The number of times I've stumbled over this moment,
Arrested development,
As I run my fingers over its ridges,
I wonder what can be so captivating as this,
Taste.
Raspberry water rapids --
why is that always how I describe your,
Nonexistent kiss?
Slipping down into the moment again.
This poem is pointless...
I can't figure out why I think about you so much.
I simply do.
I wonder if you know how many times I've imagined you, crushing against me in the rain.
Falling over your craggy lips into raspberry tongue, stomach in free fall,
Our finger bones running into each other as I reach for your hand,
Which pulses under the bones like a shallow heart.
We do not exist,
We are only a gentle thrumming in time,
A vein promising to grow.
But, I think if it were to happen,
This kiss in the rain,
Sometime between my lips stumbling over yours and my mind being warped by black,
I would to think of all the times I've written your name in my mind's eye,
The word settled at the bottom of my stomach whispering its
Sitting at my desk,
Shoulders hunched,
Hands clenched,
Eyebrows knit,
Staring down blank pages.
My mind whirls like cogs in a clock behind eyes,
Dark with unsaid thoughts.
Unsaid, unsaid, unsaid,
Untamed, unmastered, unthought, unbelievable!
This barely imagined grace,
Only bubbles to the surface in,
The misty tendrils of a frustrated gasp and mumbled curse,
Before it is once again swallowed up,
In the great black abyss called
POSSIBILITY
I'll burn you on my wrists,
And carve you in my skin,
Till you run through me like a second set of veins,
Sweet poison electrifying all the never's in my body,
Each writhing nerve a reminder that you,
Arrest me.
Stop me,
Shock me,
End me.
Lightning strikes,
Searing you on my forever.
Beneath the watery, pulsating moon,
We are moving mountains.
Rivers of lava burning numb a map,
Heartbeats tracing constellations from my swollen skin to yours.
We are linked by snakes,
And fireflies hopping in our stomachs.
The wolf's lonely call,
Lost to me:
Alive,
In the fresh-tilled soil of your spine,
The golden ridges of wheat along your lower lip,
The bonfire pulse licking up my heart,
Hungry as the pack.
You look at me once:
Chills playing tunes, like stars.
Even the sweating moon,
Is but a pearl in blurring in the bottom of a distant sea.
Something unfurled within her heart, something hot and black and wicked. A smile on her lips, something like whiskey on her tongue
Bella slipped into the cool water with steady, dainty, ballerina's steps. She closed her eyes and shivered slightly as the cold broke against her thighs with the sensation of breaking glass. After a moment, though, the quiet numbness was soothing in the sweet, heavy air. The moon was a round admiring eye, begging her to come closer to it through the water's silky depths.
"What are you doing?" he asked again, his voice shaking slightly.
Bella smiled to hear this tremor, without quite knowing why. She
Go outside to a torrent of greeting voices,
Carrying sweet and fragrant on the wind,
Her voice brisk and appealing,
Tickling long tendrils of absinthe down my throat,
Filling my lungs with blissful perfume,
The smell of living things latching its tiny hands to the edges of my thoughts in wordless welcome,
A simple smile playing on the edges of my lips as I inhale again in mindless ecstasy.
The spirits now reaching their ancient fingers up through havens of black dirt,
Cushioning each footfall with whispered words,
Grandmother's stories of creatures huddled in warm cornucopias of naïveté,
Told in crackling brown voices vib
Gypsy circus freak show:
In moments of dying delusion,
The trees don ball gowns,
Covering their rotting black skin with:
Orange silk draping off of their elegant figures,
Ruby rings weighing down their decaying fingers,
Yellow feathers in wistful hope of flight,
Over creaking bones,
Blood drying in their veins --
Agonizing denial.
The eternally youthful skin of the sky.
The wind's silver hair and death row voice.
The first leaf falls past the birch's silver hips with a lady's sigh,
The burn of blood and twisted bone as shards of air dig into its soft flesh:
Its underside is luminous marble,
The undisturbed skin of a lady's han
Blue,
Like one long cool note,
Of singled-out sky,
That the Lord just couldn't bear leaving up there,
Send it back down and keep it locked up,
In a day-glo imprisonment.
Same color as petal-bright country-radio,
He's got eyes that pull you into those slow guitar strums,
Fleeting:
Hey did he just smile at me?
The number of times I've stumbled over this moment,
Arrested development,
As I run my fingers over its ridges,
I wonder what can be so captivating as this,
Taste.
Raspberry water rapids --
why is that always how I describe your,
Nonexistent kiss?
Slipping down into the moment again.
This poem is pointless...
I can't figure out why I think about you so much.
I simply do.
I wonder if you know how many times I've imagined you, crushing against me in the rain.
Falling over your craggy lips into raspberry tongue, stomach in free fall,
Our finger bones running into each other as I reach for your hand,
Which pulses under the bones like a shallow heart.
We do not exist,
We are only a gentle thrumming in time,
A vein promising to grow.
But, I think if it were to happen,
This kiss in the rain,
Sometime between my lips stumbling over yours and my mind being warped by black,
I would to think of all the times I've written your name in my mind's eye,
The word settled at the bottom of my stomach whispering its
Sitting at my desk,
Shoulders hunched,
Hands clenched,
Eyebrows knit,
Staring down blank pages.
My mind whirls like cogs in a clock behind eyes,
Dark with unsaid thoughts.
Unsaid, unsaid, unsaid,
Untamed, unmastered, unthought, unbelievable!
This barely imagined grace,
Only bubbles to the surface in,
The misty tendrils of a frustrated gasp and mumbled curse,
Before it is once again swallowed up,
In the great black abyss called
POSSIBILITY
I'll burn you on my wrists,
And carve you in my skin,
Till you run through me like a second set of veins,
Sweet poison electrifying all the never's in my body,
Each writhing nerve a reminder that you,
Arrest me.
Stop me,
Shock me,
End me.
Lightning strikes,
Searing you on my forever.
Beneath the watery, pulsating moon,
We are moving mountains.
Rivers of lava burning numb a map,
Heartbeats tracing constellations from my swollen skin to yours.
We are linked by snakes,
And fireflies hopping in our stomachs.
The wolf's lonely call,
Lost to me:
Alive,
In the fresh-tilled soil of your spine,
The golden ridges of wheat along your lower lip,
The bonfire pulse licking up my heart,
Hungry as the pack.
You look at me once:
Chills playing tunes, like stars.
Even the sweating moon,
Is but a pearl in blurring in the bottom of a distant sea.
Something unfurled within her heart, something hot and black and wicked. A smile on her lips, something like whiskey on her tongue
Bella slipped into the cool water with steady, dainty, ballerina's steps. She closed her eyes and shivered slightly as the cold broke against her thighs with the sensation of breaking glass. After a moment, though, the quiet numbness was soothing in the sweet, heavy air. The moon was a round admiring eye, begging her to come closer to it through the water's silky depths.
"What are you doing?" he asked again, his voice shaking slightly.
Bella smiled to hear this tremor, without quite knowing why. She
Go outside to a torrent of greeting voices,
Carrying sweet and fragrant on the wind,
Her voice brisk and appealing,
Tickling long tendrils of absinthe down my throat,
Filling my lungs with blissful perfume,
The smell of living things latching its tiny hands to the edges of my thoughts in wordless welcome,
A simple smile playing on the edges of my lips as I inhale again in mindless ecstasy.
The spirits now reaching their ancient fingers up through havens of black dirt,
Cushioning each footfall with whispered words,
Grandmother's stories of creatures huddled in warm cornucopias of naïveté,
Told in crackling brown voices vib
Gypsy circus freak show:
In moments of dying delusion,
The trees don ball gowns,
Covering their rotting black skin with:
Orange silk draping off of their elegant figures,
Ruby rings weighing down their decaying fingers,
Yellow feathers in wistful hope of flight,
Over creaking bones,
Blood drying in their veins --
Agonizing denial.
The eternally youthful skin of the sky.
The wind's silver hair and death row voice.
The first leaf falls past the birch's silver hips with a lady's sigh,
The burn of blood and twisted bone as shards of air dig into its soft flesh:
Its underside is luminous marble,
The undisturbed skin of a lady's han
Blue,
Like one long cool note,
Of singled-out sky,
That the Lord just couldn't bear leaving up there,
Send it back down and keep it locked up,
In a day-glo imprisonment.
Same color as petal-bright country-radio,
He's got eyes that pull you into those slow guitar strums,
Fleeting:
Hey did he just smile at me?
Blind lies vaulting from blue lips,
Promises of a new world
Of hope and warmth
Wary ears,
All too eager to listen
The frozen vines of desire are crumbling
Left alone,
Left behind
Disbelief retired long ago
A cold steam errupts
Clawing,
Gnawing,
Thirsty for the sweet release
The screams of a madman reverberate within the empty
Frenzied ramblings,
Awkward movements,
The black swarm invades his mind
Tormented by the visions,
Denied an exit
A proper punishment for the crime
Trust
i promised i wouldnt do this. im so pathetic and generic. but my mind is bent.
all i can write about is boys.
one boy, to be particular. consult my poem "slip" for my attempts at trying to figure out why. but everything leads back to the taste of his lips, even though the kiss hasnt happened yet.
i apologize for the girliness, bear with my obsession for a while. *grunt, grumble* stupid men...*grumble, grunt*...
All right, can I first say thank you to all of the wonderful people who read "Precipice" for me and commented, favorited, or decided they didn't like it and kept their mouths shut respectfully. I have eighty-five people in the world who have supported me, so thank you. :)
Now a sort of downer...I probably won't be on deviantART for a while. It seems that I'm running low on inspiration for poetry, but, thanks to an amazing vacation (it's amazing what seeing new sights can do for the muses) I have two novel ideas that I'm eager to start working on. I DO have a couple of finished poems saved on my computer, and I'll be posting them at inter
Hey everybody...it's been quite a while since I last posted; after a ridiculously stressful past couple of months I've been giving myself a break. But you should know that I'm back, at least for a little while...I recently submitted a piece to write-to-live's "Literature Is Emotions" contest. The aim of the contest was to write pieces about our feelings towards writing, so I submitted the poem "Precipice." It would be great if you guys could check it out and tell me what you think. If you don't like "Precipice", I certainly don't want you to favorite it or anything, but if you DO like it and comment on it, it would definitely help me win
no worries. they're beautiful. i actually think we write in a similar style (not that im saying my work is beautiful...i just mean we write about similar stuff in similar ways). do you think you could look at some of my work? thanks!