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in the end, we will always burn.sometimes i wonder what is it like
to be close to things that aren't
meant to be close.
i imagine things with straps at the collar bones, worded at the releasing snap-
cages under shirts a thrashing mess pounding against my temple
alive only when there is hunger playing in our ears so loud
all you can hear is the verbal silence of bone on bone.
SOMETIMES, i imagine it speaks a crescendo of exploding monotones
over leather and the darkness a facade over of our skin:
thighs swollen into what i think is a golden spine under my fingertips,
a strange voice filled with murmurations coming through the black
ready to fill the pregnant silence of
001 i am a whirlwind of
an aching heart
a regret that could
mayfly in the sinkthe bottle is blue, laced with drops of flies, as i stand, holding it, wishing i were alone. there is no one here i've ever cared to know. here is tripping over flowers like the arms of those around me form a crawspace. a crawspace like in the news gets riddled with congealed blood molding grains of flesh into a mash of deadness. and standing here, pressed against all of that decay, i stumble, kicking my bare feet at dirt and weed flowers.
this outdoor garden smells like pot. hell, i smell like vomit and maybe fear. i remember trying to tear myself away from a wall of flesh, being trapped within it, a fly thrashing against a bottle's sides.
a running poemthe earth wells up with light
at my eternal touch
great springs of it
cool and smooth and gentle
at my rushing face, closed eyes
the swoop of my body
silhouetted against the dark wise ground
the trees celebrate my hair
strands darting and playing
in the alternate shadows
patterned sun drapes me
the slap of my feet
solid and known
freed by the endless forest
self loathing in loveremembering me
sometimes i felt dead
beneath the skin,
the funny thing
is the hybrid
nature of it--
some corruption in
one can overturn
your sickness could
make me well.
reacts with another.
things fester in the
depths of relationships,
waiting to flame up in
one or both partners.
beautiful, terrible, ornate
things blooming in us.
destroy past selves.
you're that boy.
you are the sugarwater
in my veins,
the colored tape on
the eleventh hourif i could steal people's touches
and hide them in my pockets
i would steal yours-
i would take the kind of burning
that comes only with
the time right before you
officially touch, the friction
of your hands nothing compared
to the ensnarement of your eyes-
that time before you just feel
the breath of his resting upon your shoulder
in a clatter of emotion you know
no one else can understand-
that time where
his lips first open to speak
and you already know what
he is going to say, just
like smolder after rain-
that time between
night and day
and the sun bleeds into the sky
i would be prometheus;
i would steal the inferno
from even the most burning gods.
i would be a thief; the thief
of your most burning hearts-
the messenger of
the breath speaking in your lungs-
the harbinger of
the hair standing
on the back of
i will be that time where
the only power you can feel
is the burn of two of the most human things
doing the mos
on an envelopewhy do my d's and l's look like yours when i write your name?
it's just been a little carousel,
spinning in pirouettes,
in my mind all day.
all i know is i'm glad i don't love you.
i don't know why you aren't relationship material-
in all honesty, you are.
i don't know why you treat me like your girlfriend-
kissing my forehead,
holding me gently,
touching me sweetly,
asking to see me,
sixty miles out of the way
in a city i can fall in love,
with no promise of sex-
all i know is i'm glad i don't love you,
& i hope it stays.
wild dayscoffee stains and wrinkled dreams
cigarettes and tea leaves
post-sex morning breath
and the too obvious feeling
that your heart is
039i spent 3.50 on this coffee from some hole in the wall and its not really doing anything to ease me or wake me up from this shaken state i'm stuck in, but its helping my hands keep still or away from trouble.
you're avoiding. talk.
the barrister put two sugars instead of one, its too sweet, but i'll drink it anyway. look. i haven't gotten anything spilled on me yet.
god dammit, just stop it. you need to tell me what the fuck happened last night. there was blood on your shoes and you jumped out of your skin when i touch you even the smallest amount. where did you go?
just. out. with. some friends.
you are so full of shit you know that. your right fingers tapping. that's your tell.
well done. i'm still not telling you, cause its not your business.
bastard and the beast
we were in a room full of china
just you & i
and i said hey, don't you go anywhere
and there was a low growl fornicating in my stomach
your eyes flashed bright on me
and my eyes narrowed on you and
it wasn't about my friend
or the murder
or your psychosis
it was that you left me
with my own psychosis
sagging heavily from my shoulder
and i hated you
and we were in a room full of china
you & i
your skull felt sweet along my knuckles
your blood tasted sweet on my hungry skin
my honest nature with an angel's head
and a mouth full of slobbering sex
i mounted you
i was moved by your defeat
my eyes sang salt and
dining roomthese walls would swear:
not one candle hasn't wept
for the flame it once held.
the crystals of the chandelier
in the moonlight are breathing
while throwing back the dusk to
windows half obscured with draping.
privacy is a world of our own making
and this, too, is only as real
as the breath pushing through a
receiver of a phone or these words
dying as you read and look away.
a plane does not fall just as any leaf
it fogs the air and screams
for it was birthed of House, not Earth
and fears the dirt, to it unknown.
why measure life in bars of soap
when dirt is more than cheap it's free
and grime is but a happ
on rust and hungermarbles roll in my mouth,
the dryness of disuse.
they clatter behind
when I try to speak,
when I move my
my ribs open,
along a spine;
I am a creature of hinges and screws.
I am a swell of minerals like hymns.
I am a polite impossibility, a
quiet sacrilege, a
dove's breast from which
delicate, thin lines drip.
sonskyni entangle myself in the sky,
grasp and tug on breezes,
expect grass to be as thoughtless
as my skin.
i am complete, here,
amongst the feelings of stones,
as april folds me,
intricate, in its madness.
hollowfalling in love
is like plucking ribs, and
each time you've fallen
you're another bone closer
to cardiac arrest
general romancemy spine is what's soft
and hands are the cold
being under my skin
lips are the
the vacant ears,
and even though
rain does not come
every season, fingers
are the pattering
to my skin
break me purpleyou are the drunken waves
to the earthen ocean
under my soles,
the sick backbone-ache
for the weak
and the unshed shell
for safe eyes, shattered dams
as i weep
the harbinger.let me feel those areas
your parents don't even know about
flesh and flesh, he said
to the temple of my thighs
hair a coal
and eyes high on powder and hunger.
i am the closest thing to suicide
the god of turned-over sheets
and cold fingers pressed to backs
ghosting ice over all the right places,
that can give those airs
into the oxygen-less areas
in your chest
a gasp that wracks your deepest bones
to choke on
contort with me
and break to the breath
of these bones,
your knees to your rib cage
your ankles clicking to mine
arms stolen to spines
your frame lodged with mine
Brain WaspsBrain Wasps
I am on the verge of tears. Why is this so hard? I think furiously, twirling the cylinder of Chapstick around in my fingers. I shut my eyes tight and try again.
I reach out to set the Chapstick on the nightstand beside my bed, but seconds after I release the tube I have to grab it again. Wrong, the brain wasps tell me, you have to get it just right.
I briefly consider hurling the thing across the room, but I know that I’ll just have to get out of bed to pick it up again. I am trapped in my own compulsions.
I know it’s stupid, and that’s part of what’s bothering me so much. Why can’t I just p
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`ChewedKandi has certainly gone out of her way to keep the vector community on the right path. Always making sure that her talents are infinitely scalable, Sharon has put her bezier curves to excellent use, and firmly anchored herself as an inspirational leader. We're absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for June 2013 to `ChewedKandi. Congratulations, Sharon! Read More