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the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.
i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;
i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)
and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.
The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.
But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a
PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink
A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint
SurelyIt was raining
when we kissed for the first time,
for the last time.
sunk into the shrunken space
between our bodies
and divided us
like nothing could before,
like everything will
until that never again
when we will
see each other once more,
Your eyes were
that bewitching shade
of dull brown blue
with all of the light darkness
in a placid pond
around a pupil
overflowing with vacancy,
and my frowning smile.
The winter heat
fell like a rising tide
for our every breath
was another death
so black and full of life --
embracing our boiled ice skin
as we drew apart,
came together and broke free
Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –
survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,
how many graves are we standing on, today?
Life, Death And A Pork Chop SandwichAll tangled up, hard to breathe
This steel cloud day that swirls
With heat and pounding hammers
I shake in my boots and cough up
Blood, rust and damaged flesh
Waiting for the second coming
Maybe next time around there'll be
Some chance for more than this
A twisted barbed wire halo
Wrapped tight around my skull
Blinding white light aura
Swarming with flies I'm flying
To pieces, thousands of shards
Cannot be brought back together
But I will remember the summer
Of my first Chevrolet in each bit
Gleaming bits of glass in the desert
Each reflecting a different moment
Still, now, enduring until the waves
Of a new ocean sweep them away
A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.
A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.
I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!
I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
in the future.
Onceyour beauty lies restless behind those
hills, where you fought valiantly. and
the man you once were was brave and kind,
but now you are possessed by a passenger
of darkness, whispering words of your
the man you once were is forgotten, and
the man you are today, is only a ghost, a
shadow, of what you were before.
Pretty little things called words and dustif you weren't a hypocrite,
you'd be wrapped in the sweetest
how to engulf the ocean
with your lungs
and think of how to cup it
in your hands
your broken prayers and
still be beautiful)
dance with the gypsies
(a quake in
your hips like the thrust
and the faultlines
so, so graceful)
sing with the nymphs
it's growing old,
your throat's burning dry
like a monsoon
faltering in a desert,
be nestled in a king's arms
(oh, you precious
There’s a knife turnin in my soft parts
And heat burnin my mind on hard starts
The motors runnin but I lost the wheel
Just want it to be numb don’t wanna feel
Take two steps back and put it in park
Before I leave scarred up black marks
I need a u-turn on this highway
But can’t go back on the by-way
So look ahead, the pavement goes on
Break the rear-view mirror it’s gone
Put it in drive
And say goodbye
Let’s see how fast this bitch can fly
nightmarethe foxes are at your bedside and singing--
songs of boiling thoughts
and broken muscles.
they sneak so quiet, and
you can't quite
Lost In ConfusionMy mind is spinning without a rest
emotions whirl and twirl around
A merry-go-round gaining speed
Until the world blurrs before my eyes
What's happening? What's going on?
The simplest thought slips away
Right from my mind, fading so fast
Trying to focus, I stare and stare
Until my eyes are heavy and unclear.
I don't understand, what is going on...
Emotions rise and fall again
Within the blink of an eye
I'm crying, laughing, and depressed
A rollercoaster ride that never ends
Am I losing my mind in this ?
I try to close my eyes and rest
But the world spins me around
I feel like I am failing this test
Voices and noisies echo in my min
Puppet My tears fall,
My heart beats,
because of the
Why meI wanted sleep very badly
I tried my hardest to rest
I closed my eyes and laid there
But sleep didn’t come easy
I would doze off
And wake back up
Why me? When I know I have to be up at 3 AM.
FossilizedLiving proof of fossils alive,
and no horseshoe-crab am I.
Nor, inhabitable harsh compression of plates,
residing under humid marsh-scapes.
I mold into the walls, as chalky old coal.
But I am no mineral, no era.
I am not, Mesozoic.
Through the ages
silver, gold and heroic.
I remain a still-life; and no Iduna's apples would retain my youth
No magic fountains, or time devices, or wrist watches.
I am the machine of time.
The watcher, omnipotent, the wise.
no God am I
Somewhere, sweet tangy sap trolleys down cracked bark.
Somewhere, celestial bodies erupt unseen.
Somewhere, a abrupt breeze blows overturned bi-cycle tire
Ode to the WhaleTo hear your cry,
Oh great mammoth of the black-depths,
Is to hear Melancholy sing her Ode.
Nothingness, simply pure serenity
Upon the void of Joy.
And to hear man's mimicry,
A sharp reminder to this world,
That man has captured it.
Beast born from great Steel,
Old and dead, its cry is nothing like yours.
For even after the last among you die,
Your cry is forever etched upon the tread,
Dark hidden water.
As echoes, your music forever will play,
A waltz for the Ages of old.
And for man's recreation:
Alas it like man will rust,
And it like man will die alone and empty.
For Gilded Steel and Cold Iron
Are weak in the battle
Fall From GraceThere was once a time where righteousness ruled.
But this plagued world had made this exempt.
To die is not righteous, no not at all.
For this is the time of man!
A time where it is better to be an extremist then accepting.
And prejudice rules over all.
So instead of fixing our problems we build drywall around them.
To cover the mistakes and cracks of years past.
Hide the faults in order to glorify the present.
But hiding what happened will not change the future.
The hate still exists, still there will be hate.
A constant taint that will not wash away.
The world is like a ragging alcoholic.
When the booze are taken away an
GlassHow different we are,
My equal and opposite.
My ways and yours,
A contradiction to the definition of species.
We lack the same common route,
The one that bonds us alike.
Alas, where have I gone wrong my son,
You have wronged, or perhaps it was I?
The facets that I once designed are warped,
Is it hate that drives you to dismember our ties.
To think that we bleed the same,
Now I think you do not bleed, only breed.
And your breed is hate,
The hatred that courses through your veins.
A volatile river that rivals Phlegethon,
And yet you only fuel your hatred.
So lift up your plowshares,
Recreate your weapons.
My hope was lost,
PuppetryOf all man's greatest creations,
The puppet- His finest.
A silent representative.
Dwindling on strings,
Most free creature of all.
Slow jerking dance,
Movement only of grace.
Blank empty stare,
Eyes glowing with life.
Of all man's flaws,
The separation from reality- His finest.
A darkened illusion we call life,
Every accomplishment only furthers our flaws.
Do you know the taste of the universe?One day, when you’re five years old and made out of fractured sunlight and mirror shards, you sat down on the bench of the MAX train. You’re dressed in your winter coat and boots that are too big and one of your parents has pulled your hat too close over your ears.
You’re sitting next to your mother, and on the other side is a man that smells like loneliness, something that you’ll later know as cigarettes and alcohol and homelessness. He’s crying quietly into the top of his jacket and you’re scared to look because you’ve never seen an adult cry.
The train ride goes on for five minutes, which is a lo
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`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More