|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
were illness ever so apparenti cut the
of a wolf below my breast,
i call him sweet
and tearing lover
that cut me in two
a blade of
sitting distinctly within my chest:
it is to say
that i am not
comforts to killthe happiness that follows your voice from silence.
you are not god, i am not the mount
and i will not kneel
to hold you
when you are ready
her he loves
him he loves
there is a dawn
pulling, a sunset
liei am calm i
am as calm
as the hills
in a winter
you will find me afterwards
glistening and still.
i hate thinking of your loversi like to pick them, he tells me.
he tells her, and she blushes
and he traces her legs with his
hands. she is a beach doll,
a lay of sand against the shadow of
her head, lips fertile
with the crescent.
thick and forward, he tells her
he can make her shiver; i've got
hands like gods, i've been told.
she puts them in her mouths and
think, spanish inquisition.
she is thirsty for discovery.
he feels her,
he fucks her,
and like a tease
to find her.
untitledWHAT WERE YOU THINKING PRYING
HER MOUTH TO FIT YOU, DID YOU
EXPECT HER CRY, WAS IT LEFT
OPEN AND UNFORGIVEN BECAUSE
YOU ARE A BASTARD WHO FISHES
FOR LOVE IN THE PIT OF OLD
what do gods see in the dark?hello friend i've not yet had the pleasure to meet
your deceased, do they tally the reasons for
you why life is better belly up in a grave,
your daddy was an arsonist
carried guns and drew them
to your temple and would
ask you about gods,
do you know gods don't exist
little phillip, only darkness and
the absence of darkness which
if we were to look correctly at
ourselves are endless contortions
of light, endless, endless, ever
forming and reforming and
attempting to deform,
and you were never good at not
frightening yourself to tears, so
you did just that, and your daddy
laughed and said not to take things
before he put the gun to his chin
and killed himself.
the thing is,
you were not supposed to see
and you did, you curious little
thing, always asking questions
and always looking through
drawers and peeking through
cracks, don't you know curiosity
is cunning and will crack
you like a whip,
against the door frame you held
idkwho you are,
but this tepid
destruction of trust
that tumults in waves
against my hands outlaid
said to put myself
at the foot of your bed
and i would not be forgotten.
have stayed, despite
the discourse of sister
whores lining the frame, your
offshore maelstrom of urges
that howl through the inland
where i stay
i watch shores desecrate
with you leading massacar, a hand
drawn and a victim laid straight
that drench the banks,
sink your feet into me
stay until the soil dries;
i leave you
Unable to loveMy love was pure
I only wanted
But my heart
Because my love
Like a piece of garbage
And now I'm unable
Because the shreds
Of my shattered soul
MathematicsI am but the sum of my
F L A W S;
a network of
S C A R S
a disaster of
D R E A M S
a shield of
B O N E S
C A L C U L A T I O N
a void of
to the girl i lose my words aroundi have been meaning to tell you for years:
i think you’re beautiful. i have
seen nothing on earth that holds a candle
to the ocean you carry inside your body.
it spills over your edges sometimes, like
a rain shower around you, blurring your penciled-in
lines until there is nothing left of you but your natural
cliffs, valleys, and deserts.
i like that.
i have never met someone who is, somehow,
a sea and a storm at the same time.
maybe i never will again.
maybe you are the only one
who gathers clouds on her forehead
like a promise, or feels the push and pull of the tide
with her every step.
you are beautiful, honestly.
you are honest, beautifully.
it is in the way you talk, the way you hold ice
on your tongue but forget to use it—
you always forget to use it, i don’t think
you know how.
to be truthful, i’m afraid of your smile
and how it breaks over me, how it pulls
me like a whirlpool down, how it pushes me
like a current back to the surface. i’m afraid of
Abuse Is Sometimes NecessaryPush and pull at her long hair, topple her to the solid ground,
elbow her sharply in the raw gut, shove her harshly around.
Scratch him in the pale face, punch him in the broken jaw,
do anything necessary to him that's considered breaking the law.
And when she cries because you've punched her, let her be,
and observe her when she returns to her habitual smoking.
When she passes out next day, because she's drunken too much booze,
slap her in the face once more, though many would consider it abuse.
When he can hardly walk because he thinks he's high in the clouds,
rip the needle out of his arm, and with your nails, slash him across the sweaty brow.
Grab them and shake them till their battered and bruised,
tear at their heart, scream in their ears until you've reached the point of verbal abuse.
And when she falls into your chest, and he collapses to the ground,
pull them closely, and whisper, “We can turn this all around.”
And rehab is a necessity for all of you, because you'v
Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)
I hope the title caught your eye,
because this is about you.
Many of us speak in superlatives
and ambiguous language.
In imagery-laden text masquerading
underneath double entendres
keeping us from a part of the truth.
But purple streaks and red bands,
harp strings and soft hands
don't begin to explain
the love I have for you.
So I lay these words down
simple in its vulnerability,
blemished and raw in its purity.
The term lissome fits you in many ways,
but not necessarily it its textbook form.
I speak on the part that is not readily seen
but what is easily most cogent.
Your consciousness' cognizance
is graceful in the way
you fold one syllable over
another, supple in its meaning
that can take many forms
going from idle lies
to how we idolize hollow eyes
and uncovered hip bones.
Elegance is an understatement,
but I refuse to speak in cliche superlatives.
I speak honestly
but not with exaggerated grandeur.
Because your immediate app
ScienceI am more than my
F L A W S;
a masterpiece of
S C A R S
a delicacy of
D R E A M S
a sculpture of
B O N E S
R E A C T I O N
a well of
i am made of nights like theseativan boy, you cannot empty out this skull -
not with a pen nor with a bullet. you can
be my hallowed head(case) for spitting out
words like teeth; oh, but i will only love you
when you're weary. i will keep crows caged
between your lungs like veins, like palpitations.
i will rot you through bones & car radios,
but i will never get (you) out of your skin.
A broken heartI promised myself I'll never fall in love
Whenever I fall in love I feel renewed and happy
But like a drug
Once everything finishes
I'm crying, depressed and the wreckage of my heart
I always end up feeling worse
I want to find someone that is special
But I'm afraid to suffer again
I'm afraid of losing another person
Do not want to suffer
Do not make me suffer, do not lie to me
Do not hurt me, no more
I will not hold on to people who only sink me
I'll be free and live with have left
A cold and lonely spirit.
Why Do You Still Believe?I used to wonder how one could believe in a God who oppresses?
Who controls you, who uses you, whose unbreakable laws can lead to serious depression.
I wondered this because I know what it's like to be failed,
to be “abandoned” by God, and to be thrown in a personal hell.
But than I grew older and learned how to cope,
I learned that believing in God was like holding a tethered rope.
So I looked to the world and was surprised by what I had seen.
Together the believers were holding onto a broken string.
On the top of the rope God holds on tightly,
and towards the bottom, the believers cling to the Almighty.
Through oppression, through injustice bestowed upon them by God,
they refuse to release their grip, as their faith is stronger than their distrust of God.
Because God does not oppress, nor does He use or impose ridiculous laws,
it is humans who do this, never has it been God.
So they still believe in Him when they're murdered for their faith,
when they're bombed beca
Keep in Touch!