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why i thought this was a good idea is beyond mesix months later,
and with a great deal less hope
propping up my collapsing spine
it's quite clear.
it wasn't, and never was.
don't do this anymore.
you were always the bigger person
and so by the laws of physics-
i revolved around you
day and night.
is it alright to fall for the stars?
i am already gone
six foot under
but still falling
down, down, down.
perhaps it is alright.
even if it casts me further from the stars,
at least it draws me closer to the blazing core
of this frigid world.
warmth is good, no matter where comes from.
i think, sometimes people are like that-
cold on the outside, but warm inside.
i used to think that if the inside was cold too,
it meant they were inhuman.
apparently, it just means that they're dead.
whispers in my craniumsplitting irises;
these pupils dilating rapidly into a black hole,
behind closed, locked, shackled doors.
there's a monster,
but it isn't hiding under this bed,
teeth gnashing in silent malice.
it's not even clawing at the walls of the closet.
it's awakening now,
rearing up for the strike
behind these glassy corneas.
diseases that get right into your head
take everything from you.
you don't have anything
not even your own mind.
(i find it a shame that
no matter how thick your skull is
it still can't stop the monsters from getting in.)
RiseI can feel their hands
crawling, right around my flimsy neck
knotting themselves carefully
into beautiful, intricate
('round here, we call it a stranglehold)
bears no shipwrecks,
no dramatic plays
no sonnets or serenades
of suns and seas and sheer,
just the all-consuming desire
to know what lies beyond this darkened horizon,
and beyond the next
and the next,
and the next.
just keep running, and don't ya ever stop)
but no matter how hard you hold me down,
I will always, always rise again
like the tide at sundown.
(doc, I think she's gaining consciousness;
pass me the knockout gas mask again.)
when you write a poemwrite a thousand you mean and one
keep the ones you do
locked firmly behind the skeletons
crammed into your cupboard,
because when you felt
your heart in freefall, no one warned you
that it would crash
and burn, when it finally fell
all the way down.
poison leaves a bitter aftertasteyou're beautiful, you liar,
just like your pretty little half-truths.
and once upon a tragic time,
we loved it that way,
saccharine sweet and acidic, as the lies
burned, all the way down my throat.
i swallowed them all giddily,
like a smoker inhales his poison-
because it feels so absolutely intoxicating,
while it lasts.
i have a feeling that's why i can't sing
you tore my heart up,
and then took it with you when you left.
and you know what? that's totally
ok, because at least there's no more pain.
even the emptiness is better than that.
but when you came back,
smiling that secret smile, and with a dozen
wedding rings melted down for a necklace-
i wanted to hate you, so much.
then you asked for a second chance
and i thought it was one too many,
yes, i'll believe you again-
when the sun crashes into the frigid moon,
and the stars tumble haphazardly
out of alignment.
i'll believe in you again,
in your delusional dreams.
(you know, even i'm not that much of a masochist.)
Do you believe in hell?We always used to play Russian Roulette on dingy street corners, cigarettes hanging from soot blackened lips, and morphine running rampant in our veins.
It started on a dark, rainy late afternoon. I was there, on the corner of that accursed grey street. You came walking down, a swagger in your steps, and with a freakish, stretched grin plastered on your face. It was the ruthlessly honest smile of one who didn't give a damn anymore. They weren't suicidal, but didn't particularly see the point of living. They lived for nothing. The whole ugly, terrible, beautiful world was something of a massive cosmic joke to them.
I knew that, because the same goddamned smirk had made a home on my face years ago and never decided to leave.
You glanced at me, eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. I was used to it. After all, it was pouring outdoors, and almost everyone else was inside, the only exception being myself and the homeless guy down the street. Even he was covering under the sidewalk bench thou
i don't think im alive enough to die yet.we used to play russian roulette on dingy street corners,
cigarettes hanging from soot-blackened lips
and morphine running rampant through our drugged up systems.
i remember how i was always shot.
you ran away when i didn't die
and left me to bleed out
onto the cold concrete.
but you don't understand-
dolls and wallflowers are empty inside,
and hearts constructed hastily with broken matchsticks
don't beat true. it's just dull thumping
in a hollow chest cavity.
(and even the best dentists can't fill this one up.)
fly me past the stars, and leave me hanging there.please, i beg you-
teach me how to fly
all the way past the pale silver moon,
& how not to breath oxygen,
but to inhale constellations instead.
if i were ever to get that high,
i don't think i'd ever be able
to deal with the ground,
because the earth is a miasma of misfits,
desperately trying to fit in.
what they don't understand
is that they just weren't made to fit.
they don't need to change-
they were made to change the world.
Liquor is one way out an'death's the other The art of growing up,
is to pour shots of whiskey
into your coffee in the morning
to make it through
when all you want to do
is lie in bed
but there’s nothing
A visit to TomWell, my friend...
You made it -
upon your grave -
in the fridge
us year round
or is it just
in our hearts.
in the night...
it will be
i.by the grace of an orphaned wintering,
i have known you
babel, babylon: eyes raptured rare and hands
to strange knowing and palebruised
throat of dissonance
. ...such sudden gods. such taken
you stumble where night falls
too far to the left; my wild garden
old dusks, blue
ScreamSo I'll stand and yell it to the ceiling
to celebrate the fact that i'm alive and breathing.
I'll take your hand to try and share this feeling.
The only thing I can do is stand and scream.
"I still fucking love you."
And hope it starts the healing.
PossibilitesWhen I was 5
I wanted to be
anything to be
When I was 12
I wanted to be
to learn how
the Earth works
and what makes
stones so beautiful
When I was 16
I wasn't sure what
I wanted to be
The future was uncertain
So was I at this point of time
But then again
So were other kids
Now I'm 20
I want to be a writer
My mind's eye seeing
people and places
like a photo album
words stringing together
to create something beautiful
reality vs. pretendi.
a wooden sword
and an eye-patch
i was a girl who
knew deep inside
had developed feelings
and they were all
selfishly for me.
you tricked me,
you kidnapped me,
all to tell you stories
in which good triumphs
over evil, not really;
was to walk the plank
as you planned to kill
him and feed him to
the ticking crocodile.
happy thoughts and
faerie dust would
allow me to fly,
but i only had the
first and i was doomed;
your wooden sword poked
my back, waiting for me
to take the leap
down (the stairs),
hearing the ticking
(of the oven)
go off - just in time.
surly, mother called us
down for dinner
and at the end of the night,
it was all truly
bedtime stories will
serve as my peter pan,
as my escape from reality.
Judgementi sat there and watched you with
tears prickling my
but i dared not to cry
not with them looking right at
their eyes showed a horrible judgment
that seemed to swallow me
the darkness of the aura
around them sucked
oh god i hated them.
the first man questioned you
he didn't care what happened to
he wanted this to be over
his words were at a drone
he filed the papers before him
as if he had nothing
better to do
i know what he thought of
i clenched my fists
i wouldn't hold anyone’s hand
as i watched this unfold.
the woman cared
she cared about what happened
she knew what she wanted
her tone was that of a
mother who's child
she wanted the truth
but she wouldn't believe
the one we gave her
it was plain to see
i gritted my teeth
i wanted to scream but that
wouldn't help anything.
the last man wanted to get
the truth out of you
his eyes were not kind
but his words were und
The Mountains of SnowI lost my love to the mountains of snow
once he came up, he never returned.
stories spread across the Town,
three poor souls, never to be found.
a sharpened shovel , lit fire
starved Wolves, and A set wire.
my love waS found, beaten and marred,
his face indistinguishable and charred.
i lost my loves to the Mountains of snow
once they came up, thEy never returned.
By: Ulrich J S Edelstein
-My thoughts alter
Of each passing day.
They never stay identical.
-At a single moment
They could be cordial, charming, or gratifying.
Then they could alter drastically
Into thoughts of outrageous things.
-They could go from endearing, delightful and virtuous,
To homicidal and barbaric.
Thoughts of inspiration and aspiration,
To murderous and torturous plotting.
-I could think that I like someone,
Thinking they are full of elegance, charm, and intensity,
To insufferable, ghastly beings of this Earth.
Drastically altering my mood along with my thoughts.
-All is well at one moment,
And then all is heart breaking at another.
Becoming aware no one really cares.
People who are supposed to support you, disrespect you immensely.
-My thoughts alter when I fall and no one is there for me to lean on.
I think that they are caring people,
Then disrespectful, low pieces of debris
That animals urinate all over.
-My thoughts alter all the time.
Burning coldFrom the bottom of my heart, darl-
Don't step on me.
I am not a pretty ornament,
Laid upon the ground
For your feet to grace.
I am hellfire,
Raging in the misaligned planets,
And the silent crevices of the frozen moon.
All I want
Is to feel the stars
Beneath my inkstained fingertips
As I strum them to the beat of all the forgotten hearts
In this broken, lonely world.
We are a single planet among a million long dead stars
And only the chilled blood running through my veins can prove we're still alive.
Crown of ThornsShe wakes up with red staining her pillow
and the taste of blood like iron in her mouth
It stains her teeth and leaks from her lips, and as she
rinses her mouth out, she can’t help thinking that
it’s better than dirt and ashes
it feels like she’s wearing a noose
of broken promises and shattered glass
that tightens around her throat with every day that passes
She nails a smile to her face
and doesn't let herself think the word dying
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