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Tempoif I moved away
could I see the trees as moss
or tangles of nettle?
if I zoom out of this magnifying glass
and stand above the cliffs
stand above the precipice
could I hold the sky in my palm?
I'm not in love
with you or them
or much of anything.
There's only flatlines running
across my mouth and eyes.
Only, my voice is ebony
and my fingers spark
I thought you saw the northern lights
in the lyrics I inhaled
but I guess we're all over
we're all flatlines.
All flat notes
and ink splotches.
I made a painting from a mistake.
I made a masterpiece from a discordant tune.
what you think of when you see my face.
My eyes are clearcuts, yes,
and my mouth is a flatline
but I'm in love with thoughts
and shipwreck stories.
I thought they were my bonfire kin
but they're just shadows flickering
at the edges of my symphony.
So keep dancing in place
with still arms and arid hearts
Keep hollering to the moon
and back down at the earth,
no bigger than a postage stamp.
even if I
Window Watching The wind surges through the streets, gathering the debris of the city along its way. A young man sits alone and lonely, apart from the raging torrent. Skyscrapers are scraped back by the knives of wind, and soot rises from the factories to coat some other unfortunate. The grains swirl into the young man's eyes, filling both with tears. He does not blink.
All the air is filled with the noise of shingles sliding, banners whipping, and the sighs ripped from the lips of strangers. A world seethes with life and being in the streets, humming the tune of existence. Above, the sky roars and swirls with primal power, with the forces that drives humanity to its knees. The young man looks up and harmonizes.
There's a rhythm to the eddying gusts and billowing thrusts, weaving together a song only he can hear. The people down below, they pull their collars up and dig their hands in deeper when the wind snatches a
March 9th, FactoryMarch 9th, Bottom Of A Dark Dark Damp Culvert Full Of Stale Air And A Cold Cold Me
I followed a rabbit downstairs. It was dragging my notebook in its mouth. There are buck-toothed marks all over the covers. I knew exctly where the rabbit was going. I will try and replace the covers soon. I knew exactly where I was headed. The rabbit is gone.
I know exactly where I am.
The stars have come out. Clouds are still stretched across the moon, but I can just make out Cassiopeia. When I was little I would wonder if the man in the moon and Cassie were in love. Or if they were like my parents. Why can't I remember?
My leg is throbbing horribly. I think it may be broken. I think....II knew how to make a splint. When did I fall? Why did I fall? Or did I do this myself?
Watching the sky change is giving me....making me...gods, where is the moon?
where am i?
MetamorphosisSome things in life
are just meant to be done;
breaking through brambles
with thorns in between your toes,
just for a few yellow daffodils.
running down to the mailbox
hair flying behind you,
feet slipping in the mud.
singing out the open window
into the rain plunging down,
while the trees crack beneath the storm.
living is only achieved through action.
I think, therefore I am.
I act, therefore I become.
Moving OnDon't tell me I am more than my failures,
remove my failures from me
and maybe I'll believe you.
There was a place in my frame
for drooping water lilies, like yourself
only they decomposed
all over me.
So I threw you out with the trash,
and I am sorry
but I am not letting you back in.
Stop shedding your skin over torn papers
and change, because this is life
it will not remake itself any different for you.
I will not change my truth, or myself,
unless I want to. Unless the question marks
dangling on your lips
begin with "Why?"
You already know.
My cemetaries are open, and golden
revere and weep for them.
The scars on my arms are from blackberry brambles
Every breath I take is a plea to existance
to notice me, and allow me another day
I won't tell you to stop crying in the rain,
but try to taste the drops when you do.
March 4th, HomebaseMarch 4th, Homebase
Business's a hassle lately; the fence keeps bailing. Maybe I should send Mort down for a visit sometime soon, I've already had to dispose of one client. If people were a bit less chicken and a little more man, I wouldn't have to put up with this ratguts...
There're some extra pieces to the latest shipment. Looks like stone amulets, sorta New World-looking; tongue out, big eyes, squiggly tentacles, the works. I'll see what witch is willing to identify them before someone winds up trapped in a mirror. Again.
March 4th, Apartment 2bMarch 4th, Second Trimester
Exorcism of the mold went okay. V.S put a hole in my wall. Patch that up later. Job interview tomorrow. Remember to bring extra padding.
Glide, pass backwards
March 4th, Motel Room 32March 4th, First Week of the Budding Season
That useless mechanic says it'll be another day until my car is up and running. Another stupid day in this stupid town. Just a mailbox, a "cigars" shop (actually the only store in town), and five cruddy little houses. Not even anyone on the street; that one glowing kid I saw didn't even take the gum I offered him! His loss, this stuff blows GREAT bubbles. G-R-E-A-T. man I hate this dump.
March 4th, FactoryMarch 4th, Derelict Factory Where The Cockroaches Crawl
Fog is slithering down into the vents. Fog snaking, belly-down, through the empty airways to fill the hallways and my throat. Fog clings to my socks, my shoes, the sweater with tiny lilies on it that is not mine, and my hair. Fog is spreading across the windowpanes and down the hollow, soot-scarred smokestacks standing vigil over a darkened realm.
Crows are falling from the sky.
Mental Disorder Discrimination"You said you've got depression?
No you don't, you attention seeker.
You're just an average teenager with the perfect life
Desperately looking for sympathy."
Stop crying, you coward.
You're just a childish "scaredy-cat".
Blaming your problems on a mental disorder
That doesn't even exist."
"So you're schizophrenic?
Grow the hell up, and stop acting like a child
You're too old for imaginary friends
You callow, juvenile, little twit."
But if we're attention seekers,
Why do we try so hard to hide our feelings from the world?
Why do we isolate ourselves in our rooms,
Desperately hiding the cuts on our wrists
Trying our best to live a normal life?
And if we're simply "scaredy-cats",
Why is our fear so vividly intense?
Unlike simple fear, our anxiety will stick with us forever
A severe long-lasting feeling of powerful panic.
A feeling from which we'll never be free.
Suddenly we're childish for having a mental disorder?
Schizophrenia is not something we can control.
YouIf you’re a girl, you’re a girl.
If you’re a boy, you’re a boy.
If you’re white, you’re white.
If you’re black, you’re black.
If you’re gay, you’re gay.
If you’re bi, you’re bi.
If you’re straight, you’re straight.
If you’re religious, you’re religious.
If you’re an atheist, you’re an atheist.
If you’re mentally disabled, you’re still human.
If you’re physically disabled, you’re still human.
For everything you are:
So who are they to judge you for who you are?
to me you are perfect
I do not know the reasons
for all those scars burning
against your bright skin
you've been soaking
a pain reminiscing from past
we both cannot recollect
yet you are so beautiful..
when night gets darker
and I am the one...
who's hungered to undress
the spirit of you
slowly revealing the layers
coming off from shadows
disguised in desires
craving to be fulfilled
I will caress every corner
of your silhouette
until I figure the true shape
of your heart
I will rub those blisters
softly until every nerve
of you gushes into a river
and you moan into a life
I had promised you
years ago when we began
to breathe into each other
for all the truths
I must swallow
and lessons I must learn
you are the one
I am destined to discover
what it means
to love in perfection
daydreams and monsters.she was a girl.
she ran with the moon,
chased fireflies in the bluegrass, and
watched the reflection of sunsets in rain puddles.
her name was Alice,
and she was a girl.
but to the dragonflies she was a queen,
and to the mirror she was a sister.
the moon was her prince, and the
blinking windows were the eyes
that kept her safe.
she spent her nights making wishes, and she
dragged her fingers along the shooting stars
that were tangled with her vertebrae.
her name was Alice,
and she was a girl.
her body was a river
her mind was an ocean
and her heart was the sky.
she lived in a world where
doves flew in the sea and
whales swam in the
poem for borderlinesif i could concentrate over
seven hundred thousand eyes
at the roof to the numbers stepping
from the nicities & rows
to go back
to the shattered surface
& the ripples beating over the hang
halfway between shallow
biting lips. maybe--
she couldn't have known
that it takes a whole three minutes
for the lungs to
well, maybe she
who, oh well
the white; the haze--
the booming over
the spume and spray
me get out of my head
just pull up the shutters
my tongue the weight to talk
but that's all we'll ever be:
a match burning itself out for
under the backspray of someone else's wheels
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.
Genghis Whenever we were bad my mother used to take us to the mall to see Genghis Kahn. They kept him in a dusty diorama of a Mongolian steppe, all tall grass and yurts. He sat on a throne of bone (well, plastic shaped like bone), scowling in incomprehension at the American kids who flocked around him like startled lemmings. My mother would usually push us toward him, saying things like “Tell him what you did to your father’s stamp collection.” Genghis would give a grunt, spit a wad of phlegm onto the tall grass, and give us a wizened, wrinkled grimace, as if he had to go to the bathroom.
He terrified me.
My brother couldn’t get enough of him.
When my brother got caught in my mother’s evening dress, my mother grabbed us both and dragged us to Genghis. It was a slow day, and we were the only kids crowding him. “Tell him what you did,” my mother hissed a
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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