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this unrequited loveToday again,
and empty hands.
Oh, the ungrateful thing –
the battered green couch,
soft fabric stained with clumps
of dirt-grey hair, torn cushions,
scratched feet –
the overturned bowls
on the kitchen floor –
the open window,
and the empty flat.
the world is waiting for youbulletproof. fairground.
the world is waiting for you,
forget to dodge it.
1. in the fog, the eye sees further than we understand. the body changes,
advances, relentless, cannot be stopped though the mind refuses, rejects.
the fingers, the elbow, the feet, in every instant, already tracing the future.
2. we try to carve a moment of silence
(looking out at the roaring sea)
3. a) you brought me here and
I count the hours
b) until we must part
4. some trees
grow on rocks in the sea,
their roots exposed to the salty wind.
rocks peel like rotting wood, dead skin
melting into sand. we are snakes
guarding our shedding places.
5. imagined stillness, premeditated interruption of our time.
our pencils scratch at the truth but time is inexorable,
invisible, like the wind buffeting this island, and we forget
only until it catches in our sails.
6. lie down. (let’s pretend) the world is waitin
glass knives.bite– your lips. linger. expand,
conquer. hurts transform, ascend.
put– me– down. drive my skin out.
too close, hold still. cry. reason
abjugates. scraps. rescinds you.
fall, crawl. upturned bellies, on your–
knees. flat. lower, lower. sink.
involuntary flush. stones, capillaries.
grafted, spilt. stolen. noises,
reprised. thrills. gouges,
reading yearstell me my love, what have we learnt in golden years?
how is the heart strengthened by the distance of years?
when I look up the windows are covered with dust.
only my children know the passing of the years,
they tell me their cat had her first litter this spring.
I have not thought of you in almost seven years.
I do not try to remember the song you played,
they tell me the piano has not been tuned in years.
you are where the planets continue to wander.
well, you never counted revolutions by years.
I could not find a mirror that was not covered
with dust, but even photographs will show the years
if you look close enough. I do not look often
and my eyes are tired from the passage of years.
if I look down the floor will be covered in dust.
tell me my love, what have I learnt in seven years?
Three Haikus for Luckthe new warmth sends us
on a journey. we begin
by saying goodbye.
the cherry blossoms
if we watch them for too long
will surely fall.
after the April shower
watch the road under your feet.
blossoms are slippery.
neat, or pride,
I was sleep-drunk todayWe were lost out at sea with no hope in sight,
No compass, no map and the night was desert –
Enough water to drown but none for our thirst,
And too many stars awash in the moonlight.
Our limbs had gone heavy and our heads grown light,
Empty as bones but with words still to burst
The skin-thin denials of lingering hurts,
Stumbling blind into anger and fright.
We weathered many a turbulent night,
As if the storm had been following us,
But it was in our minds, like our tongues coerced
To curl around sounds that were never quite right.
So we searched for something of right and of might
That you said existed between our worsts,
You opened my hands and opened my trust
With yours, and we fell like birds learning flight.
I was sleep-drunk today and I talked about you
Or: I talked about me and the story was you.
Years have passed, and as we're wont to do,
We may have forgotten but the story was true.
snails first light:
when night lifts its curtain
– its underskirts –
the earth is soiled with the hot breath
of a billion lovers
condensed on her chilled skin
under the sudden assault of the sky
she trembles and crumbles
rise through her leaking pores
by now the dankness has settled
and armies scattered
in the pleasant afterglow
she wears the must like a perfume
soaked in it
stunning and stunned
and times herself
by the slow movement
across her skin
I screamMy scream is loud.
My scream is honest.
My scream is desperate.
My scream is filled with truth.
Why would nobody hear me?
dearly belovedthese days
your name has been slipping
in and out of my rib cage
my heart forgets to beat.
how even after all these months i still
don't want to believe that
you're dead. how during the
first couple of weeks i prayed
to a god i didn't believe in and begged to know
if death tasted sweet to you. how once,
when the monsters in my head
didn't let me sleep, i
wrote you three poems and then
you were a supernova that
lit up my life for
a few radiant moments before,
like all good things in this
you came to an end.
the sinner in me hopes that you have wings now.
but i think that,
most of all,
i hope you no longer
remember what pain
Those Green Eyes (Or: Don't Lie to Your Kid)Those green eyes -
The green of joy
The green of hope
The green of love and acceptance -
Were always full of lies.
They first lied when I said,
After a nightmare at four am
When I was too small to reach a light switch,
“Will you ever leave me?”
And those eyes said,
Why did those green eyes
Shut when I needed them most?
"Are you okay?"
Would be a red line
That I would etch into myself
Those green eyes melted.
Those green eyes did shine
And I knew what it was -
I was young, not stupid -
But I indulged the lie,
For those green eyes.
"Will it get better?"
I asked one sunny Saturday
At ten in the morning
And those green eyes looked away;
“And you’ll be here forever?”
There were no words.
I made up my own affirmative.
Those green eyes -
When they saw
How I’d rubbed myself raw
Let me dieGo away
Leave me alone
And let me die
Of this world
I don't want to live
Because there's no light
At the end of this tunnel
So I'll just end my life
Don't try to stop me
And we'll meet again
On the other side
Outside this dark tunnel
Wrists.Wrists are not made,
To be cut up by cold blades.
Blood was meant to stay in your veins,
Not to be drained.
From your body,
You're stronger than that,
I know a person can only take,
Until they break.
And you have your doubts,
And when you lay in bed,
The pain is all you think about.
But you're so much more,
Than your heart aches.
So much more,
Than your demons.
Even if you feel,
Like your dying,
And you are through with trying,
Because all you've been doing lately is crying.
I want you to know,
That no, you're not alone.
And you re going to survive.
Please just drop your knife,
Because you're going to,
Make it out alive.
notes on a matchbook love.if I were the type
to say how I really felt,
I'd tell you that
I hope you choke on your apologies
like they're arsenic
and your nails are already
with the poison.
I'd let you know
that I'll never be a body
for you to touch
just because I know that's all you want.
I'll never be a fairy in a bottle
at your waist.
this is no storybook, and
I am no myth.
hear my silence,
feel the cold absence
respond to your weak "I'm sorry"s.
I beg you,
stop digging the hole,
stop, just stop.
Hush and watch the flames
engulf the image you sold me.
you can tell me
I'm beautiful as much
as you want,
but I know that it's not enough,
that you'll always want more,
that you've been a wolf
between my legs all this time
and my fingers are bruised
from holding the leash.
now every time you whisper
"please be okay",
I will always tell you that
I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.
I will forever pretend
that I've grown up from you,
that I've become a mystery
words, wonderlight has faded and words are heavy,
but there is a delicate magic
twisting between your fingers.
it is all a-scribble
melisma without music;
syllables stitching terra firma
to firmament in intricate
stanzas that require
neither breath nor sound
to echo, infinite,
within the depths
of susurrous souls.
it is cold and it is dark,
but there is a fire in you
and you use it with a fierce grace
that illuminates the shadows,
and ignites the demons
until not even the grey spaces
that haunt and harry
can hold dominion.
they are exposed
they are broken
into shards of sunrise
and rays of a quiet
you scare away the night
with exhalations that blow
away the fogged emptiness
inside, over and over,
sparking fireworks from
what was thought
to be ash.
august.they say that
but what really
destroys all these
brilliant young hearts
are those boys and
girls who make
pretty shirts and
slick ties out of our
i want to set your heart on fireor scratch my name onto your bones
like a shadow,
light and shallow
not a claim,
just a memento.
one day maybe you will find,
hidden on the side of your ankle
or beneath your shoulder blades,
the sighs I left behind;
and if you think of me then
that will be sweeter to me
than any burning revenge
could hope to be.
How It Began"God, your two o'clock is here."
"I have a two o'clock?"
"He's been here since 7:45. I figured it's only polite to... sir."
God sighed. "Fine, send him in."
While He waited God cleared His desk of papers and blueprints; no need for outsiders to see His plans. Soon enough the door to His office opened and God stood, smiled, held out a hand towards one of the two visitor's chairs.
"God! Great stuff you're doing in sector 2-7-0! Great stuff!"
The man's hands were clammy, his handshake limp. Rumpled suit, porkpie hat, briefcase... oh Jes-- oh dear, a salesman. God's smile slipped a little but He soldiered on gamely. With luck He could shoo the poor guy away in a few minutes.
"So, what can I do for you?"
The man sat, briefcase across his knees. "Sector 2-7-0! Everyone's talking about it! What do you call it? Man and merman?"
"Man and woman, actually. And thanks. But we're pretty busy around here, and..."
"Oh! Right! No time for the wicked, eh?" The salesman winked and popped his briefcase,
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More