[x]

the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav

He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.

The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.

But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a

PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint

SurelyIt was raining
when we kissed for the first time,
for the last time.

Thin rivulets
sunk into the shrunken space
between our bodies
and divided us
like nothing could before,
like everything will
from now
until that never again
when we will
see each other once more,
no more.

Your eyes were
that bewitching shade
of dull brown blue
with all of the light darkness
whirling
in a placid pond
around a pupil
overflowing with vacancy,
and me
and my frowning smile.

The winter heat
fell like a rising tide
and,
for our every breath
was another death
so black and full of life --
embracing our boiled ice skin
as we drew apart,
came together and broke free

Onceyour beauty lies restless behind those
hills, where you fought valiantly. and
the man you once were was brave and kind,
but now you are possessed by a passenger
of darkness, whispering words of your
loneliness.

the man you once were is forgotten, and
the man you are today, is only a ghost, a
shadow, of what you were before.

Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –

survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,

how many graves are we standing on, today?

we are not a fairytalewe are not a fairytale.

I am not the strong lead with a heart of fire,
bones of steel, and eyes of vapid curiosity;
motivation seeping through
my every last intended action because
I was written this way

(the heroine falls only to rise again:
proverbial phoenix, burning out
because it is the cycle of my
life) and you, you are not

the beautiful travesty, perfectly composed
to strike me where I’m weak and
[almost]human, delicately woven
like the tapestry of my dismantling—
a subtle irony where somewhere, a writer
chuckles softly, understanding

we are blinder than church mice, born
in a makeshift world of darkness where
I&rsquo

Life, Death And A Pork Chop SandwichAll tangled up, hard to breathe
This steel cloud day that swirls
With heat and pounding hammers
I shake in my boots and cough up
Blood, rust and damaged flesh
Waiting for the second coming
Maybe next time around there'll be
Some chance for more than this

A twisted barbed wire halo
Wrapped tight around my skull
Blinding white light aura
Swarming with flies I'm flying
To pieces, thousands of shards
Cannot be brought back together
But I will remember the summer
Of my first Chevrolet in each bit

Gleaming bits of glass in the desert
Each reflecting a different moment
Still, now, enduring until the waves
Of a new ocean sweep them away
No pain

SisterSister

A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.

A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.

I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!

I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
to come,
in the future.

FossilizedLiving proof of fossils alive,
and no horseshoe-crab am I.

Nor, inhabitable harsh compression of plates,
residing under humid marsh-scapes.

I mold into the walls, as chalky old coal.
But I am no mineral, no era.
I am not, Mesozoic.

Through the ages
Iron
Bronze
silver, gold and heroic.

I remain a still-life; and no Iduna's apples would retain my youth
No magic fountains, or time devices, or wrist watches.
I am the machine of time.
The watcher, omnipotent, the wise.

But

no God am I

Somewhere, sweet tangy sap trolleys down cracked bark.
Somewhere, celestial bodies erupt unseen.
Somewhere, a abrupt breeze blows overturned bi-cycle tire

Puppet My tears fall,

like invisible

diamonds.

My heart beats,

like soundless

drums.

Unwanted,

because of the

strings attached.

Pretty little things called words and dustif you weren't a hypocrite,
you'd be wrapped in the sweetest
perfumes
(learning
how to engulf the ocean
with your lungs
and think of how to cup it
in your hands
despite
your broken prayers and
still be beautiful)

dance with the gypsies
'till noon
(a quake in
your hips like the thrust
of continents
and the faultlines
emanating from
your spine,
but still
so, so graceful)

sing with the nymphs
in tune
(your voice,
it's growing old,
raspy even.
your throat's burning dry
like a monsoon
faltering in a desert,

and tones
still octaves
powerful)

be nestled in a king's arms
soon
(oh, you precious
little thing.
how

HorsepowerHorsepower

There’s a knife turnin in my soft parts
And heat burnin my mind on hard starts
The motors runnin but I lost the wheel
Just want it to be numb don’t wanna feel
Take two steps back and put it in park
Before I leave scarred up black marks
I need a u-turn on this highway
But can’t go back on the by-way
So look ahead, the pavement goes on
Break the rear-view mirror it’s gone
Contemplate
Reiterate
Put it in drive
And say goodbye
Let’s see how fast this bitch can fly

-Cygam7

nightmarethe foxes are at your bedside and singing--
feversongs,
songs of boiling thoughts
and broken muscles.
their lullabyes.
they sneak so quiet, and
somehow,
you can't quite
dream
anymore.

Lost In ConfusionMy mind is spinning without a rest
emotions whirl and twirl around
A merry-go-round gaining speed
Until the world blurrs before my eyes
What's happening? What's going on?

The simplest thought slips away
Right from my mind, fading so fast
Trying to focus, I stare and stare
Until my eyes are heavy and unclear.
I don't understand, what is going on...

Emotions rise and fall again
Within the blink of an eye
I'm crying, laughing, and depressed
A rollercoaster ride that never ends
Am I losing my mind in this ?

I try to close my eyes and rest
But the world spins me around
I feel like I am failing this test
Voices and noisies echo in my min

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Fear of DeathI don't fear much in my life.

I am blessed to say the fears of some,

are not the fears of myself.

I am a calm woman;

sound for the most part and gentle hearted.

However... Things can change a person.

For now I do fear one thing, and one thing alone.

I do not fear the dark;

instead that brings me a comfort for my own dark soul.

I do not fear petty things;

like spiders, bugs, clowns, and more.

I have never had any fear of any animals;

because I don't speak that much, they always brought me happiness.

If I have one fear to speak of...

One fear above the rest.

I have a fear of death...

losing all I had in one fatal move.

Never to

Winter's embraceThe cold embrace of winter surrounds us,

and keeps us in it's icy grip.

But in ways this isn't so bad;

there are lots of great things about the winter:

The first fresh snow of the season,

brings back a childlike joy lost to us.

The ability to wear our favorite scarves;

warm and cuddly that provide us with heat on a cold day.

That warm cup of cocoa that slides down your throat;

titilating your tastebuds and filling our insides with heat.

The snowy day spent with your loved one...

that person whom, even if now they are just a friend,

or a person with whom you've pledged all the love in the world...

Snuggling with them near a warm f

My beloved friendsWhy do I treasure my friends,

when I know some will leave me,

and family stays forever.

It's because the true friends;

ones who have always stuck by me,

are more loyal than my own flesh and blood.

I am also a caretaker to them;

Whether they be bossy but lonely,

whether they be in love with a person who wants to love them back,

but that person is hurt.

Whether you have been through life's struggles,

but still watch over other people.

Whether you seem spineless and dumb,

but with a creative heart and hand.

Whether you were so shy and in a shell,

like a prisoner behind bars, but now free.

Or whether you have had a terrible past,

What is love?What is love?

Is it a rose, freshly bloomed in the spring?

Of maybe it's the first snow of winter.

So many usages of those three words;

but are they used too much?

Love should not be such a novelty,

it should be a precious treasure,

words saved for the most special of people.

Whether they are not actually yours,

or the truest love of your life.

Love is a special honor.

Orange crows fanfic Cierra sat alone in her room... playing with her wand in her hands. She should have be practicing her spells, now that she was back home... but she just couldn't. All she could think of was Natty... her beloved childhood friend. She'd finally seen her again and she was just so happy.

Five years prior... she did reckless magic that cost herself her eye...her freedom... and, at the time she believed, her beloved friend's life. She'd never been so distraught... but then... when her exile from her society ended... she saw her again. But she was different. Coarser, harder, and unfeeling. Not the Natty she remembered. Her gaze fell to her

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Dancing In The Streets At Night

by ~Tokyogirl122, Jan 12, 2013, 11:45:01 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

The streets of my home town are coated with a thick fog.

The hour is late, no one else is up, and there is a loud silence in the air.

Perfect.

I am the only one who goes outside at night,

Relishing the privacy and peace that comes with it.

I blast music from my headphones

And nothing beats having my own private playground

That is technically in public.

But because it is so early in the morning I am the only one around.

So it is like I am the last person on earth, just for a little while.

And I love it so much.

My own personal dance party.

My best work out.

The time of the day where I can really be myself and find my inner strength.

And I find it in the dead, dark, loneliest hours of the night.

Dancing In The Streets At Nightby ~Tokyogirl122

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

I actually do this frequently. Anyway, enjoy.

~BlackJack187139 Jan 13, 2013

The wonder of irony...

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Dancing In The Streets At Night

Dancing In The Streets At Nightby ~Tokyogirl122

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