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boy who belongs to the sunhe asked me once, 'are you afraid to die?' and i didn't know how to answer. i'd like to say that i am; that it scares me more than anything else, but i can't help but think that the world becomes a better place when you die. i told him i wasn't and he stared out the window at the dark street. resting his head against the slightly-frosted window pane, he breathed 'neither am i'
-
we're all just dying, though, don't you think? we're not living, we're dying. every day is another day we won't ever get back and another day that we won't ever remember. at least we're dying together, though. at least we can say that we've spent time watching our l
things i should have told him.she doesn't believe him when he tell her she's beautiful.
all she is is a mess of tired eyes and shaking hands knotted together in her lap. she is tangled hair that he can't put his fingers through and scarred knees he can't fix. she is scared and crying and she wants to be able to tell him but she won't. she is tear stained blankets and endless, sleepless nights. she is ugly and she hates who she has become.
-
she can't admit she's writing about herself. she writes in third person because it makes her believe its someone else that stares at their wall, trying to steady their breath at night. she writes lies because she thinks maybe if it
autumn leaves.there's this girl i don't know but i know she has the prettiest eyelashes and the most amazing coloured eyes. i might not know her, but i do know though, is that she has the prettiest words and she really deserves to understand how she makes people feel. she makes me want to fill her bedroom with dry autumn leaves so she can break their spines on her birthday and makes me want to fill her mind with other people's feelings. the feelings that they get when they read about monarch butterflies and masochism. the feeling that they get when it's as if nothing else matters but the words she's scribbled down and the feeling as if they could live in h
two weeksmadeline wants to paint a picture on a canvas.
she wants to build a tree house and wants her netball team to win the final.
meet someone new every day. she wants to realise pink's an ugly colour and throw out all of her clothes.
-
she wants to make her first phone call to a boy and hold his hand and go to his house. she wants to get butterflies and wants to share a hot chocolate with him. she wants to have her first kiss.
-
she wants to listen to music until its all she can hear. she wants to fail tests and say fuck studying, she wants to get a detention and wants to tell her parents that she handed in the excursion money, but keep it
i will be a birdit is the day before christmas and she's waking up her car. the windows are frosted over and the car seat is freezing beneath her. she sits up and opens the door. outside it is windy and she feels goodebumps run up her spine. her fingernails are digging into the cold skin on her bare legs and she's on the verge of tears. she doesn't cry though. she never, ever cries.
-
it is three days after chrismas and she's laying in her back yard on patches of dead grass, shaking. she's shrouded in coats and blankets but its raining and once the water seeps through the cotton it clings to her skin. she's drinking champage mixed with rain water from a pa
globe with an empty skydear thunderstorm clouds:
you're just the cold air that sifts through my fingertips
and please, give me my love back
give him back to me
--

last night I felt the beach; the s a n d---;
drifting, falling t h r o u g h my fingers
but they weren't like the clouds, or you
because they did not disappear;
they don't hide
like you always do.

[maybe i'll find you, if i dig deep enough
or maybe I'll just fall into my own hole and suffocate]

our sandcastles and hopes are washing away.

and my dear seagulls:
open your eyes and forget all the whispering seashells and the ocean's invisible dulcet notes
hear these querulous, brusque cars;
bird with a broken wing.-

it was late. the sea on the horizon looked like the end of the world and everyone was telling us to grow up when really all we wanted to do was dream. all we've ever wanted to do is dream.
the water was dark at the bottom of the rock bank where we sat; calm and still, smelling heavily of seaweed and reminding me of summers that i spent singing on rocks as i watched the waves at the beach.
the boys around me picked up small rocks and threw them as far as they could. i lleant back, looked up at the sky and asked them why they had to ruin it.
they said they had to know they could make an impact on something. that they could change someth
secrets in your pockets - chey, you,
you're that one with the secrets in your pockets and the penny-copper eyes that i try to avoid. in homeroom, i asked for a show of hands for who else thought you were beautiful [it was unanimous]. and you say you don't know? you say you don't understand? just let me tell you what goes on in my head:
the crack between my lips is painted with vanilla cherry but is chipped to pieces and needs yours pressed against them to come back to life. my inbox is lonely and missing your texts. my eardrum misses your voice, my eyes miss your face breathing oh so close to mine in ijusthadthekissofmylife gasps. and i'm just tired of missed chance
11.41sometimes she wishes she could say sorry, too.
but she hates lying and she'd rather spend nights crying into her pillow
but don't worry, it's so much easier for you that way.

sometimes she wishes people could understand.
but losing yourself in early hours of the morning is impossible, isn't it?
its okay, you'll never know what it feels like to fucking forget who you are.

sometimes she wishes she could mean something she says.
but she's never fine and it won't be okay. in the end it'll all just be the same.
its alright though, you're not the one who doesn't feel anything at all.

sometimes she wishes she could just mean something.
to
ask the butterfliesdear girl,

i have a brick house with old wooden floors. vines grow up onto my porch and i sit, thinking i can watch them grow. i have white stone paths that lead to my front door, made of old, heavy wood. the cherry blossom in my backyard sometimes reminds me of you - your bright eyes and gorgeous skin. sometimes their flowers are scattered across the yard; flecks of pink and white on wet green grass, just like your mind - scarttered but still more beautiful than ever.
the doors in my house creak when opened, and i don't own a comfy couch or matress. my porcelain teapot is covered in small, blue floral patterns and flowers grow on my window
maybe in the morning,-

she remembers watching the sunset from her father shoulders and thinking that it was as if the sun was dying. as if its long life was slowly falling away behind the skyline and that it sprayed colors across the ever-darkening sky to remind people that death is a beautiful thing. that in the morning, a new sun would rise and everything will be bright.
when she dies, she wants to go out like a sunrise. she wants people to watch in awe as she changes everything just one last time and makes death beautiful.

-

she's older now, and she imagines that death is like being awake at night; the comforting silence and the dark that accompanies it. f
the soundtrack of our winter,i'm just a kid  trying to make something beautiful
from the restricting feeling that encloses my chest and the hopelessness that presents itself in the form of blurred vision and
shaking,
submitting hands.
-
it's all i've got;
life gets fucking ugly and i write stories to the shins and jeff buckley
but i can't deal with it any more;
can't deal with the lines underneath my eyes and can't write
about this any more
-
i hate my body
its just a shell for the words i
spill
-
would you even cry?
would you get up and move on or would you take the
kurt cobain route;
or blow your fucking brains out?
-
do you need to k
too fucking beautifulnote: this is backwards, and for a reason.
_______________________________________

I didn’t bury her; I couldn’t.
-
She was too beautiful; just too fucking beautiful.
Even when she lay there with her flesh in puzzles and the skin on her face rotting to expose her cheekbones and the empty spaces underneath them, she was like a doll; a beautiful, disgusting doll. I still call her love, but she doesn’t answer.
-
She screams, and I run the silver blade over her stomach again. I don’t press hard enough to cut, but I press hard enough to make her silent. I turn back to her feet, and push the end of the knife under anothe
when it rains - collabi thought of you the other day with paper cuts on your fingers. it doesn't make much sense, but it made me feel like you were made of more than sunlight streaming in through broken windows. it made me feel like you were human, and my irregular heartbeat was consistent in your world.

when i thought of you, you were wishing on fallen daises and writing letters to the wind. you always loved wind, i remember. i don’t like the wind now, it always reminds me of the way it would shake our window panes at night and i would crawl up next to you and fall asleep on your shoulder.

i felt safe with my head tucked beneath yours and you used to run y
snow melting in midair.there are no words left in her system.
she's beyond alone, and shivering cold. lying curled up naked next to her toilet she begs her unreliable god to let her sleep. she has vomit through her hair and she smells of cheap wine and stale cigarettes.
she feels violated and disgusting, and won't stop telling herself she's a failure.
[but gorgeous, dark haired honey, look at you,
you are]

-

he cries in the shower so no one will hear him. all he can feel is hot mist filling his lungs and cold air falling over his skin from the open door. he lets the water drip down and over his open lips, as he reminds himself how horrible he is.
he falls
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More from ~rachel-rhapsody

don't be sorrysometimes i think i fell in love with you in a dream.
and when i opened my eyes, i felt as though i was still asleep.
and even though these words mean less to me than they will to you,
i write because it makes me feel like i can go back to that.

sometimes it feels as though i could write myself an entire world
and slip away, into the way everything should be -
fall into the world where everything worked out the way it should have

and i'm sorry that they don't
but this life is not a fucking dream anymore
and the touch of your skin feels real,
it feels harsh and uncomfortable
because i know that the more i love you
the more i'm goi
death of a dreamstanding against the grey bricks on the sidewalk, and watched as the city unfurled in front of them, illuminated towers rising above overdressed crowds that hovered between traffic lights, rising into the emptiness of the night sky.

they had a staring competition, but she knew, for her, it was just an excuse to look at him properly. an excuse to study the delicate ivy of his irises, the curl of his eyelashes. he couldn't help but look away, and she couldn't help but smile.

-

sometimes she thinks that the warmth of her arm against his,
could tell him better than any words ever could.
you're more than methere is a whole universe laying in the empty space between your rib bones. and whole, ever-expanding, glittering universe.

-

in the quiet hours of the early morning, your arm resting beside mine, you told me about the sky. with words like the sun and the moon and the whole fucking phenomena of life itself, cigarette between your lips, you spoke as if you were talking to an empty room, syllables falling from the back of your throat into existence and then fading as fast as they were created. it was dark, but your eyes were open and i know it. you weren't looking at anything though, just the emptiness and the blue wash of my bedroom ceiling
if you gaze for too longand maybe i think right now i'm supposed to be feeling something like sadness,
or despair

but there is none of that
for feeling left me long ago when i told myself
that there was nothing left  
in you for me
anymore

and this emptiness is comforting,
in its all encompassing promise
that no darling, you'll never
feel alone again

you'll never feel the sting, the bite,
the winter cold
again

but with it comes the tendrils of darkness
that wrap around our irises
and remind us
that no, it will not be same
pretty, brown haired boy.

it will not be the same
what happenedremember tilly? well she grew up.
she lays in oversized, second hand couches in a bad position for her back, sipping red wine and watching things she doesn't understand on television. there's no more crying, no more love or willow trees or hope - there's only a faint, dull misery that hangs at the back of her head. she sits there, doused in an orange glow, and smiles at her visitors and at her son, but there's no meaning to that smile.
she thought growing up would be about finding a meaning to that smile, but instead it about forgetting what smiling even means.

acoustic music by teenage boys she used to fall in love with fills her lounge
somethingi've forgotten all the things that made me feel alive;
left behind all of the pretty words
that made my emptiness mean something
when spilt onto paper

and now, my words are just my letters
to the world that i don't live in anymore

to the girl i didn't know, but who filled
everything i ever wrote with a aura
reminiscent of butterflies and ivy
green eyes, of the moon and oak trees
and the birds that called them home

now, these words are just hollow
reminders of the place i left behind
that i believed in more than i believed
in myself, even though i knew
it never really existed

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October 11, 2009
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[x]

learn to smile

:iconrachel-rhapsody:

there’s this man whose eyes bleed this beautiful, sad blue. he hides it though, behind dark crops of hair and thick eyelashes. sometimes i find myself wanting to count the folds and wrinkles that hide his cheekbones and teach him how to smile. there’s times i pass him and he’ll be pressing a cup of coffee gently to his lips and it makes me happy. i don’t know why but i think it shows me he’s alive. he’s heart’s beating and he’s feeling something, anything.
-
he writes postcards to himself from his capital city to make sure he never forgets where he is. he posts them to himself and wonders why he does it. he can’t really remember, but he buys new postcards every wednesday on his way home from work. he tells himself who he is and who he wants to be tomorrow. he’s never who he wants to be, though. he’s always who he wishes he wasn’t.
-
on friday nights i walk my dog past the pier. sometimes i’ll walk down to the end, watching the sunset in the skyline. he’s there every night. he sits with his legs hanging off the very end and i find myself wanting to not get too close. i’m not scared, but he looks peaceful and i’m afraid i’ll disturb him. maybe he’s imagining he’s got the world beyond him. maybe he’s imaging that there’s nothing in the world but a sunset-orange sea dotted with the silhouettes of sailing boats. maybe that’s when he’s happy. when he’s alone, and somewhere else.
-
sometimes i think that maybe his sad eyes are only the surface of it. i think maybe he’s suffering. it was thursday night and maybe nine-thirty. it was dark outside but the train was lit and the windows were like holes. just dark abysses. he was staring out them anyway. i thought that he might have been daydreaming, but then i saw tears rolling down his wrinkled face. his hands were shaking in his lap and sitting across from him i felt so sorry for him. something about seeing an old man cry i think cut deep. he turned to me and stuttered that he’d seen me before.
-
‘i’ve seen you before too’
‘you shouldn’t have’
‘why not?’
‘because you don’t deserve to have. i’m nothing’
‘no you’re not’
‘forget me’
‘why?’
‘forget i exist’
‘why?’
‘don’t ever forget you exist, though’
-
the train stopped and i got off. the moon bled a sad, beautiful blue and i fell asleep trying to forget. i couldn’t though, i couldn’t ever. i never saw him again, but i hope he’s in a world where all he can see is sunset orange sea and all he can taste is warm coffee pressed to his cracked lips. i hope he doesn’t have to daydream and that his electric blue eyes aren’t sad anymore. i hope he’s learnt to smile.
:iconrachel-rhapsody:
this one's for chloe :iconocd-arsonist:
because she keeps me sane without knowing it.

-

yes, fail at not deviantart-ing.
i'm just posting then i'll be gone.
sorry.
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:iconkaz-d:
Critique by ^Kaz-D Nov 3, 2009, 6:08:01 AM
I found this very moving, from the first words until the last. The imagery is wonderful, 'I find myself wanting to count the folds and wrinkles that hide his cheekbones and teach him how to smile ' that particular line just made me have goosebumps, such fantastic words spun together. The transition from description to speech is smooth and executed well. 'Don't ever forget you exist, though.' that line just rounds the whole description off nicely. And your finally reflection of, I hope he's learnt to smile ties it all back together. You have an amazing writing style, thank you for sharing.
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:iconmyfutureis100:
Mood: Love ~Myfutureis100 Mar 11, 2013
Beautiful! :)
Reply
:iconrachel-rhapsody:
~rachel-rhapsody Mar 12, 2013
thank you!
Reply
:iconmyfutureis100:
~Myfutureis100 Mar 12, 2013
You're welcome!
Reply
:iconsammur-amat:
=Sammur-amat Nov 11, 2012   General Artist
Congratulations on the truly deserved DLD, lovely :huggle:
Reply
:iconrachel-rhapsody:
~rachel-rhapsody Nov 11, 2012
Thank you so much!
Reply
:iconsammur-amat:
=Sammur-amat Nov 17, 2012   General Artist
You're most welcome<3
Reply
:icondailylitdeviations:
=DailyLitDeviations Nov 10, 2012
Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by DailyLitDeviations in a news article that can be found here [link]
Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by :+fav:ing the News Article.
Reply
:iconrachel-rhapsody:
~rachel-rhapsody Nov 11, 2012
Oh my gosh, thank you so much! Means the world and a half :heart:
Reply
:iconwakiagaru:
!wakiagaru Nov 3, 2009
This is the kind of piece that makes me want to hug the world and never let go~
Thank you so much for posting a wonderful piece like this. It's absolutely beautiful. :heart:
Reply
:iconrachel-rhapsody:
~rachel-rhapsody Nov 3, 2009
naw. thank you so much :heart:
Reply
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