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A Happy Poem?It's weird.
Weird that I found myself alone of my own choosing,
but hated every second of it,
because I knew it meant leaving you.
Weird that this dull pain in the back of my heart lingered for so long,
and that it was a longing for you,
who I deserted.
Weird that now,
When I come to you with my tail between my legs,
and those sad eyes and those lines we've all heard before,
you've forgiven me.
And my heart leaped out of my chest,
And caught in my throat.
A second chance?
A shot to prove myself?
What a relief.
Bad tasteEverywhere I go has a bad taste to it now.
I try to drink from the waters of creativity,
but am met by bitterness and the salt of freshly shed tears.
Everything I eat tastes of ash.
I try to think of things that make me happy,
and I see you everywhere.
I've left a bad taste there for the two of us.
And it hurts,
but I can force myself through it.
I feel wrong making you go through it, too, though.
I wish...I wish that I could say I'm sorry,
but I know that it will only make you hurt more.
I wish I could give you back the piece of your heart
that you were kind enough to give to me,
but I was cold enough to toss aside.
I wish that I could make things better
for the both of us.
Because even as we've gone our separate ways,
I still hurt when I see you like this.
I wish that I could do more than give you time,
but time will have to be all.
I wish I could keep from messing up,
but I can only help by keeping my hands away.
Most Interesting ManI don't always think about you anymore,
but when I do, it still stings.
I don't always lie around and moan about how awful life is,
and how my life doesn't have any meaning,
but when I do,
I make sure that I'm not publicly humiliating anyone.
I may not be the most interesting man on earth,
but I wish I'd be able to get your attention long enough to be recognized.
I may not be unhappy with where I am,
but I sure as hell can bitch about a lot.
Feedback and Activity Messages are AwesomeFeedback and Activity messages are awesome.
Why don't I get any.
It makes me sad.
I don't post any deviations...
Moment of TruthIt's the moment of truth,
Where I come to terms with myself.
Have I been lying to myself all this time?
Or have I actually gotten better?
It's the moment of truth,
Where the last stitch will finally be made,
or where everything I've worked for will be torn up again.
It's the moment of truth,
Where I can learn to be a person again,
And we can learn to be people together.
It's the moment of truth,
Where we meet as entities other than each others' lovers.
And I'm scared.
But I'm ready for this.
It's the moment of truth,
Let's make the most of it.
Change this lifeHiding in the shadows
Resisting in secrecy
Trying to find a way
To change this life of misery
The future is unknown
The past is to forget
The present is dull and boring
Is this what life has to offer?
I want to change
And I keep trying
Only to fail miserabily
Every single time
A lifeA life
when i stimulated the prayers of rib-beat
when i licked the temple of my teeth,
speed pushed my fingers shaped like confessionals
clasped holy, carved my throat to fixing-
lover; i did this for the anthem of your eyes,
the feel of strangled feet crushing the fame of stars
for the glow of streetlight worship, for the moons
of your crooning throat, for the halls of your arms,
the strayed revels of your arms,
lover: you manufactured a god out of the drugs i used
and had me addicted to the divine, to the dignity of music
you pressed in my direction: just what i am, hallelujah,
marijuana, day and night-
lover, i fell in love with your culture
that preached the real definition of dusked kneecaps,
the plea of closeted throats, the whisper of bless,
unlearning how to say please god in borrowed tongue,
i fell in love with your attention, nervous grace
lover. i levied the rubble of my sins
Even The City KnowsIs it at all easy?
Being by yourself, I mean.
Sitting in a car, on a train, on a bus--wherever you might be now, isn't it hard to be a drifter?
There are no men with newspapers, no women with strollers, no love-crazy teenagers, no annoying toddlers, no anybody.
You stare out the window, like there are people out there, calling your name. The trees are out there, and they've lost all their leaves, all their buds--they've lost everything, just like you.
The sky is out there, and it's gray and colorless, just like you.
The stars are out there, and they're so blown-out-of-proportion, and they're just like you, too.
But the trees, the skies, the stars, they're used to being left alone.
You lack the ebullience of your drink, but it, too, is fading.
Frost has gathered on windows, on the ground, on rivers, everywhere.
Frost comes and goes, just like you, when you finally melt away.
The city draws to darkness and quiet--it disappears, just like you.
But, even frost
on bradbury and table dancingYou are not a wordsmith
whatever you might like to think. ('Smith'
indicates precision and coldness and fire:
words are softer than that unless you mold them strong.)
It's a difficult road to follow, and not many
make it past the fork. Choose a path,
Janus says, whirligig keys spinning on his shoulders:
I am a wordworker, with my tools too crude, forming
rough-edged carvings painted with pretty imagery.
Notebooks scattered across the landscape
of a child's room, to be stumbled across,
read, red-penned, in the thick and choking breath of night.
When the bough breaks
a hanged man laughs. He carries typewriters
in his pockets, and cigarettes in the soles of his shoes.
I will never be a word mistress,
whoring myself to the speech of people I do not know and will never know me.
The oven is set to Fahrenheit 452, but the words were already aflame
before they ever took shape under your tongue.
You love everything they've ever written, and carry
unabashed loathing for every syllabl
Synesthesia - III have learned not to say
when your voice burns under my tongue -
learned not to shiver
at the cold of sirens on the street -
learned not to describe
the pricks and strokes and touches.
I have learned that skin cannot hear,
nor ears feel
(whichever it is).
How strange to think:
I may travel all my life
and never find a lover who can hold my laugh in his palms.
Death to the LoversHe screamed,
He tore his hair from his scalp;
But it didn't bring her back.
The beautiful girl
With the gorgeous smile
And witty remarks
Would always lay six feet under.
She would lie in her death bed,
Her arms folded on her chest
And her face full of peace
Known only to the dead.
He would be the first to rot.
First his health,
Then his sanity.
She would forever feed on his emotions
Like a pretty little leech,
Sapping his well being
And happiness from her underground world.
And he would let her,
For a fool like him
Who allowed himself to love,
the tattoo artist.she finds gems hidden underneath my skin and
rips them out with her teeth, the sores
along my arms swelling with pride and red; never
has she wondered if the pain would make me
grit my teeth into powder—no, she knows
i take it like a man takes steak:
raw and tough and bloody, like my fingers
after picking scabs to let some fresh air in; her
words are etched on the point of a needle, and she
is a tattoo artist drilling ink into my body, her lines
thick with moxie: "alive" splayed out across
my wrist, "awake" above my heart—she paints
a vision on my eyelids of an endless sky and
tells me it doesn't belong to me, but that i
can have it; perhaps foolishly,
i believe her every word
Sticks And Stones
Sticks and stones,
and broken bones,
but only words have hurt me.
In a matter of time,
You'll draw the line,
But I'll never be free.
With my heart on my sleeve,
I'm left to believe,
That eventually blood runs dry,
The clock is ticking,
The plot thickening.
I seriously just want to cry.
And stick and stones,
When I've only hurt my heart.
I'll say I'm wrong,
Sing a sad song,
And I'll begin again from the start.
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More