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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.
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.
"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
and your warmth.
Your hands must be the thieves
who stole these thin bones of mine-
because, I never wanted you more.
Cemetery CatsThe wolves were out that night
and all of the hook laden quips
that we concocted
fell upon lips
like a hummingbird's whisper.
Then, they ignited into flames
like burning stars.
That should have been us:
beautiful ash, supernova romance
with tongue and fingers soaked in ink.
We always did find the taste of Heaven
stale, like coffee three days old.
And with that taste still lingering,
you were a walking oxymoron.
A sinner come to save
these easily swayed, glass bones
from smashing into oblivion.
I longed to taste that wild,
untamed energy beneath your skin.
Devour that dragons heart,
and tattoo love along the bruises
I begged you to leave on my arms.
[ The 7 deadly sins wrapped up
into one nasty little Pisces. ]
You made me violent.
Names come and go,
but the race of these
rose petal hearts
wont easily be forgotten.--
As we spent our nights in graveyards,
with ghosts, in the company of
stone angels and cemetery cats-
Whispering our secrets to the dead.
He thinks her a Goddess,and he whispers, "Little bird
Your stardust arms are quaking,
allow me to hold up your universe."
3am Poetry I bit my lip,
keeping myself locked away
as your curved fingers
taptaptaped away at my
[ permanently engraving
love stories on my skin
as if my body were your
personal typewriter. ]
Only the clench and slight
q u i v e r gave me away.
[ Your mouth was wild
tasting of dark secrets
and 3am poetry. ]
"It's your eyes
that give you away."
He's the kind of boyWith calloused fingers
this boy trails poetry
down the length of spines.
smell like lemon drops,
and taste of sweet poison.]
He carries a tattered
notebook in one hand,
and an ink pen
in the pocket
closest to his heart.
[The paper romantic
who warms lonely
His dreams are bigger
Too much for just one.
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. ]
Spider and the FlyS e c r e t s
roll off his tongue like candy,
and his lips drip
He likes to walk on bridges,
about as much as he likes
to watch them burn.
He's the spider
to your fly
L i e s.
Rats and RosesI don't like rag doll dreams.
The kind where I literally
start falling apart at the seams.
won't you please?
I'm comparing rats to roses.
Because, and this hurts me to admit-
years and years before my bones
are washed clean of your fingerprints-
Sooner or later,
you're going to forget my name.
It will no longer slip through your teeth
to rest at the tip on my tongue.
in the eyes you found your 'other',
We will always be the lovers
who mixed their ashes with gun powder.
MonstersThere is no such thing as monsters,
Is what our parents always said,
But they didn't seem to account for,
The ones living in our head,
The ones you only find in mirrors,
Or on the bathroom scale,
The ones that are the first to speak,
When you will surely fail,
Parents do not realize,
That this false sense of hope,
Won't truly bring our minds to ease,
Or help our spirit cope,
It only makes us vulnerable,
To the monsters in our head,
And will only lead to serenity,
Once our body's dead.
Tick tickHe could hardly breathe
But his heart was still beating
A broken rhythm
A Phsycotic tempo
He didn't know the time
But he still heard the seconds go by
Swirling around him
Something was saying
His time was over
He didn't have wings
But he was flying away
I couldn't catch him
The wind carried him away
Were cold and bloody
And he bled
Dripping in tempo with the clock
It struck twelve
Like knifes and swords
And he bled
Presentation Day (Romania x Reader)“This is awful,” Romania mutters.
You agree. In fact, most of the class probably agrees, but you just nod silently. You’re watching fellow students’ presentations about WWI and II, and to be frank: they all suck. The PowerPoints themselves have dreadful layouts full of large blocks of ugly text, which are read by the presenters in monotonous tones, whose beautiful backs are all we see of them. It’s bad.
“I mean, even if I didn’t know all this already and especially that I do-”
“Shh.” You cover his mouth with a finger and lay your head on his shoulder. The tactic works as planned; he keeps the criticism to himself, and even begins to purr softly. This attention attracts a nasty frown from the teacher. You just roll your eyes, but Romania turns and glowers fiercely back - a look that could stop a charging tiger in its tracks – causing the professor to look away. Having a crimson-eyed vampire looking at you like you’r
RememberRecall reflections, rippled waters
now bone-bare dirt and sundried sand.
Remember yellows, blues and reds
whose silken surface softly skimmed
cool water, beneathe trembling hands.
Rethink the way your waters run;
flow with yourself, your soul, your skin.
Renew that day you fell in love
with something better than you'd known,
tango with rain, waltz with the wind.
Remember now, as you did then;
Poetry in TreesShe's a girl who loves Ginsberg and Kerouac
and reads On the Road
in the back of rusted out vans
with her feet kicked up on a shelf.
Moonlit walks while holding hands
and jumping lakes with our clothes on.
We don't care.
Pulling icicles off houses and eating them in the cold
before going home to cups of hot chocolate
with whipped cream
and peppermint sticks.
Baking cookies that taste like home,
but better because we got to eat the batter together.
She writes poetry
while sitting in trees.
Writing on herself with ink when she runs out of paper.
She calls fiction candy
and can't get enough.
We're all fiction together.
Catching Stars.I caught a star
and put it in my pocket
to keep it safe..
I took it home
and placed it on a shelf
in a cold dark place..
I kept it a secret
no one knew
what I was hiding..
You needed a friend
but I had nothing to offer
so I gave the star to you..
Your face lit up
I could feel the warmth
you almost felt complete..
But you let go
and the star went home
leaving you breathless
and almost knocked you off your feet..
The sky burns
the star shines bright
and I quietly watched
as you found yourself
somewhere deep within the night.
I Am A GirlI am a girl.
Boys do not define me.
I am as strong as a thunderbird,
Golden winds flapping above the savage sea.
Waves rise from the ocean and reach high,
Stretching icy fingers that catch.
Soaring high to defy,
The deadly waves, unscathed.
I am a woman- stubborn as a goat.
Men do not rule society.
We stand as proud oaks,
Living amongst the maples in equality.
Long limbs stretch wide,
Mingling and interweaving.
Lives intertwined, never to divide,
With love strong and sincere, undying.
I am a girl.
Boys do not define me.
I am as strong as a thunderbird,
Golden winds flapping above the savage sea.
Y O UYou are stardust
and sun spots
the sinking feeling
in the pit
of my stomach.
You are ice water
and you melt
in rivulets down
the side of my heart
till you cover my body
in your frigid affection.
You are acid
and you eat me from
the inside out.
You are the blood clots
on my arm and the
tears in my skin.
Over done scabs are too easy to peel away
left to reveal
the tender marks
of your unhealthy desire.
They say you'll leave me
but sometimes I think it's a lie.
You'll never leave me
free and clear;
too much of you and me
is left on the blade of a knife
and we mingle as one.
Your tender yearning
holds me too tight
in the suffocating noose
of an embrace.
Autumn (Prussia x Reader)BRIIING!!!
The obnoxious tone signifies the much-anticipated end of the school-day. After stopping by your own locker, you're on your way past the troublesome (and disturbingly sexy) 'Bad Touch' trio, who are horsing around as usual. Someone grabs your arm. You spin around to see Gilbert Beilschmidt, the infamous self-appointed king of the school and the only albino, peering into your face. He seems uncharacteristically distraught.
"Hey, uh, _____..." Oh gosh he said your name. "I was wondering if you'd maybe, um " He hesitates, shifting anxiously. "Can we go outside?"
Taking your hand, he leads you out of the crowded hallway, avoiding most of the jostles caused by the rowdy adolescents, and eventually outdoors to the nearby park.
Autumn is supremely alluring at this time of the year. Birds twitter restlessly in the branches of colour-splashed trees, each a multitude of shades and hues. A crisp breeze brushes by, rustling the brittle leaves throughout. The general tempera
Sometimes I wish I knew the girls I write about.Believing God speaks to her in riddles,
She feels most alive
when hanging out of windows.
A fearless free faller
with an adventurers heart,
and innocent New York eyes.
and impossible to snuff out-
Forgive her, sweet father,
for she has sinned.
It's been three
ReflectionsVal's pursuit led him to the foul beast's domain. The hollowed-out cavern reeked of blood and rancid meat. The dim light he had seen as he charged through the tunnel after the monster could now be identified: torches. Rows of mysteriously lit torches lined the walls of the huge cave. At its center was a substantially large labyrinth of mirrors.
He spotted the beast entering.
He spun his silver broadsword in his hand and hurried in behind it.
His garb was a simple blue and white crusader's leather with thick armored pads and reinforcing steel studs. Lightweight and flexible, but quite effective defense against blunt blows and – in a pinch – the slashing claws of the unholy spawn of the earth. All monster-hunters wore a similar variety in Val's experience. It would serve him well in these close quarters of the mirrored maze.
Right, left, forward, left, right he turned, always catching a glimpse of the beast's tail as he wove his way through the corridors. Every so often he sp
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