[x]

It tastes like love.I could speak of her in riddles,
in aged, anatomy textbook terminology-
but, I wont.

You see, I cuffed this angel to my bedpost.
I sank my teeth into feathers she wore like a cage
and asked if I was dreaming, because Love,
you're not holding me. If you only knew the you in my head,
every night--tearing with these heavenly fingers
at the cracks in my sanity- you would allow me this!

Her tongue tastes my tears; nails clawing, clawing, clawing-
she takes away my pain,
but she doesn't belong to me either.

"We are but wolves.
Tell me, what does my blood taste like?"

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."

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."

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

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.

Battle CryI write poetry to ghosts in my dreams
awakening with ink stained sheets
from nights I can't remember,
meaningless phantom words upon my flesh.
And this cigarette between my fingertips
taunts me,"Hey baby, hey—catch me on fire
and I'll burn you away." I laugh, hollow—
unafraid of flames & smoke & shadows.
I've felt it all before.
I'm washing away the ink with homemade
remedies. Like it never was;
Like I never was.
But there is love on my arms now
smirking and itching away at me.
I'll claw it out a hundred times over
because remembering you—
that is worse than self-inflicted injury.

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."

I miss you, and i can't say i'm sorry
because these slender, spider fingers
ache to trace the curved letters of your name tag,
emily.  i notice you write everything in caps.

  ( have i ever told you
how much i enjoy saying your name, -EMILY. )

you are screaming to the world, quietly.
but we, we are mid-morning whispers
over stale, back room coffee,
silent eyes, and window pane love.
these hearts were runaways once;
hitchhikers on a trail to nowhere.
you shared pieces of yourself with me then,
emily, between beats and bathroom stalls.
you were a gargoyle under the heat
of july summer.  evenings were our playg

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.

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.

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).

Poetry,She is stardust leaving sweet bones
in her wake. A trail of poetic destruction
conceived in verse--answering questions
with kisses. There is a hunger in her
freckled constellations, like spider webs
woven together with golden thread.
Like the wild roses she braids in her hair:
She walks backboned and head held high;
the strongest of letters on a page
left to rest in your mouth.

Je t'aimeShe told me, "I love you this much!"
stretching her arms out
as far as they could go, fingers taught
and desperate.
I looked at her, eyes smiling
and asked, "Only that much?"
"That's all there is." She replied.
And I agreed,

"Vast oceans can not compare our our love,
little bird."

GhostsNight time musings;
hollow-eyed and shallow-breathed,
filling the spaces between clouds.

Quivering shadow skin…

And there are voices in the dark,
lost sighs and weight upon whisper;
but, we are all whispers here.

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."

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 982 bytes more ▶

More from *DearPoetry

April ShowersStaring up at you under the porch light,
I thought how cool it would be for rain
to suddenly pour down like kerosine
and set us both a flame.

[You found the idea appealing.]

That...trickI felt my skin itch
and tear under the pressure
of your slurred tongue,
slithering along
the curves of my
contorted spine.

[You left me b r e a t h l e s s. ]

Lucid LoverHer eyes are made of roses,
and sharp as thorns.
Her kisses leave scars
that burn way past dreams
as the feeling of tiny,
powerful fingertips
linger against
heated cheeks.

He's the kind of boyWith calloused fingers
this boy trails poetry
down the length of spines.

[His whispers
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
December nights.]

His dreams are bigger
than skylines.
Too much for just one.

The thought of needles make her itch.But, sometimes she likes to
skim sharp objects along
pretty porcelain skin.
Not enough to stain,
but with half a heart
to prove them wrong.

"Don't try to stop me."

These Tangled Webstiny spiders
hang from my hair,
And you say,
baby—
what's been going on?
you don't smile
like you use to.
I miss that
sparkle in your eyes
that made my heart
thump thump thump.
I miss that well,
the one we use to
kiss behind before you
tossing in flowers
instead of coins
because you never
had those
shinny pennies
anyway.
But,
your every wish
was always granted.
I've picked your favorite
flowers every day
since you forgot me,
and I've tossed them all
inside.
But the magic
it doesn't work
for me.
So here I

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

#written-from-within
Written From the Soul

#writeaway
Find Your Inner Voice

#Writers-Guild-DA
writers everywhere

#Scribblers-Anonymous
your ever-friendly lit club!

#BleedingHeartsPoetry
A Poetry Club

#Pencils-of-Doom
After School Art Club

#ThePoetryofDA
DA Poetry Club

#poetry-book

Show all (73)

Details

Submitted: July 20, 2012
File Size: 982 bytes

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 109
Favourites: 225 [who?]
Views: 2,666 (0 today)
Downloads: 32 (0 today)

[x]

Troy

by *DearPoetry, Jul 20, 2012, 9:05:50 PM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

You have too much time on your hands, Love, folding paper cranes with broken fingers, wishing to see northern lights in the eyes of strangers. There are no lions between your bed sheets who understand your hunger better than I- You are licking my wounds; one with the wild. I swear it's you behind these eyelids- untamed and desired by this lonely poetic canvas stained with blood, ink, and words I can't fucking say. You look like a Goddess standing there reading my skin quiet and shameless, proud of the gaping hole in my chest. I know it then, like I know my own counterclockwise heart; I should never trust my own kind. "I'll build you up, my Troy, just to tear you down again." And I whispered please, please, please...

Troyby *DearPoetry

Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

and I fell and I fell and I fell.

Critique by ~winonakrohn Aug 15, 2012, 10:07:25 PM

Write a lot of poetry but don't read much of it. I have particular tastes. But this poem caught my eye.
This has a lovely topic, but is so soft that you almost don't realize it's darkness and sexiness. "There are no lions between your bed sheets, who understand your hunger better than I-" My favorite line. There is a lover who is hurting another by looking for someone else (that is what I gathered from it anyways), but you, the narrator, stay for it. You knew that there would be pain, but the prospect of love keeps you hoping that it will get better.
Maybe I'm not making any sense to you at all, or it's way different from the way you felt in writing this, but that's how I felt about this beautiful poem.

What do you think?

Fair Unfair

The Artist thought this was FAIR

7 out of 8 deviants thought this was fair.

5 Replies

Devious Rating

Vision

Originality

Technique

Impact

The Artist has requested Critique on this Artwork

Please sign up or login to post a critique.

love 4 4

joy 1 1

wow 1 1

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~tiajones Sep 11, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

i love love love those first three lines. [:

~EmeyTroi Sep 3, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

"You look like a Goddess standing there reading my skin
quiet and shameless, proud of the gaping hole in my chest."

What a sad, sad verse... ;n;

*DearPoetry Sep 4, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Yes.

~GreenEyedArtemis Aug 18, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

oh my gosh. i cried.

*DearPoetry Aug 21, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Really?
May I ask why?

~GreenEyedArtemis Aug 26, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

it reminds me of me and my boyfriend. it was crying in a good way, tho- it touched a chord

~Sigma-Echo-Seven Aug 1, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

This whole thing was captivating in its sincerity, but these lines,

"There are no lions between your bed sheets
who understand your hunger better than I-"

really spoke (or perhaps purred) to me!

*DearPoetry Aug 21, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Me too, I shaped the poem around those lines, honestly.

~Sigma-Echo-Seven Aug 21, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Somehow, I could tell.

*DearPoetry Aug 21, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

More from *DearPoetry

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

Troy

Troyby *DearPoetry

The Artist has requested Critique on this Artwork

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style