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A Gods DebtSutured together by artists,

devoured blasphemy-

hallowed out, & spit back up,

( you are afraid. )

Hooks longing for her ribcage embrace;

god-hands that can't seem to keep to themselves

grapple the gargoyle exterior of her deflowered frame.

( spread your legs. )

Red-inked and trembling,

prosetry masked as screams

knots into her anatomy.

Androphobiai was stitched lips and a flightless raven heart-
all sex and a contorting spine;
his own lips engraving 'kiss me's' on empty stars.

& between you and me: i feared his teeth,
& tongue, & honest organs-
with skin that begged, 'please, don't touch me.'

don't touch me.
don't fucking touch me.

i am not soft.

there is a war raging in my lungs,
screaming through the uncharted galaxies
of my wanderlust heartstrings.

i am not soft.

i am lust, & war, & envy—

i am sin,
        
         crooked, misshapen,
& the kind of prosetry yet to be proofrea
Her Musethese words are not poetry

swimming liquid fire through ashes

of dead phoenix veins.

no, they are rough and callused

with over use, their own faithless artists

spewing black tar from their lungs

in the hopes to one day breathe again.

nothing moves her.

she would rather scribble her heart out

on physical manifestations of her own reality-

on skin and bones she worships like a temple.  

"Write of me," he says, "right here."-

planting sun-stricken kisses  

along the hollow of her burning throat.

"I want to be where your heart sleeps."
NecromancyShe replaces her wrists
with the sharp thorns
of roses and slurred
don't-touch-me's

-

as she speaks
in an old tongued
language that whispers

de

cipher

me.

-

She collects stars
on her knuckles,
& her dust eyes
are sad moon nebulas
starved for love.

-

But, the kisses
she sinks into the curve
of her lover's ribcage
by night, warm that
supernova heart.
WillowYour confessional arms are Willow trees,

draping lonely limbs around an empty ink-jar heart.
 
Scars worn down like henna tattoos.

A night witch scrawling her incantations on blue moons,

rolling her letters into sentences like a curse.

But, it is in these coffee eyes you have found a home.
Her eyes scream fill in the _____.They said
she has starving
little poet fingers,

& lungs-

filled with
the heroic hearts
of nameless protagonists.

But, she cries

tears of Saturn
on too-little-sleep nights,
& coffee ringed mornings.

They call her vanilla.

Innocence,
much too ripe to fall
with freckles on her
wander(lust)
shoulder-blades
singing connect-the-dot

blues.
FeverI like pretending I mean something to the ghosts
who wreak havoc on my bones-
impaling these masochistic butterfly wings
on railroad spikes
between heartbeats and bedsheets,
immortalized.

I got a heart in New Orleans,
palms engraving names like
Juliet, Alexandria, & Christine
on the seats of greyhound buses.

& I'm offering up 102 degrees of skin to a godless moon
as I breathe in her night scent.
ConstellationShe is dream dust,
too bitter or wise
for her own good.

A timeless dragon's soul
somewhere inside a
scaled shell, burning
the silence in her bones
alive, honeysuckle sweet.

She collects fireflies only to
set them free at 3am,
crying to an uncaring moon.

& she's begging for the stars
to take her away,
make this house a home
rigged in the sky.

To me,
She is already naked fever
swimming through the cosmos

& I orbit her.
HeroineSometimes,
she tries to fall into the night,
tipping her strawberry heart
like a tea bag into hot waters-
always scolding herself
kissing ocean beds.
Her hips, tides rolling
towards the antagonists
of myths & legends.

But,
with a thousand leagues
of sea behind her eyes,
she will always save herself.
Mabonthere are dead leaves
sprouting from her amber spine,
reaching with child-fingers
to devour the sun.

her skin is freezing,
seeping winter through
november pores.

seeking warmth,
the whiskey tongues
of godless boys
wish to decipher
the atlas of her thighs.

counting the sleepy fireflies
alight in her lungs- there is
wanderlust churning & warming
her frostbitten heartstrings.

swinging pendulum hips,

"I am the tease of autumn flames.
I breathe in mint sunsets,
& gasoline dreams."
RepossessionYour words tore into my abdomen like vultures feeding on
the raw emotion their filthy wings stirred up from the dust.

My ribs cracked from the blow.

But, I think sometimes
of how these were the ribs
that should have chased you away from me,
quietly wondering how you managed to
slither past this cage of bone and flesh
to engrave your fingerprints into my marrow.

You were sweat & spice & scars-

Your eyes,
a thunderstorm of black and blue sex
jarring and devouring my insides,
shaped a faithless religion
through the cracks & broken shards
of my hollowed out womb.

(I want my insides back.)
Post MortemI am a walking, talking universe of dead poets
who tattoo their stanzas into my flesh
with ghostly, typewriter fingers.

I live and breathe their worldly disasters
like a nicotine addiction I've never had.

Drowning in their scribbles
I kiss their shoreline romances,
envy their Annabel Lee's,
& carry their hearts in my heart.

I am 7am coffee on Sunday mornings:
a half drunk, hungover limerick
waiting to happen.

I am jealousy:
nothing more than weak words,
& a tongue-tied cliche-

but death becomes me.
GravityAutumn wanted to learn
how to

fall.

So, the galaxy of dead trees
coiling in your lungs
devoured her spine.

Your gifts,
a lifeline wrapped around
her neck like a noose;

an orange and red
assisted suicide.

& you said "God bless your
heart." like some divine
higher power could forgive
her for loving you.
BloodI've got a filthy mouth,
& a house of stars
thriving in my throat.

21 years
silent

& I still have yet to tame
this grounded constellation
I call my temple. -Slithering
tongue hissing too many
"fuck you's" against my teeth.

I fear I will write myself hollow-
or until my bones are corroded away

& I am nothing-
an insignificant nebula
orbiting the wrong atmosphere.

But, my veins bleed sweet ichor,

& words are only words, Mother.
Browse More Like This

More from ~DearPoetry

Heart:a rebellion
tucked away
in her chest.

they say
she's got skin
unworthy to write
poetry on,
but
she tapes those
lovelies
to her limbs
anyway.
astrology.i lost my cigarettes today while
sparing kisses to too many witches
with apastron blackberry tongues.

& like the scattered stars of scars,
saturn's rings whispered secrets
to the telescope eyes of these strangers
cradling galaxies between lovely bones-

( their fingertip heat
knowing nothing of intermissions. )

Featured in Groups

:iconwriters--club: :iconda-literature: :iconlooselacespoetry: :iconhalf-way-there: :iconcreative-writers: :iconshareart: :iconliterary-visions: :icondaily-art:
×

Never trust ladies with scythes for smiles.

:icondearpoetry:



i.
    these god-hands are barbwire's,
    snagging & scarring everything
    they touch.



ii.
    black tongue bleeding sweet ichor
    along the guarded walls
    of skeletal frames.



iii.
    'i want to taste heaven.
    it rests there,
    just beneath your bones.'



iv.
    he is a god dog
    made of scythes & scalpels,
    sewn together with weak thread.



v.
    and she is a borrowed tree.
    lips that beg, & limbs that snare
    will carry him to his grave.



vi.
    'shh, my sweet-
    close your eyes, &
    i'll sacrifice you to the heavens.'

2,720

199 47 31
:icondearpoetry:

Never trust ladies with scythes for smiles.by ~DearPoetry

DescriptionDetailsShare
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My second entry for =dreamsinstatic's contest:
[link]

Prompt selected: Smile like a Scythe

Again, I've walked out of my comfort zone. And I would like all of your thoughts.

Is this piece confusing?
How is the flow?
The length?
Anything else?

Your thoughts/opinions are greatly appreciated!

Featured: [link]

This was also featured in the Poetry tag on tumblr: [link]
©2012-2013 ~DearPoetry
Category: Literature / Poetry / Horror / Free Verse

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Submitted on
September 25, 2012
File Size
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:iconkailani-e:
Critique by ~Kailani-e Sep 25, 2012, 7:57:43 PM
Amazing! This is a gorgeous poem. The flow is beautiful. The consistency in the stanzas also keeps this balance. It's slightly confusing as to a meaning, but not confusing as in when you read it you feel disjointed. It's beautiful and makes you contemplate what the piece is trying to say. The meaning isn't exactly clear, but it gives off a deeper feel then told. I like the repetition of god throughout the piece and the dark imagery that is ironic to that. The title also has a great impact. I gave originality a lower mark because I feel some of the words you used and ideas are used through out a lot of writing, but other than that, I really enjoyed this piece.

Great job!
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:iconthelunalily:
Mood: Wow! ~TheLunaLily Oct 28, 2012   Writer
oooh, I LOVE this! Good luck with the contest, my friend!!! :hug:
Reply
:icondearpoetry:
~DearPoetry Nov 9, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much!
Fingers crossed!
Reply
:iconthelunalily:
~TheLunaLily Nov 13, 2012   Writer
You're welcome! <3
Reply
:iconjoeybelle18:
~JoeyBelle18 Sep 28, 2012  Hobbyist Photographer
This is different. I love it. :) All of your writings I can almost see playing out in front of me. Don't ever stop writing please!! :D It is a bit confusing, but poems shouldn't always have to make sense, that's the best part about it. And your flow is perfection as always. <3
Reply
:icondearpoetry:
~DearPoetry Sep 29, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much.
And I don't plan to ever stop writing! :)
Reply
:iconlovelydearyyou:
~LovelyDearyYou Sep 27, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
You are too amazing. I love your poetry!! ^O^
Reply
:icondearpoetry:
~DearPoetry Sep 27, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much! :heart:
Reply
:iconchalekam:
~chalekam Sep 25, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Dark and ominous. The physical arrangement of your stanzas adds a performance quality to your poem, its like a pantomine. Its nice how so many interpretations can be derived from your poem, it gives your work a pleasent/sinister mystique. If i were a play write id give this to all i cast to help them play complex antagonists, like Shakespere's Iago, ...'s Dracula etc. Well written.
Reply
:icondearpoetry:
~DearPoetry Sep 27, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Wow!
What a compliment!
Thank you so much. :heart:
Reply
:iconvlemode:
~Vlemode Sep 25, 2012  Hobbyist Interface Designer
Yeah I think it's kind of confusing, well it's a good one like all that you write but I kind don't see to much about the title or even the relationship dunno just maybe give it a second look.
Reply
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