[x]

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.)

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.

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

Sometimes, you enjoyed being blind.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.

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."

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).

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."

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."

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

Scorpion"Show me your bones."

the atlas of her thighs quaked
as she misplaced her skin
in the backseat of his car.

"I'm a scorpion, you know-"

a messy promise
folded napkin-neat.

"Prove it."

& she smirked,
sure of her limbs,
her scars, & her teeth.

"I dare you to stake claim to this clavicle."

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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Buterflies in the atticOur cigarette desire
has me swallowing my own teeth.
I once found you hanging
in my attic, limp.
I force fed old sins
into your lungs,
smothinging you in
stray kisses & love
bites. Your vicious,
howling ghost haunted
me for years, warping my days.
My steel heart rusting,
with your devilish whispers
weighing down my fingertips.

MidnightMy pens run out of ink
& I'm tearing pages from
used bookstore classics
as I pray to fireflies
to light the verses
of the entangled roots
of my scattered mind.

[ I'm drowning. ]

Poets should never make ghost children.I whisper cheap metaphors
into your needy ears until, like
funeral flowers, they rest upon
the atlas of your mind.  You
with your napkin love letters
and cloudy storm eyes
are the only one to ever
make my scaled spine quiver.
But, my veins ache
from consuming too much ink.
I am gagging on black blood
as it spills from your fingertips
to rest upon my lips.
You asked me once if I could read
the words carved into my limbs
like prophecies of you and

Lightyears at SeaHis whispered goodbyes caught fire
in the whites of her eyes as wild dogs
and empty oceans devoured him.
Standing still for years, she with
a waiting heart and waiting fingers
gave birth to ghosts with feathers.
Haunting in his sleep, swinging like
sharp jewelry and pendulums
carving cryptic messages upon his floor-

'You, with your tattooed baptism skin
and slithering tongue of sweet poison
left her aching ashes to mix with gunpowder.'

PythiaWorshiping Apollo,
She painted galaxies upon her skin.
Telling stores of years old kisses
resting deep within her marrow.
Her body, shaped with dirt and fireflies
was sutured together by birds with teeth-
A dark eyed oracle, whispering dead
blood languages in her sleep.
Dancing in fields of silk sheets
and disfigured fingerprints,
as she tried to forget
the perverse needs
of nothing more than
mortal men.

Night CattleShe owns her flesh.
Old goddess, beautiful decay-
draping along the length of her bones
like a Shakespearean sonnet.
When the graveyard lurkers
come to pray upon a carcass,
they will howl their mournful sorrow
to the earth below their claws.
Devouring her, respectfully.
She, with an aged bird spirit:
unable to be caged.

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#KillingTheMessenger
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#Poetry-Is-Our-Love
We embrace all poetry.

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Submitted: October 2, 2012
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Sweat, Spice, and Scars

by *DearPoetry, Oct 2, 2012, 9:13:37 AM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

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.}

Sweat, Spice, and Scarsby *DearPoetry

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

I have a strange thought process. I scribble these little 'nothings' in my notebooks.

Featured: [link]

love 1 1

joy 1 1

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

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~Sigma-Echo-Seven Jan 8, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

"I scribble these little 'bits of genius' in my notebooks."

Fixed that for you.

*DearPoetry Jan 9, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Haha!

~Starkpretty Oct 8, 2012

Please keep scribbling. They are little gems.

*DearPoetry Oct 8, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Oh, I will.

~Starkpretty Oct 8, 2012

Good good!

*DearPoetry Oct 8, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

~Starkpretty Oct 8, 2012

no problem

~LevonAnthony Oct 6, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I read your collaboration where this was a piece of it first and I'm literally speechless. You're a fantastic writer.

*DearPoetry Oct 6, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you so much! <3

~LevonAnthony Oct 6, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

You're very welcome!

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