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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.
collapsibleshe allowed herself
legs collapsing into
vertebrae grinding together
heavenly entropyHis lips were sticky with the lies
He'd drawn from her fingers, tracing contours
in the basin below; God's bathtub was grimy
with sin, and outgrowths of water lilies.
into the substance most call
humidity. i named it after your dead pets,
but my friends refuse to acknowledge it,
citing personal problems
in the hot
hot days, you let out steam
into my airspace. i land undisturbed but shaken,
full of hypotenuses but without an interest
in anything other than literature.
we learn slowly what it means
between the sheets of autumns long gone,
blue-eyed girl. some other stranger
takes your place, before the night
sends me drifting, to recollect what I can
like a scar that refuses
to wash away its own memory
easing into uneasy hibernation
during the months when you huddle
and tell yourself solitude
is the best remedy for old age.
you let yourself forget
who was the dragonfly queen
and who it was who grinned at you
canines worn down to pacifist nubs
and offered you a glass
full of syrupy summer.
you allow yourself to remember
only the nights, the horseflies
dogging your heels.
dry whistles pierce the air
burning holes in your cocoon.
she lifts her lips to reveal instincts
deeper than what she will ever say
swirling in the ocean, in her stomach
when you sigh, it is a relief
to allow the memories to guide your hand
but your skin still aches
she is your dragonfly queen
you are the mountains carved in monuments
to the stars,
who look down on your hopeless faith
Ghost StoriesAfter-images haunt me
throughout the night, and most of the day.
I find solace in lovers' serenades
Their memories dissolve in sunlight
but empty eyes meet mine
beneath the clouds.
None of them can answer me
when I ask "did I do wrong,
did I make a mistake,
or one I can build on?"
Eventually I turn homewards
as there's no where else worth going
when you've buried a part of yourself.
Princesses get caught up on tree limbs
but you got tangled in all sorts of traps;
the creatures shiver in the darkness
"where are you?"
I whisper, left in the darkness,
"where did they leave you hanging?"
Midnight answers nothing
besides lost shoes plummeting
from the telephone lines.
The promises they were attached to
are just as easily forgotten.
I left posies on the hangman's tree
and followed the mists to some where
with less ghost stories.
Unable to loveMy love was pure
I only wanted
But my heart
Because my love
Like a piece of garbage
And now I'm unable
Because the shreds
Of my shattered soul
now i see the stars.there was a time when i
couldn't catch my breath whenever i
thought about you , (crippled lungs and-
boy, you hit me like an asteroid,
there's a crater on my chest now that I can't ever seem to fill,
oceans of my tears cried on
nights when you couldn't be there to sing me to sleep.
thirty two poemless days after you joined the constellations,
i walked out into the yard and howled to the empty sky,
for a moment i was Gaea, rivers running down my cheeks,
weighted to the ground and
buried in myself, but
where there is no light there are no shadows, and
sometimes, i wonder if i miss me.
yes, yes i do.
i may not see the moon, but
MathematicsI am but the sum of my
F L A W S;
a network of
S C A R S
a disaster of
D R E A M S
a shield of
B O N E S
C A L C U L A T I O N
a void of
to the girl i lose my words aroundi have been meaning to tell you for years:
i think you’re beautiful. i have
seen nothing on earth that holds a candle
to the ocean you carry inside your body.
it spills over your edges sometimes, like
a rain shower around you, blurring your penciled-in
lines until there is nothing left of you but your natural
cliffs, valleys, and deserts.
i like that.
i have never met someone who is, somehow,
a sea and a storm at the same time.
maybe i never will again.
maybe you are the only one
who gathers clouds on her forehead
like a promise, or feels the push and pull of the tide
with her every step.
you are beautiful, honestly.
you are honest, beautifully.
it is in the way you talk, the way you hold ice
on your tongue but forget to use it—
you always forget to use it, i don’t think
you know how.
to be truthful, i’m afraid of your smile
and how it breaks over me, how it pulls
me like a whirlpool down, how it pushes me
like a current back to the surface. i’m afraid of
i am made of nights like theseativan boy, you cannot empty out this skull -
not with a pen nor with a bullet. you can
be my hallowed head(case) for spitting out
words like teeth; oh, but i will only love you
when you're weary. i will keep crows caged
between your lungs like veins, like palpitations.
i will rot you through bones & car radios,
but i will never get (you) out of your skin.
ScienceI am more than my
F L A W S;
a masterpiece of
S C A R S
a delicacy of
D R E A M S
a sculpture of
B O N E S
R E A C T I O N
a well of
Abuse Is Sometimes NecessaryPush and pull at her long hair, topple her to the solid ground,
elbow her sharply in the raw gut, shove her harshly around.
Scratch him in the pale face, punch him in the broken jaw,
do anything necessary to him that's considered breaking the law.
And when she cries because you've punched her, let her be,
and observe her when she returns to her habitual smoking.
When she passes out next day, because she's drunken too much booze,
slap her in the face once more, though many would consider it abuse.
When he can hardly walk because he thinks he's high in the clouds,
rip the needle out of his arm, and with your nails, slash him across the sweaty brow.
Grab them and shake them till their battered and bruised,
tear at their heart, scream in their ears until you've reached the point of verbal abuse.
And when she falls into your chest, and he collapses to the ground,
pull them closely, and whisper, “We can turn this all around.”
And rehab is a necessity for all of you, because you'v
surgeryi promised not to scar
my skin. so i cut out my
brain and hurled it into
just like cancer, the worst of me is dead.
Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)
I hope the title caught your eye,
because this is about you.
Many of us speak in superlatives
and ambiguous language.
In imagery-laden text masquerading
underneath double entendres
keeping us from a part of the truth.
But purple streaks and red bands,
harp strings and soft hands
don't begin to explain
the love I have for you.
So I lay these words down
simple in its vulnerability,
blemished and raw in its purity.
The term lissome fits you in many ways,
but not necessarily it its textbook form.
I speak on the part that is not readily seen
but what is easily most cogent.
Your consciousness' cognizance
is graceful in the way
you fold one syllable over
another, supple in its meaning
that can take many forms
going from idle lies
to how we idolize hollow eyes
and uncovered hip bones.
Elegance is an understatement,
but I refuse to speak in cliche superlatives.
I speak honestly
but not with exaggerated grandeur.
Because your immediate app
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.
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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