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I long to set this world aflame.I once dreamt of ashes and dragons,
as dark ravens loomed over my sleeping form,
planting cadaver kisses along my neck.
Stepping into a river of colors, I contemplated
smoke halos and the unlit cigarette between my teeth.
I asked myself if all of this was worth it-
gasoline rainbows painting landscapes along my thighs.
I'd never smoked a day in my life, but I liked to play with fire.

[Light a match and watch me burn. ]
NightdanceWe danced like monsters:
lurking shadows atop gravestones,
long-limbed, and hungry.

We were hips and stitched lips.
Clinging widows to a dying mate.
You held my hand, whispering,

"Scream, Baby—
S c r e a m
lets wake the dead."

And in the end,
we collapsed
like fallen soldiers.
Missing BonesWe spent our nights star gazing
on the top of that local bar on 5th street.
You said you loved me by night,
that no star or moon in any given universe
could compare to me; that we were lost warriors
searching for a home within the roots of one another.

I believed myself a wandering ghost among the living,
searching for missing bones and the warmth of another's grave.

You shook me then,
kissing me where it hurt most-
just to test a theory.
You whispered,

"Like dead birds,
you are not faceless;
your rib cage has a meaning."

And I believed I loved you then
underneath the moon and stars
tipsy on your smile and your words
a
TigressShe is the kind of girl who smothers herself in astronomy,
New Age philosophies and coffee shop poetry.
All fire and dragon scaled-
She hides her tiger stripes behind bruises and ink stains,
living her life by way of verse-
throwing Hemingway around like insults.
Writing her letters to the moon,
she hides her heart underneath her own floorboards,
folding blank paper birds just to set them free at 3AM.

But, it's the lipstick stained collars,
the rose thorned fingers,
and the dead stars in her chest cavity
that tell her- even a tigress can bleed.
Tiger EyesHidden between a ribcage
not fit for company, or
mid-winter loving,
I grasped your heart, tightly.

We were a mess of ugly
metaphors, and tongues
gone limp-from far to many
late night, gunpowder kisses.

The kind that left nostalgic
paper cut hearts that burned
and ached, lonesome for you
after months of itching.

Tired, but deadly, I once found
you resting at my feet, peering
up with hungry tiger eyes and
claws unsheathed.

[ I never wanted you more. ]
Searching for something,Considering myself dead
my life was a farce as I
walked into a new age shop last night.
It smelled like dragons blood and candle wax.
An old, greying cat with the biggest eyes
I'd ever seen raked his claws down my leg,
purring loudly for lonely attention.  
The little old ladies there call him Ziggy,
said his hearts bad, that he wont live
to see next month.  I gathered him up
into my tiny arms, stroked his aging fur
and whispered happy little cat things
into his ears as he purred against my chest.
I found his skeletal form beautiful,
an angel in cat form
come to prove me wrong.
T h i n k i n gI want to write of the tiger
crouched in my doorway,
the smirking hyenas at my bedside,
Apollo's love life,
beautiful Seattle skies I only dream about,
and girls with dragon scaled spines.
But it's all just tornadoing
around inside my head,
bouncing off my castle walls
—straight jacket medicine—
in an attempt to save me from myself.
So, I'm going to sit here, in the dark
as the clock tictictics away the minutes
of my evening as I stare into the face
of everything I've yet to write.
We're all mad here.God's biggest mistake,
She sanded away
layerafterlayerafterlayer
just to see her wishbones.
Calling boys peaches,
hoping they'd taste
just as sweet—
Mad cats and top hats
had her questioning
her own rose garden reality.
Because upside down
is right side up,
and holy rollers think her
much too butch for her own good.
As she prefers lipstick kisses
over slithering tongues.
Stone AngelsHe had tigers blood.

Poetic fingertips
that called to me
like a siren's song,
while his demonic tongue
hissed 'S h i p w r e c k e d'.

We covered ourselves in ink,
danced along jailhouse walls
under street lights, the edges
of skylines, darkened alleyways
and the parking lots of churches.

No fear,

We spoke in riddles— gestures;
the quiet sweep of eyelashes;
cigarette smoke that lingered
long enough to shape heavens
within our irises while crows
rested on our shoulders—perched
pecking, waiting for one to move.

As we were nothing more than
long-limb statues atop gravestones.
Sultry GenesisScintillating galaxies burst to life
from the slow whirl
of her jagged ivory hips.

I spiral into the vast blackness,
the inky atmosphere
spilling from the gossamer tips
of her swirling, mahogany ringlets.

Untethered, I drift,
bereft of graceful starlight
by which to navigate home.
Inevitably, I succumb
to the gravity of her undeniable attraction.

Glimmering eyes awaken,
shed the silken sheets of ashen lids
and illuminate her universe;
an amber sunrise gilding her white plains.

A weary pilgrim
constructing new constellations
from the starfield of her ribcage,
I ravenously hunger to taste sublime glory
writhing beneath the u
Cerberusthe Gods abandoned you
the day you tore into poetic flesh.
slithering serpent, cold blooded-
blue blood society reject.
you left awkward love bites
along the edges of these ribs.
marked for today,
yesterday is mocking you-
6 trillion miles away.
i spend my forevers counting
your heartbeats with each
intake of breath as
somewhere, far off
Hades has you by the collar,
a hungry dog
standing alone in a bone-yard.
strange, how even still
with all your self built
p h i l o s o p h i e s
you became one with the earth,
devouring it whole with chunks
still stuck in your teeth.
To whom it may concern...Drop into my vacant space
the place where dreams are made
litter me with seeds to sprout
ones that never
wither

never die

  
   whisper…

to that secret place
inside of me
the place that wants you to…

     whisper…

without words
with every touch
of your fingers tips as they…

     whisper

layers of magic
upon the brokenness
of my heart so maybe…

...it's just…

I dream of you
my someone I can't hold
with white knuckles
but instead
grasp with hands filled of

nothing

but dead air

It's just…
I dream of
the ide
S u p e r n o v aI left my heart in the elevator
1,000 floors above your own.
Humming mismatched melodies
to the fallen stars
in your outstretched palms
Your curling fingers
reached out to empty galaxies.

You always longed to leap
from the tallest of skyscrapers,
Believing yourself an angel
who'd merely forgotten how to fly-

As I forgot to tell you:

     dying stars
aren't as pretty
       as they sound.
reductionI'll tell the truth:

I am a thief of the
worst persuasion.

if you want honesty,
I don't think that we will
last.

give it one or two
or three years—
years tense with opposing forces
and unusual magic—

and our reaction will be
complete. we will both
go back to our own kinds.

haven't they always defined love
in terms of chemistry?
    (opposites attract,
but like dissolves like.)

and here is the confession:
here is why I am odious:
I know this and
I will not withdraw.

here is the electron bridge—here the
anode, cathode, the ill-fated
reactants.

I set this up like dominos;
I wield it lik
MadnessI wear hot pink panties
on the outside of my clothes
just to provoke the joke
of the conformity that I love
to grotesquely and so beautifully oppose

I shave my legs
in a pitch black room
and play connect-the-dots
with my nicks and cuts
to pass the unending hours of noon

I spend eons in silence
listening to my own thoughts
then rattle off and expunge my poetry
to equate some meaningless meaning
so that it wasn't all for naught

I am madness in motion, senseless and sensual
a carnal need of squirming desires and trials
a prickly flower that blooms in hot pink panties
in a pitch black room, crystal quiet
where no one notices th
Browse More Like This

More from ~DearPoetry

A Diary of Flesh and BonesOh, so you want me to be honest now?
Well, honey--that's a little hard for me.

Not to say I chew lies between my teeth
Or spit them out like sunflower seeds.

Read between my lines baby--
You're a psychology major.

Words are unnecessary links in speech.
What's my body language telling you?

But I know what you really want from me.
A line of poetry, a verse of total honesty.

Like I said, that's a little hard for me
when someone's in my shower singing off key.

My body's the most honest thing about me.
Standing here in flesh and bone baby.

Read my skin like a diary.
Poets deserve love poems too.I fell asleep to your words last night,
And the calming way they flowed.

Poems and verses danced,
through my sleeping mind.

I dreamt I was the sonnet,
      To your poet.
       The lyric,
     To your song.

Oh, your way with words
Your way with words is beautiful.

Your way with words is beautiful.
           Why can I not be?
I'm not drunk enough for this.This being the hardest thing I'll ever have to write,
I can no longer look you in the eyes.

All I see is darkness—
But I can feel
Your dirty fingerprints.

They are forever etched into my skin
As I am trapped between my own fears
And the mattress.

For one moment, I wish I'd just stop
                                    B r e a t h i n g.

Featured in Groups

:iconthewritersmeow: :iconbleedingheartspoetry: :iconthepoetryofda: :iconlooselacespoetry: :iconhalf-way-there: :iconrush-of-emotions: :iconliterarilyfucked: :iconkillingthemessenger:
×

SLAM

:icondearpoetry:

At a young age,
I had to learn to dodge stones,
grow angry scales
along innocent freckled skin,
and open my eyes to a world not quite ready
to hear this tigress's voice.
Speaking in tongues to those paid too listen-
of fairytale wars, battle scars,
and the many linoleum squares I counted
day in and day out. I became mute.
Escaping through rabbit holes and back alleys
into a world of ink and worthy paper cuts.

[ I wear these
       paper cuts
          like a fucking
                   fashion statement! ]

And this goes out to you-
The Eden snakes, you dead-eyed demons:

It is you that keep me up at night,
weighing down these artist fingers-
IT IS YOU I WILL SLAM AT AN OPEN MIC NIGHT!

Because I,
I do have a life worth writing about.

366

36 30 8
:icondearpoetry:

SLAMby ~DearPoetry

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This one is pretty personal. I've been told plenty of times to give up writing. Well honey, I'm not going anywhere.
©2012-2013 ~DearPoetry
Category: Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Urban & Spoken Word

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May 9, 2012
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:iconvoguebarbwire:
~voguebarbwire Jul 8, 2012
I hope you publish a book and prove them all wrong and become rich and famous :) you're incredibly talented, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. another amazing poem, btw. I love the imagery.
Reply
:icondearpoetry:
~DearPoetry Jul 8, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
I am working on self-publishing a collection of my work right now. :)
Reply
:iconpersondev:
~PersonDev Jul 4, 2012
Well, I'm glad you didn't quit writing. :) Keep at it, until you truly don't want to anymore.
Reply
:icondearpoetry:
~DearPoetry Jul 4, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
I don't think I could ever quit, honestly.
Reply
:icontreefrog11:
~treefrog11 May 25, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
LOVE IT
Reply
:icondearpoetry:
~DearPoetry May 25, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you! :)
Reply
:icontreefrog11:
~treefrog11 May 28, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
no prob :)
Reply
:iconsigma-echo-seven:
~Sigma-Echo-Seven May 16, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
:iconbravoplz:
Reply
:icontaziekins:
~taziekins May 11, 2012
I can't remember if it was Keri Arthur or Kelley Armstrong, but whichever it was, her english teacher told her to give up too. Both authors now have more than two successful published novel series.
Perseverence and practice is key, and I think you have both in spades. :-)
Reply
:icondearpoetry:
~DearPoetry May 13, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
I remember my freshman year of college, my English teacher gave me an F on an essay.
I burst into tears when he told me I would go no where in life with my 'skill'.
Reply
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