours you spent smiling
no matter if their laughter does nothing.
are wilting in your eyes
crash back into mine
winter will soon shake the leaves from the trees
and my promises will fall down on their knees
to leave it all behind.
leave it all behind.
Evening will fall
eager as the moonlight
placid as the hunt.
nobody will take a shot for you
swallow back the bile
keep on tearing through the miles
maybe a freight train
will deign to grace your ears
let you climb aboard to someone you haven't
let down before.
how long it's been
since I whispered lullabies
should I have been
not an angel, but a warm goodbye.
a warm goodbye.
are wilting in your eyes
Seven Ways1. Make the sun go down.
Dribble darkness down the sky
until the light turns into darkness
and my skin remains white under the moon.
2. Trade words with me.
Slip them under my pillow at night.
folding adjectives in verbs
so that they seep into my skin
when I roll over and over in my sleep.
3. Bury the city in green.
Cover the walls, the alleyways, in vines,
sidewalks splitting open to reveal poppies
and pansies, line the gutters with moss
blooming with the traffic lights.
4. Bring me the bones of anyone but you.
Sparrows, meadow mice, even deer
discarded in the foothills, but keep your ribcage
5. Run away.
Catch a plane to a foreign country,
then a train, then a boat,
leave everything you find familiar behind.
You'll find it again, under newspapers and cigarette butts,
but pretend you won't.
6. Speak to the sky.
When you climb the mountains to their peaks,
and lean out against the vastness, don't be afraid to scream.
Wolves howl to each other, and I'm sure
the wind will an
TrepiditionInside my chest,
there is a swarm of hornets.
They circle over my inner workings,
leaving miniscule marks on the surface,
crooked gashes on the inside.
Passerby look at my face
and see the morning sojourns,
the wilderness flourishing behind my eyes.
They never look lower, unless it is
to judge my skin for not having
stretched itself until it was as delicate
as tissue paper.
Long silences are when I hear the hive.
Trickling up my throat, they settle beneath my tongue,
so that my words hiss and buzz at the end.
It is in these moments I give in
expunge the swarm storming inside me,
let them leak out until the room is full of vibrations
and the walls creak from containing their mass
for so long.
I stare up into the light fixtures
as they steadily fill with the deceased,
and no one tries to stop me unless I scream.
Eventually, they all lie silent on the floor
only making noise when I step over their bodies.
The cavern inside of me is empty
my mouth is closed to all.
But as I step out into t
BitterThe problem with happiness
is when it's not you.
It's someone else with that goofy smile on their face,
filling the margins of their favorite novels with lacy prose
interwoven with daisy chains. You listen to them expound
about how good life can be, how full they feel,
and all you can think is that there is something wrong with you.
The problem with you
is that you're not happy.
It's someone else's firefly glow that's lighting your face,
not some inner radiance of your own. All you ever do
is write about glory and summer and the night sky,
as though saying something is the same as doing it.
And all you can think is how green always was your favorite color.
Revelationslightning scars the sky,
arching veins, outlining cataracts
of turmoil. they are restless upstairs,
echoing down across the valley like gunshots
or shifting furniture. I see a spark alight
on the boughs of the nearby ridge,
before it blinks out, brighter than the stars
choked by clouds.
my father carried the midwest on his shoulders,
marking roadways to homes that never were.
the pulsing in my eardrums makes me wonder,
how many storms had he weathered,
before he was bent over by my own?
heaven clamors high above,
and the air smells of steel burning.
my heart tenses at each flash,
until I can no longer count the miles between myself
and the tempest. heat is not only my undoing,
PictogramYou can have your world,
but keep it away from me;
the smog has already tarnished my irises,
the cement has already rubbed off on my toes.
Sooner or later, we all decay
radioactive as we are.
It happened to me when I first lied to myself
further breaking down as I avoided others' words
and their company.
They all tell you
"I have ____", but I prefer
"I suffer from ____".
This brings me pain, I do not own it
nor do I want to. This unsettling
uneasy queasiness in me is not my own
it is a tumor.
The last time I looked ahead
with starlings in my eyes,
there were hermit crabs crawling over my toes
and the river smelled like renewal
and fallen leaves.
Some of the pieces in my
fit, lock like a key in the door
but mostly it's all pictograms
scrawled across the asphalt of the roadway.
No, it's not my childhood,
there's only fingerpaintings where my memories should be
kind-faced women with good intentions
a rainy day.
Before that, there are raspberries,
houses with stairc
overexposureshe fell into limbo
arms dangling, leaden,
eyes rolling back like apples
ripening. the meat of her lips
was ragged, the breath in her throat
was lush. she suffered from herself,
and the only cure she could conceive
was this silent doomsday.
in between the precipice and the ground
she allowed her bones to hollow,
taking in the air rushing past her.
something inside of her told her
the end would not be bloody, but flat
as the notes she struggled to reach
she opened her mouth
to scream with the wind.
IncompleteI am incomplete.
Not without you, or anybody's bones
there is no cavity inside of me waiting for someone to sidle in and nest inside.
My legs are whole, by ribs are full, and my breathing is easy.
But I am incomplete. If not from lack of loving,
then from lack of living.
I fill myself with mythologies and paperbacks,
pomegranate seeds sticking between teeth,
and a voice long-tired of arias.
This does not change the fact that I am incomplete.
How to be Populardon’t talk
go to parties
listen to friends
go with the flow
drink some more
don’t let them see the tears
as you cry yourself to sleep
for the most important thing
is to be popular
Forgiveness takes twoThe words are struggling
to tumble off my tongue,
and despite having
a fleshy cushion
to rest on,
they stain my teeth
and sting like acid
"I'm sorry," I stutter,
but the bitter taste
doesn't leave my tongue-
not because the words weren't true,
but because I know
I won't hear,
Mommy Is A Super HeroMommy Is A Super Hero
Standing before his class, he held his tiny report,
“Who is your super hero?” Was written in yellow chalk on the green board.
Exhaling his breath, the curly haired boy closed his little eyes,
“Don't be ashamed of yourself” His mother's words rung in his ears, “And don't ever cry.”
He began to read aloud, with a shaky voice.
to his class, he told his mother's story.
At age fifteen, she was a beauty queen,
the most beautiful girl in all of the world.
She flaunted her silky hair, bore her bare legs,
prided her breast. The boys treated her like she was a treasure chest.
They respected her rules, they “looked, but didn't touch”,
but there was one older man, who from her, wanted too much.
All alone he met her, he approached her in the alley,
and all his mother told him, was that this man had treated her badly.
But what the boy didn't know was that she was taken against her will,
and that two months later, she turned up ext
The sound of silenceThe sound of silence,
Is so deafening,
That it makes my ears ring,
With the cacophony of my own insanity.
Being afraid to speakThe unpleasantries of past events
Were driven by the voices of contempt
Leaving me breathless
To that effect, I was left senseless
And when I laid under the covers
As I tried to warm myself from the cold stares
I shiver, as my skin turned white
By the solace of silence
But, as I overcame their sadness
I learned to embrace the cold
Until I was able to give warmth to others
Ideationlocked in a room
with only one escape,
or so it seems.
your hands shake and you drop the key.
Suddenly you're unsure.
Do I want to pick it up?
Do I want to find it?
Do I want to leave?
you think to yourself
there's no other choice.
find the key or corrode, or rust
wear down the hinge
use sadness as the key.
You have the answer now.
Just open the door.
Just walk outside and don't look back.
Let yourself leave with no regrets.
And yet you can't.
You're afraid, you think,
but you are actually strong.
Don't run away.
Don't take that leap.
DNAyou are content
because every day
you have the opportunity to
hug both sets of your DNA.
however, i am not content.
half of me is missing
and the other half
is hardly ever here.
cenotaph of stormsthe first thunderstorm
was triggered by a blunt pair
of scissors, sparking violently
against the lightning,
shaking in the wind.
the downpour pierced,
tattooed with no ink but
the dark bleakness
of an overcast morning,
infiltrating uniformed wrists.
hid behind the music block,
shaky raindrops rioting
fears, she fractured.
the second storm
wept a two year downpour
outline that dripped from wrist
to hip, sidelong silhouette glances
obscured by the rain.
stalictidal waves shuddered
frozen, until icy glass
fell in stained shards from
the stillness inside.
thinner, brittler, growing
in flurries of sleet and hail,
her outline was never filled,
though the floods threatened
the third thunderstorm
was a mist-ridden melancholia,
a dream for permanence
smeared in ink through
fueled by the hope
that just this once,
the rain would spark a
rebirth beneath the ground.
instead, a tsunami
washed away the ink
as tides so often do.
GravelYou always laugh
Like the world owes you nothing
But joy and sun-pickled roses.
You always smile
As though the adventure were just over the next rise.
You always talk
like nothing matters except living and loving living.
But now I know the truth
Behind the closed doors in your mind.
Seeming tall and strong before me
Crackling at my touch.
The first day you laughed at me
Bitter words resting on your tongue.
The first day you smiled at me
The strain clenching your features.
The first day you turned your back on me
I knew how much it hurt
To be alone in a crowded room.
To wait for an adventure that would never come.
To stumble and stammer when you know the answer.
I wanted to help you.
But you didn't want my help.
Not a shoulder to cry on
A punching-bag to lay upon all you woes, all your pent-up
Not a friend.
I tried to pick you up when you hit the pavement,
But you laughed it off
And made a joke at my expense.
I am lucky.
I love and at least believe I am loved.
AndromedaAmongst the darkened skies
Brightened by only starlight
Field & Sea.
Gravity is only an afterthought
Hilltops become ladders into the sky while
Inferior planets stare down upon the Earth
Jealous of such simplicity yet contemplating grandeur.
Keppler only thought of science
Linear, elliptical, movement…
Mythology had no such thoughts
Neptune & Nebulas both inhabit space
Orbiting across the lonely darkness
Probably never worried about mundane things
Questioning their existence
Right now or for all eternity such as us.
Shooting stars make us joyful while
Terminator is an otherworldly spectacle
Unknown to all those hidden in their houses
Various stars await us outside
Waiting to play like we did before
Xenagogue & inviting
Youthful but ancient curiosities.
Zenith induced euphoria continues until daylight…
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More