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An IntermissionYour gaze lies heavy as a weight
firm and unforgiving
upon my mind.
I wilt under its wait, Calm
Cool, Collected, and perfectly nonchalant
Your gaze burns as the surface of the sun
oil and lava
upon my eyes
I wonder if I should look away, Frenzied
Hot, Scattered, and incredibly obvious
My gaze falls quick as a baby bird
too young to fly
upon your heart
RegressionWho is knocking? pitter patter
Outside my door
On a particularly loud day
I will see her drift by:
words on the wind,
a maze swimming
over a sea of images.
She will never stop
she can't stop
until she finds her
Breeze through the trees
catches on the leaves
and I wonder why
I don't see her
than a barest glimpse--
a lens flare on a sunny day--
just enough of the big picture
to paint a stroke of doubt,
forever a scar on the back of my mind.
Happy Fucking Fourth of JulySeeing red
White hot anger a coiled spring in my chest.
Age always forgets…
maturity remains with memories
while actions go forth blind.
Bind my dreams.
Lash my hopes.
Assault my heart.
Is it that hard to apologize?
Shame on Age:
it should fucking know better.
An older brother for a father
instead of butterfly kisses
Running On Empty, A 'How To' GuideHow am I supposed to eat my buildings?
Poison’s on the drafting table:
my pencils are only protecting me,
my hands their loyal servants.
I was only ever kidding myself.
I’m not cut out for this life.
The only things I’m eating
are processed saturated fats.
How am I supposed to make an outline
when I have
No Fucking Idea what I’m doing?
Am I even doing?
Unchecked: essays, job, license, writing, drafting
You don’t want to know what I’ve done,
what I’ve thought of doing.
You don’t want to know what I
wish I’d do.
Is this my life?
Moping and Wishing?
I stare into the mirror
like it will make a fucking difference.
And then I sit on my bed,
Hold my fucking bunny,
Write like there’s a point to
And I will for it to all go away.
Whymen?Many thoughts decide to cross my mind, while
a few choice thinks choose to tarry longer.
For example: is it in its nature
for a fox to be sly, or does it want
The Chase, Catch, Evasion as it so leads?
Perhaps, after a fashion, consider
the Alpha wolf…does he choose dominance?
Or is he really just pretending
to save face in the ‘innocuous’ pack.
Turn now to the helpless bunny rabbit:
a baby amongst mewling predators.
"At least it won’t be baked into a pie,"
whispers the half-assed, half-hearted conscious.
When we strip the animal metaphor
(Beating the dead horse or around the bush?)
might we be left with anything at all?
The purpose and meaning of a hymen,
and the questionable existence of
I am a MouseI am a mouse.
I am quiet, I am nothing.
I am a book that nobody has read.
I am an eclipsed sun and a cloaked moon.
I am irrelevant and unwanted, a broken toy in an attic.
I am the dust in your rear-view mirror that you leave behind.
I am the air that you breathe in and spit out as something different.
I am the palest white. I am the darkest black. I am the dullest, emptiest grey.
I am the old man with forgotten memories and the baby who has yet to make them.
I am a forgotten word, dangling on the tip of your tongue, hanging on the noose of your lips.
I am a dried up stream. I am a felled forest. I am an abandoned cornucopia of resolute nothingness.
And there is Hell burning in my eyes.
PainParalized by the suffering
A shiver down my spine
Images of my past haunt me
No one can save me from this hell
A void within meAlone on this inhospitable night, once again
I let my memories guide my lost steps,
Wandering amid the ghosts of my past.
As I walk along the quay,
I stare at the feeble Seine flowing:
She's dying by the street lamps' hands
While the whole city asphyxiates.
Reflecting my own lack of humanity
Over the river's lighted surface,
Griefs come and go at the water's rhythm.
Once again, on this breathtaking night,
My feelings are sealed and my chest hollow.
Purple rain, chills of cold.... Or regret? I crave
My musical drug, my remaining salvation,
Spreading a sweet poison within me and
Eroding the remaining happiness I still have.
I plug my headphones...
A grin of relief appears on my weary face,
I flee to lenient lands, where a familiar Angel tucks me in.
These notes of violin split the immutable silence,
Fill the hole in, lit a bonfire to my soul.
This mermaid sings my dreams to me,
i can't keep walking on these dry-rot bonesoh, i am not a poet;
like the ink scratches
of plath, i am
specter boy: decay,
dispose, & disappoint
because this is the way
that writers wane -
(this hangman head is no
survivor story, & gods
do not burn out
you talk like a travestyoh, mercury boy, you can't
write your way out of this
body or out of this mind;
you can pray like it's high-fashion,
insist you're only burning yourself out
(but tell me - do you feel like a god yet?)
if only for murky mirrors &
silver cicadas caught
in your ribcage, you've
got a knack for decaying
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 breath 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
california wintersthe tears
I rationed have all
run out. Tuesday comes
up behind me and steals
my breath; my cat snores.
she can’t sleep soundly
since she lost her seventh
life. I’m like that, I’m always
worried someone will try to steal
what I’ve already given away.
I miss color. newsprint sobs
washed me out. I am a
blank canvas, I am a faceless,
I am one
of you. I wake up sweating
and it’s winter and I can’t
sleep because my memories
follow me between my sheets;
jake still won’t listen.
we never knew we were the
lucky ones, we scarred, too. don’t
touch me. don’t want
me, don’t bare my bones
when you think I’m not
watching. I’m afraid of
myself. breathing loud
enough that others know
I exist; you follow me,
needing, laughing, it’s
a game. who has lost
the most, we all want
to win; I’m so tired, so scared,
there’s no one in the world
who sees me. I can’t cry.
we’re in a drought.
Hold the HeartI.
Your heart is like the old wall,
at the end of the street,
filled with random scribbles,
of names and dates.
Though yours smells of wine and scented candles,
cluttered with faulty promises rather than garbage.
I watched you toss it so many times,
like a useless rag ball, but this time hurt didn't it?
She couldn't bear to see her name,
topping the list of a million others,
nor the lipstick print you forgot to wipe,
mixed with the scent of another's perfume.
She added a new smudge to your wall,
a line of black carefully drawn
across the memories and faces,
and firmly stated:
"No more littering allowed at all".
Then she took a hammer and ripped a hole,
wincing in disgust at the decaying flesh hiding below.
Hold your heart in your hands,
the patches can no longer sustain,
there are too many pieces now,
I think you're even harming it more,
with every sting of the needle,
while you desperately try to sew it whole.
Keep in Touch!
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