California wind mirages the trees, The sunny cold of February caresses cracked skin With a familiar dull glow. The month is long, Ironic. January bleeds to the first, I celebrate birth in a façade. Reality is the mourning of living, Mortality clinging to the breezes That dry my knuckles. Years transition cyclically And all I want is March. The pain of January memories Accelerate aging depression Through a month meant for romance. The irony is time, A passing visage that moves with the air, The pain and joy both fleeting, A predictable annual return That rides the waves like weather.
Lipstick stains the rim, Glowing eyes, I think of him. Nickname Luci, Memories, It is his dark I see. Spiraling into Hell, An Inevitable journey, I hope you treat you well.
And Swallow my Feelings by rad-and-sad, literature
Literature
And Swallow my Feelings
I sit sideways
I bite my cheek
Watch my pink skies fade to black through the window
The sunflower’s faces turned down
I turn inside myself when the night comes
It’s a subtle ache
The air is light with chlorophyll
The moon is asleep tonight
I sit alone
I still bite my cheek
Our thighs pressed
I laugh
I touch your arm
The wedge of a strawberry moon in the distance
Yet I bite my cheek
The air is heavy with humidity
Your tall grasses whisp my legs
I bite my cheek harder
Pink pools in my stomach
I choke on my words
A strip of white plaster
234 miles thick
Pink starlit skin
Your strawberry mouth
Sweet sunflower hair
I have to bite
It is so confusing,
I want to tear myself apart,
Patch by patch.
Skin first.
I want to open up the wrapping
Imprisoning the energy,
And let the tension free.
I want to put back together
A shell housing peace,
But I am an impenetrable mold.
My glassy skin thick enough,
It never cracks.
It is so confusing.
I want to tear myself apart,
But I am glued within my marble skin.
I'm drinking down
S t a r s
With my rum & coke,
Breathing in autumn
Air and exhaling
Ghosts between my
Birch-branch fingers.
The moon's never
Looked half as cold
As it does shining through
The strands of your hair,
Ink and silver dancing but
Never touching.
I bet the moon doesn't
Know what it's like to feel
The touch of a lover's
Hands and then the wrenching
Of her heart when she wakes
Up to empty sheets and the
Bottle of gin half empty.
She see's the him every
Day, brushes against him
When she rises to take her
Place in the sky after each
Night's dusk, but you -
You are a distant galaxy.
And here I am.
Drinking down stars
With my r
I lay with you on a cloud,
Our friends shooting fireworks into the sky
That pierce through both of our hearts
And ignite our eyes, our lips, our skin.
I find your warmth in the darkness of sleep,
The explosions we create in ecstasy
Leaving behind fire and light that warms our cotton ground,
And keeps the sparks in our eyes.
Wasting away hours,
We watch the sun and moon dance.
They never tire of the same motions,
Interconnected through souls, like intertwined hands.
Uncertainty made certain by our adventures in the sky,
I finally understand what beauty is.
Sunlight peaks through open windows,
Caressing love into a soft wake.
She sits at her desk
Her headphones in,
The world shut out.
She bleeds for others
As words fly from
Her mind to her fingertips.
She stares at the screen,
At every little comment,
The good and the painful.
She forms her emotions
Into books and poems
To throw away the hurt.
She's a writer,
And her best weapons
Are her mind and her pen.
They say you shouldn't drink with Death,
and yet I find myself pouring
another glass of amber liquid.
She's quiet, my companion;
doesn't talk much.
It's strange to see her in person
after hearing all the tales
and fables meant to scare
little children and to
put grown men in their places.
She's different than I expected--
lighter, not quite so hidden behind
a gray cloak or embedded in the shadows.
I ask her why she has graced me
with her presence, and she turns her
hooded head in my direction.
Long ivory fingers clutch the glass
and I notice her nails, like mine,
have been gnawed as far down as possible.
She doesn't answer my question-
My heart beats slower
you can tell by the beeps
from the machine that’s out of sight
Mom tightens her grip
around my hands
she holds her daughter tight
My eyes are tired
the lids are heavy
I cannot keep them open
I’m cold and scared,
I tremble with panic
I fear my will has broken
I search her eyes
they’re full of tears
a sight I’ve never seen
I sadly realize
all the moments
that now can never be.
I give in,
let my eyes close
I silently stop fighting
And through the glare
and demons’ howl
I feel a cold so biting
I couldn't quite explain
Why I wanted to kill myself.
Maybe it was my desire to drink myself into oblivion
Or the craving to leave a slew of little lines all over my body.
Maybe it was the memories of you
And the terror of all the things you did to me,
My only problem for over a year,
And I couldn't get away.
At this point I have a warped perception of love.
I feel my pours clog with hatred,
As I can feel myself disintegrate into unimportance,
Never to be truly loved.
Maybe it was my awakened sleep
That couldn't protect me from the shadow
Of the darkest nights.
Demons suck my soul out through my lips,
A kiss like yours that stings in the morn
My first submission to a group . . . I hit the wrong button and it's in the wrong folder! Alas, alack. "The Box" won't make it in "Morbid." Maybe tomorrow . . .