520romeo

i. a fair wraith of fatality even from here i can hear the crunch of your brittle ribcage as your bones sunder. they look at you like you're a moonflower, with their small green eyes and low-chattering fingers. they want to know the things that are wrong with you: poetry on discoloured skin, burning cigarettes, your twisted black nights, fear of the sun, mind's intrusion of flicking tongues and pressed flesh and fusing vitals- and how you still haunt: silhouette teetering on the blurred edges of our memories, phoenix eyes behind ember hair, just a trivial skyward curve of your lips. yet has no one noticed: you're not breathing?

Spring’s ceaseless breeze; a petal bath. Prize- winning weeds that tickle your calves. Old Sisyphus getting God's helping hand. This field of poppies in bloom for seasons; even the sun's favorite daughter will start searching for the tunnel. How did your mind of many trenches fall here? Here, a single charcoal leaf. There, the pregnant moon shines a minute too long. And a dark mirror floods your eyes. Which road in these fields do you walk? Who is it you have left behind? The smell of exhaustion is close – an old friend, a past grave. Will you ever return to sink into one certainty among cellar moss, reluctant aged gra

i. sink into the universe, the void where light has died and static pervades.                                                                                                                                          ii.                                                                                                                                          oh, queen! i can everything,                                                                                                                                          live forever in                                                                                                        

you are a memory that seeps through skin, slowly down my limb, fresh from my veins; the wraith of all my empty dawns when i float between yesterday and tomorrow and throw my fists at today. i could make you perfect and complex and ethereal and we could've been star-crossed and fey and dying, but the jaded truth is you were just one and we were none of that. -- holes always manage to make their way into us. the void creeps in, quiet and shy, pale-faced and sneering. six    walls. miles    away. the    echoing. the    losing. such    lost. one cannot destroy themselves without destroying others, too. we just need to b

we are all remnants of sun dust. we gurgle and bubble and squeak; we bob on the rainbow waves of grey. my flesh is filthy. worms writhe under the heavy skin: dead lumps of pale lines that chatter so loud. the flesh is thick like tree bark and grow on it eyes. eyes draw more eyes, and one can never escape scrutiny. i try to kill them worms: i stab, i slice, i clobber and i burn. but what has an end must lead to a beginning, and the cells morph alive once more. out, out - out of this sack. eagle masses scream. hello, hello. here, swallow this! so back, back, into silent shadows, where my fog-men suck souls and i eat plasma.

she is best described as going, always   moving for ever, ephemeral, drifting. she is half-there, almost gone, lithe and leaving, with hair that blends with disappearing smoke, present only to an accidental glance.   her blurred frame is longing and sad, tired of movement, maybe missing - missing  something. she floats through the slow rising of the mountains like the mist.   slowly, sinking, to the whispering waters, circling the lands, resting in dark rock crevasses, then   heaving higher, high to where sunlight may break through the heavens but not quite, for light stings - it hurts, and she dips down back under the shelter

i have seen the grey sea. silence, silence - the waves of souls breathed me soft death. wails, whispers, wishes all washed away. soothing emptiness embraced me quiet. twenty nine hours, i was alive: alone and hidden, peaceful in the void. dirt, stone, rubble and all. alive, alive, alive. i have seen the light. then caw!  caw! white fingers grab me. they pull. i pull. they pull me into the loud dark. i am saved, and i am dead. fie, fie! why, why. this ocean is burning fire with dead skin from running lips, people spittle flooding my eyes. they say, they say. love, love. precious like a diamond. i cannot. cannot. cannot. --

here are the endless folds of the world's charcoal skies   where the screeching moon rules and teeth    loom over horizons. my   skin cage   is too tight, moving mouths have invaded my head and we are all tombless.   hot light blinds, shining, and poppies prance in circles til dead. crow eyes    glare. you speak. you speak. the fire-haired people speaks. tick ticks, my head. i shiver. and paint a red staining picture. today, i leave this sparkling world and my welted    being behind. -- within the cold walls   my mirrors fade to kill the  faces, the chatter stops and the throbbing ceases. the ticking hand in my brain falls   dea

Frank sits at the cafe at 4 o'clock every afternoon with his Cavalier King Charles Spaniel on his lap, watching people walk up the cobblestoned street even though there really isn’t ever anything new to see. At 6 pm he floats home sipping slowly at his black coffee, staring at his feet and listening to the satisfying clomp of his hard leather shoe against the worn stones of the path. He comes home and hangs up his coat then kisses Mia on the cheek. She asks about his day. "It was fine," he said, "thanks."   He watches her nimble fingers wrap around the teapot handle and watches the liquid flow and settle. Mia smiles at him and bring

i. in the end when you are warm where it is dark, let the smooth cigar smoke tell you i loved you most and when we surrendered, i lost nothing but myself, that my attic still smells like that sober sea of ours. ii. a writer's mind is as turbulent as the wide Sargasso Sea. i have shredded my closet on you. i have tried to drown my bicycle and i have jumped cliffs in desperation. someday my knees will kiss the grass and i will turn my face to the icy sky, let out the agony of twelve years. i will beg for this copper watch to freeze to give me time for a taste of memory. then on that day i'll go free rein, but i will