how do your hearts beat
in time, little birds, how do
you sing to each other?
what's the secret?
because, dear birds they have robbed
me of my love.
|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
of catastrophes ..you of catastrophes to never ending dreams
arms reaching out, ebbing, flowing, touching,
caressing mountains, hugging beaches.
being nothing more than a vast open
field which takes over the horizon, winding,
entrancing, forever pulling deeper,
letting nothing but a flicker of cationic gas
imploding, giving light to your eyes.
entrancing, dancing, prancing, pacing,
it's not wonder you sweep us from the ground, seizing,
for housing our souls in your abyss.
i don't knowYoure weird.
But you love me.
Because loving you is like running my hand under boiling water, just to see my skin peel red and raw and what is so deliciously forbidden underneath, like a legitimate reason to be hurting. Because youre the _________ I keep coming back to and binging on even when my stomach doesnt agree, just because in the moment, you taste so good. Because youre the shorts I outgrew so many years ago that I wear out of habit, even when they make me look like a whore or someone just stupid enough to walk outside without a shred of dignity. I love you because you are a boy of contradictions and pretences and I am sickening for you.
"I don't know, I just do."
you just never learn.Your first mistake was telling me that you'd fallen in love. Falling implies something that is easy, effortless, a mere succumbing to gravity. 'Falling' is the wrong word to describe the sound of your fingernails scraping against unforgiving cliff faces whilst you give everything you have into crawling back up. 'Falling' does not explain why this love is such a disease between us. Unless you mean falling from grace, in which case, certainly, both of us have lost our dignity, or that we have simply collapsed in on ourselves from the sheer weight of hope.
Your second mistake was believing that a muscle that froze long ago is still telling you that a kiss will make everything alright, that my arms will always be your bomb shelter, your safe harbour. In a way that is true, because my feet are concreted to the ground by your need, even if my walls are riddled with bullet-holes and sway with every breeze. And you know it too, that at any moment, I might fall.
Your last mistake was letting me
-c. thievesWe are agoraphobic little children, weaving gold from straw and placing spider kisses on handkerchiefs. You play a game of ocd and multiple personality disorders in which you will pluck hair from my bangs and dangle choices upon fine copper string. I'm sure your name has more than six letters because the best things in the world are never even, and your favourite colour will not be blue, or purple, but rather indigo or puce. You will be my four-leaf clover and downy feather, a gift from angels long departed. I know for a fact you will refuse to bury your face in my neck because yours will be far too beautiful to hide from such a grey world.
I am watching you closed-eyed from behind the reeds, because I dont need my eyes to know, and its part of the game because when youre little and naïve and still believe that everything is pictureperfect that if I cant see you then I am as invisible as spiderweb silk. You like to chase me and mummify me with ribbons, thou
figurative measurements.Between the two of us I was always the pessimist. The last time you caught me fluttering like a dragonfly amongst the reeds, you asked me "why the hurry?" I paused only long enough to tell you that we dont live forever, before I drowned once again in the feeling of taking one step forward, then being dragged, screaming, two steps back.
To my fleeting shadow you whispered, no, not forever. When I didnt come home because I was too busy destroying lives and gaining settlements, you played with the children and made them smile. My side of the closet had Armani suits, your's had plaid flannel with their sleeves already rolled up, and boots you never bothered to clean, even though they were covered in mud and smelt like the barn.
Eventually life played its sick, sick joke and you disappeared with the ashes that fluttered from the fireplace grate each time I brushed past, like the gold dust that littered the bench with your last abandoned experiment and melted like sno
definition of perfectHer idea of beauty is buck teeth nipping scarlet lips and a river of mascara down mottled cheeks. Her favourite songs are the ones sung off-key by the guy with the beer belly that lives next door, the one who never pulls down his blinds when he showers or ties up his rubbish bags quite tightly enough before taking them outside so that their contents spill onto the lawn like broken promises. She covets the animals in the shelter no one else wants, the ones with schizophrenia and missing limbs and all the flaws of cracking concrete. She's the one with porcelain skin and vortex eyes that is everyone else's perfect.
Jessica McQueen survives sixteen against all odds.
Two to one, she should have been
by the time she entered high school.
lowered in to the ground with the leaves
falling from trees that can smell
the nuclear winter coming.
The world staked its claim
on Jessica McQueen the instant she turned sixteen,
her blood flooded full-fledged
stop the clocka sea of houses comes rolling in
rusty roofs bending
shingles popping like fireworks
(expressing their independence, they die)
while you and I
(nothing more than genetic flotsam, now)
turn our eyes from a shattered-glass snowfall
and dream of the winters of our youth
this will be the end of days
this will be clouds folding into the earth
thunderstorms growling from foxholes
rain tumbling from rivers
as a clumsy conflagration stumbles into our skin
stealing our silhouettes
painting our ghosts on walls
(oh, had only we learned such passive resistance)
as you and I
(only numbers and figures, we know)
truly wear our hearts on our sleeves
when the world turns inside out
when sandcastles swirl into mountains
only to melt and flatten
until the rock has no wrinkles
when flowers shrink into their stems
like amateur stop-animation
when grass stalks and grandchildren
twist ever upward into smoke
and I no longer have any metaphors
for what the world made me love about yo
Our Savior~~Our Savior~~
He is the one who catches me when I fall
Who helps me to stand tall
He knows all of my needs
And supplies them with ease
Even though He knows I'm imperfect inside
He has never once left my side
Never am I alone in the dark
For He is always in my heart
When I am lost and afraid
He is always there to light the way
He is the one I take shelter in
And He cleanses me of all my sin
He comforts me when I am sad
And always lends me a helping hand
He shows me the only way
To brighter, happier, fun days
I will always give to Him with an open heart
Because that, to Him, is beautiful art
Now I never have to worry
But, for my sins, I must be sorry
Everyday he makes anew
And I will no longer have to be blue
But this not only applies to me
So I hope that this lets you see
That Jesus died on the cross
For both you and me
[transmissions of a dead girl]i am the
moon: i am
the silver pill
to weigh down
into leaden eyes--
i am the
of the dark.
the stars are
all dead in their
you'll be safe, dear,
as i am the moon,
with all of your
(i am good bye and yet,
you think only of romantic
i am the moon.
i am the crescent
and dead altogether,
i still die.
Keep in Touch!