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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 that in the deepest part of your existence, wasn't really a ceiling at all. it was the corners of our galaxy, and you were there, peeking out into the unknown. through the darkness, you found something there and you held onto it.
and god, i think you even smiled into that darkness. i wrapped myself around you, and wished on every star you could see i
closurebukowski once said that the best often die by their own hand -
but you, i think you died at the hand of this world,
in all of its cruelty and darkness
i can't help but wonder if you were scared,
if your hands shook when you fell from this world into the next
i'd like to think though, that you were calm in your dark, concrete haven
that you closed your eyes unafraid
i'd like to think that there is a god -
a gentle hand that wrapped itself around your tired body
and that you were truly happy, where ever it is he took you
but for some reason, i think you're a bird
you'd make a beautiful bird.
i hope that my words, when you scribbled them down
in fury, in desperation, in a numb void
gave you at least a bit of comfort -
made you feel, even for a split second,
i will remember you by the mornings we spent together in the sun,
outside the grey lockers, legs outstretched and warm
and the smile you used to give the world when things were,
to go withoutsometimes i wonder what it would be like to live without thinking about if the homeless man i see on my way to school has children. he has the sort of eyes that glow with a thousand stories, the kind my parents friends used to tell me when i was little, about how cruel the world can be. i would sit around a fire watching them sip their beer or whiskey or wine, and they'd just stare at the ground with glassy faces as if reciting the lines to a play they knew too well.
the man stares as i walk past, every day without fail. sometimes i wonder if he remembers me or not, or if he just likes to study people the way i do. he's spent so long just watching, waiting as the growing world evolves around him, left behind like the boy in primary school who could never run as fast as the rest of us.
often, i lay in bed and imagine him against his weathered brick wall in the dark and hope that he is okay. one day i'd like to talk with him, about his life and his childhood and how he ended up against t
but yousilence unfolds, breaking and falling
like the young and the blind, like the
rhythmic pattern of sun and rain
and i grow hollow and eternal, fingertips
tracing the hollows of your shoulder blades
while the night holds its breath for us
damp orange light dances stale ballet
with the smoke trailing your jaw, and your
eyes make me feel like this pain -
no, it never existed
giving upMy father once told me that I was the kind of person who should never give up on anything. I was young, I had no idea what he meant. He leaned into me, stared into my bright eyes and told me that the world becomes a scary place when you're older. It eats you alive, if you give up.
He was sitting on the other side of a terracotta coffee table, on the back porch of our old house, grape vines clawing their way up and around the wooden poles on either side of him, the sunlight beginning to shine through their thin, bright green leaves. This is how I remember him now between the grape vine frame, cigarette in his hand, one knee curled up to his chest and a smile spread across his not yet darkened face. This is how I like to remember my father. How he was when he was happy, when he was young and innocent and he lived as though he knew the whole world was bowing to him; waiting at his fingertips.
Sometimes though, I can't help but remember the way he'd cry every time he'd call me for m
an ode to platoshe was stepping slowly and deliberately from the curb to the road, the first time i turned to see her, as if she enjoyed the fleeting moment where it felt like she was falling. her lips were parted, eyes squinting into the sun down the road; flecks of the grey, clouded sky of the inner suburbs reflected in their delicate irses. everything had always looked more beautiful in her eyes.
for that moment, and every moment she held my gaze afterwards, she made me feel alive.
sometimes i felt as though she carried a small part of a quiet world with her where ever she went. watching the world pass her by, she crawled into the peaceful silence of her mind and there, she was content.
she sat at the back of the courtyard at the cafe i worked at once, wearing an orange dress with her legs crossed, and i swear to god - if plato had anything right, it was that there is objective beauty in this universe.
i slided her soy latte to the middle of her table gently and wordlessly - she struck me as the t
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 going to hurt you
fuck i just wish i could love you
the way i used to
you are a poem that has never met paper,
a sun that has never risen
though as the sun sets, throwing darkness
across this loft bedroom, your smile
is all i can see
i lay alone now, but tangled in your words
and the sound of your four-stringed guitar.
i think i will dream of your hands, warm
as they trail a pattern across my waist,
filling the aching silence with colour
and a song about a dead girl
brought back to life
.i have a feeling she would have loved to have seen these days.
the whole world has begun to unfurl itself in front of our nonchalant eyes, opening like the flowers in fast forward on movies; slowly at first, but then quickly, until its all there, waiting. she would have liked to have watched us take our first breaths of that new air, i think.
but then again, i don't know what she would have liked. maybe she didn't like anything.
and maybe that's why she's not here to open her eyes to a new world with us.
there was a picture of her on my wall all along, and i never even realised.
it's all green, and her face is covered, but it's her.
and really, that's all i have left.
there is a strange darkness that consumes these days too though. perhaps she saw it all coming, behind the thin layer of blonde hair that covered her when she was at her most beautiful.
it's a strange and scary thing, to see your friends die.
on telescopesyour world was small.
fit in the tiny
crook of your elbow
and where would the
where would it go?
your moon was untethered.
your Earth was ungrounded
and could i
be the prayer to your sex?
could i get on my knees
and fill my mouth with your ecs-
tasy, i mean redemption, and i mean empty-
and your world had been reckoned.
you had fucked and unfucked
and i was your champion.
small musingpeople are always so
sad about caged birds
the fish in the bowl?
the nature of the soul?
the arrow and the bow?
the turtle, a slave to his shell
never running, always hiding-
walls, small devils and taut strings.
i am not so sad about the bird
in the cage.
what i am most sad about is
the look on my own face when i heard
you said you wanted me out
of your life for good.
i am a slave to old
grudges and i am
too proud to
the final hoorah of our freedomsjack and jill went up the hill
and found that there was cancer.
mouths hard as cracks,
and jill's hand in jack's-
'what's there to ask?'
they thought, standing back,
and what would be the answer?
'well, hell,' said jill
'we climbed this hill
to find death waiting, and grinning.'
'well...' said jack
'knowing that, do you wish
we'd quit at the beginning?'
and jill's hair was fair
and her heart, fairer,
she found doubt was plenty,
and faith, rarer.
and jack was wise
knowing time, lady of woe and wench of wine,
he took one last fuck as his freedom-
he ripped quickly her dress,
found truth in the press
of the skin of the body
on being free, chained, and whatever's in betweenhey, it's me. it's christmas eve. and well i know you know that, but i feel like if you save this message, it will be important to know that it's christmas eve or something. i'm alone and it's christmas eve. all i can do is move the way the music moves me and i feel like i need to be oiled. i'm not moving the way i want to be moved. i'm not really saying i need to be fucked or anything i just need a body to remind me what joints do. or i mean how they're supposed to feel. something like that. i don't even want to be in love. i don't love you anymore. i don't know who you are. i knew you once in the summer and in the fall and in the winter and in the spring and in the summer again and a little in the fall too. i knew that you were an untameable fire on a rampage but i did not expect you to burn your own body and you burned me too i'm not even sad i'm just so mad at you i'm so mad at you and i'm a little drunk and i'm a little fucked up and i'm not even sad i swear to you i'm not sad.
on hindsightif you would have told me
i will love you conditionally,
when i am feeling good, but not too good
because when i feel my very best i will
not need you, when i am feeling bad,
but not too bad because at my very worst
i will hate you.
i will stand with you provisionally,
so long as i do not have to stand very long
and i can take breaks from you as i please-
i will look into you tentatively
and reach the decision that i am better than you,
that you are one big fucking joke, that i have
a higher calling to marijuana and making
temporary homes inside of nice, but stupid
if you had told me that now when we talk
it's only because you want to know who i'm fucking
and where i'm at and what i'm doing not because
you care about me, but because somewhere in the
back of your mind you claimed me and even though
you are not stepping up to fill your position as
high conqueror of my cunt, you expect me not
to look for satisfaction elsewhere.
if you had told me that i would waste the past few m
on leaving it behindi still
this might appall you
or agonize you but i do.
i remember still evenings
with little to exchange besides
heartbeats and breathing patterns.
i remember soft afternoons
with my back raking against the carpet
leaving sporadic scars and stitches of memory.
i remember dark roads, and darker rains.
i remember a longer faith and a shorter pain.
the wounds are not as fresh, they do not sting,
but they ache and the few times i hear your voice
wedges your fingers in my brain and i can feel the cake
of neglected cum stains and i can hear the desperation in
the small whimper of my name and the way it was hard for your
breath to escape and my mind is running on thin rails, paper train,
and all i ever wanted from you was a home, not a place.
you would finger fuck me in the movie theater
and i would squirm and you would laugh because
i am not so good at keeping quiet. and all it would take
was a look from me or my hand up your knee or my lip under my
teeth and your eyes would
in case you forgot: don't read this. just trust mein case you forgot:
i have the heart of a poet
trapped in the ribcage of
a tumultuous whore. i'm
a textbook charlatan with
too much nonsense & not
in case you forgot:
i have a fetish for third-person
pronouns & third-party interference.
you are the first, second, and third person
to invade all three of my parties with your
clothes still intact with your skin; with your
tongue still intact with your mouth-
an ampersand curled between your teeth
in case you forgot:
this stanza is a haiku.
god, i hate haikus.
in case you forgot:
i will drill your brain
with mindless repetition
until it is sore enough
to develop amnesia.
in case you forgot:
i'm shit at endings
crying the river styx into cheap cordiform kleenexMy heart is on the left side
Of my body: the chest side
Right side, wrong side
But which one is my best side
On my right, you're the devil on my shoulder
Chill my bones, could your heart get any colder
No, it can't; that's why Hell is freezin' over
You took the L from LOVER; now it's OVER, we're over
Why's it so damn cold in the middle of Oktober
I'm not German, yet my heart can't stay sober
From Spring-in-your-Arms to Trip-and-Fall-in-Autumn
I'm drunk on love and clichés are at the bottom
Of the bottle like an S.O.S shipwrecked message
I'm stranded on the Island of Violent Presage
Ignore the telltale beatings from underneath the floorboard
Destiny's a step ahead of me check the scoreboard
Dying from Fate's worst psychological issue
Crying in my own myocardial tissue
vacantyou became the sea
dark and deep you were,
ferocious monster. your
surface glowing red and
orange against the dark
horizon, you sigh, slow
waves gently caressing
the skin of the earth
small lives were lived
within yours; laughing,
you carry the ashes of
the dead, and the eyes
of the young. as you go
on, and on, and on, we
sit quietly and watch
as you tear at the seams
of this earth, untamed
snarls ripping at our
feet, your white bubbles
brining home those who
were gone, and stealing
those who were never lost
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More