[x]

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."

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.

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."

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.

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.)

Stephanie -Collab(I wrote us in free verse over every inch

               of your tattered surface ).

you were the beatific grin

of a kindergartener high off oxygen,

mouth stretched wide as the entrance to hell,

black tongue bleeding virtuous sin like ichor.

(You taught me praying was for the weak

      as I fell for your gypsum nails,

               white teeth scrabbling over my chalkboard frame).

Lonely Gods"I wish my body to be a staircase

to heaven." She said, "A conduit

of lonely Gods."—Swaying

pendulum hips, she, she

was made of stardust.- Scars sleeping

above a city of sweet bones, stirring

like sun-stricken scorpions during

hollow painkiller nights,

mistaking her redred burns

for Apollos kisses.

"Sadly, this body has whispered away
the last of my secrets."

OmegaThere is a wolf lurking in my doorway;
our eyes holding breathless conversations
as secrets whisper through the stroke of my pen
into the awaiting lungs of strangers.

…Soon young pup, you'll have nothing left to say.

My heart is woven together with tight-knit words,
blood red Poe, and thumping Hemingway-
Yet, no headstrong Omega sleeps
within this slightly cracked, ribcage embrace.

"I am unafraid of forests with teeth."

N o v ai.
This distance between us
is devouring my lungs.
I'm left here gasping,
trying to suture back together
all the broken nights-
the cigarette burns in my bedsheets.

ii.
I'm tracing maps on my limbs,
and I'm painting black holes on my palms,
pressing them into letters
left on my nightstand
untouched and unread.

iii.
I keep telling myself
none of this is about you.
But I'm reaching for empty galaxies
as I try to remember what it felt like
to be one of a binary star.

iv.
Light-years away, and I'm here-
just another nova on your ceiling,
searching this vast universe for you.

Never trust ladies with scythes for smiles.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

Sweat, Spice, and ScarsYour 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.

She has the moon in her eyes.But, this body is a black hole,
a hollowed out womb-
and these palms are sandpaper
thin and bleeding a silent stigmata.

"Not yet ripe to fall from her bed,
too young to understand her own limbs-"

She folds back July's origami skin,
wishing for the warmth of winters kiss.
She is a raven heart, thumping wildly
against the whispers of vintage lips.

Her bed is empty,
but the sheets are red.

astrological.i. On some nights,
street lights guide
this lonely heart
to her lonely bed.

ii. In this universe of twilight skin
& mismatched bones,
I wonder just how many poems sleep
beneath the inkwell of her eyes.

iii. My body is a house of stars,
and her palms are black holes
sucking ( me ) into their vortex of

nothing.

iv. She says, "Please—my moon,
please—give these bones a reason
to stay."

& I am whispering lovelies
into the sanctuary of her heartbeats.

v. "Goddess temple,
sunset eyes, &
my windowpane love-

Let us eat the stars
t

fly.this is hard for the world around us to grasp:
these wildfires raging in our retinas
& the sins we wear like demonic similes
on our tongues- they are not enough.

& i am so fucking sorry of saying i'm sorry.

but, tell me,
what is a young poet(ess) to do
with veins made of kite strings?

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More from ~DearPoetry

I wont waste my ammo, Sweetheart.If I've lost my way with words,
I suggest you get your shield.
The perfect weapon—a broken quill,
Laying among an ink splattered murder scene.

They wear what under their kilts?"Make me sway," she says,
"like a pendulum on a rainy day."
Her hips do the motions her words portray.
That look in her eyes gets you every time.
And it kills you from the inside.
Press your thumbs into the flesh of her arms,
Stop her world from spinning.
Then you realize,
you're the one who's lost your footing.
She's the one who's crazy.
"Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Let me feel you."
Paper cuts--like they're the new in thing.
"Trust me baby, baby, baby,
they burn so good."

You don't know what true love is.Well, you're one to talk,
When you compare love to twilight and sparkles.
Love is angry, love is cruel.
And I refuse to be some pinheaded fool.
I've been there, I've done that.
Sit and watch these scenes unfolded.
You do the motions, I'll do the dialogue.
"I love you.
I love you.
I love you."
Please--this is getting boring.
Don't roll your eyes at me.
I know exactly what I mean.
You'll be there, You'll do that.
Listen to me.
"Just a game, tug-of-war."
They give it that name
for more than one reason.
I'll flaunt my battle scars,
See--got this one in 94'.
Put your game f

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.

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Submitted: September 17, 2012
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Sometimes, you enjoyed being blind.

by ~DearPoetry, Sep 17, 2012, 12:02:45 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Over 1,000 letters have found their way to the pulsating heart of my wastebasket. Until you. You carried them away saying, "I'll use these to fill the empty spaces of my universe." You proceeded to tape them to your eyelids, wear them like Augusts leaves along your limbs. "I will be your voice and I will sing your words to the trees." Slender spider fingers prancing across my misspelled scrawl.

Sometimes, you enjoyed being blind.by ~DearPoetry

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

I hate titles.
If I had it my way, everything would be 'untitled 1-2-3-etc etc' -_-;

Oh yeah, I have writers block.

Critique by ~CatcherRyeNova Sep 17, 2012, 10:56:25 PM

I hate titles too!. I really loved this piece. The way you choose you words to describe certain actions is simply beautiful.

My personal favorite part:

You proceeded to tape them to your eyelids,
wear them like Augusts leaves along your limbs.

"I will be your voice and I will sing your words to the trees."
Slender spider fingers prancing across my misspelled scrawl.

The imagery evoked is stunning.

Although I am no expert to discuss techniques, however I like yours simple because I enjoy reading your poems and can relate to them.

Simply a beautiful poem all in all with a unique driving force behind.

What do you think?

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Critique by ~Spagettimoon Sep 17, 2012, 5:07:46 PM

I absolutely love it. Deep as Angel Falls, you are

. I love the extremity of your subtlety; more simple-minded people wouldn't be able to make sense of this. Idrk if that's a good thing, but I dig it lol xP. I'm amazed at how something so short can make such a big impact, as it did to me. Does this writing apply to something that has actually happened in your life, or did you just feed off observing someone else? Also, Ima have to give you props on the title(even though you said you hate them xD) Btw, I hate titles too xD

What do you think?

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~Adagiobunny Feb 3, 2013 Student Writer

Makes me want to tear up words & tape them back together...

~moonangel999 Dec 10, 2012 Student Traditional Artist

Wow, what a beautiful poem!

~DearPoetry Dec 10, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

~moonangel999 Dec 10, 2012 Student Traditional Artist

No problem

You have such a talent for writing, keep it up!

~EssJayHyooz Sep 23, 2012 Professional Writer

I wish I could make my words sounds the way I read your poems. Though this is shorter and in a way simpler to your usual pieces I am used to, I think the imagery is so much stronger.
When I read these words aloud, they feel taboo; I whispered it when I first read it.

~DearPoetry Sep 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

It is a lot simpler.
Mainly because I feel as if I'm in a rut or something.
I can't seem to say what I want to.
But I'm glad you enjoyed this piece.

~Vlemode Sep 19, 2012 Hobbyist Interface Designer

Girl words don't come to me right now, I just dont know what to do cuse, you talk with such truth that it hurts.

~xxAiko-chanxx Sep 19, 2012 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

This was lovely. I always feel like I'm reading an beautiful fairy tale whenever I read yur poems.

~DearPoetry Sep 19, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Ohhh what a compliment!
I wish!

~Cezille07 Sep 19, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Wow, I've been faving some of your work, but all of them do quite leave me breathless. Another wonderful poem, this is!
Must...+watch...

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