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Sandmanthe habitat has always shunned my brother
mouthbreathing below the bed of every peasant
cuddling with me to the lonely minute
father of the coma
for us all
i am somnus
i am the backbone of the great paralysis
at the table with thanatos
he asks me who i am
around a mouthful of eggs benedict
my brother asks me who i am and
panic gets the knife down from the cupboard -
i lay the people down for hypnogogic rape
they never question what i've done to them
i become canvas before my fraternal treasure
he who tripped the breaker of my empty heart
his eyes turn ultraviolet
leave me huddled over sacrifices
acres of breakfast
coffee drowned in cream and sugar
(i am)phetaminehard to swallow -
that is the only phrase i know that comes close
the only phrase that almost
wraps it's mouth around
this is here because i heard the newborns
screaming that their toes were cold,
that they deserved to be loved
their lungs can re-assemble what they've borrowed
give it back
this is the firearm that my uncle gave me
when i was three
i am pointing it at your heart
you need to feel the hands of fear on your back
you need to hear it whisper,
and realize that it never tells you where you're going
six years ago i was afraid i'd lose her
told her that she was the spark
for all i'd done
that afternoon, the dogs came running
that afternoon, she decided she was theirs
six years ago i was afraid i'd never live if i stayed sober
one more day
i smoked a cigarette
drank a mug of schnapps
i went to bed alone that night
running down the bedspreads
and puddling along the hardwood floor
one last thing before you're free to go -
intimate with the basement steps
the melting dr. jekylls
david bowie in the 80's
i'd fuck your bathroom mirror
if it made me feel alive
society has decided to
accept the sheep
the wolves in their clothes
a canine, naked
blood across the sky
from the river
Black Metal (Sunrise Over My Aorta)do i always stand
on my own two legs
could an injured limb
give comfort to the rest
for the shantytown
my jutting oblongata
thank you for the straw that broke
the camel's back
Licheni threw up at the cracker barrel
in the mountains
where naomi works
chicken macaroni and cheese
don't touch me
fuck these cigarettes
how old are you
how old are we
is like a bedroom mirror
beneath the sea
i used to say my bookshelf
i would see the spiderwebs between them all
of who what where when whys
but after i came back
the black lagoon
my bookshelf was WHO WHAT WHERE WHEN
WHY DID YOU
not much more
Cobaini sleep alone
for slumber is of innocence
and in the ocean
i've forever found my face
did faust see beaches
before the devil bought the house
a mirror is enough
to teach us what we'd love to hate
i desire heaven
a pair of eyes that eat me every time
away from all of you
my bedded cavern underneath your minds
Echoa spectre walks the coral reef, tonight
hidden midst the crip azure
woad, a field so frozen it seemed pure
came calling for me
broke the spine of jupiter
so bled my memory; the dripping styx
blue blanket o'er the understory
nothing that i hoped would grow will be
came calling for you
one last time before i fell asleep
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
eight ways you've made me small1. I wish
this was for you.
2. my journal pages - the
brown one with all our monologues -
were jarred with hollow vows of
last poems of
letting you slip into a coma
of bad memories, watching you
fall to your death off
a cascading cliff of disease
and dis ease.
it was never
easy for me
3. there's a reason I ask
whether you're grey
(dark white, elusively black, in between)
or blue (behind the clouds, under wave-foam,
whateverthefuck runs through the back of my
palms); I'd rather have
than the arms
that once held you half-
heartedly. you had always been
my harmony and I
would have killed
to have been yours.
4. it could never have been just me, the way
it could never have been just
5. disasters are not beautiful,
but how is it that you
managed to make my inner linings
converge into bows
and explode into wings the very
night you decided to rebuild your walls
to a lower height?
6. I wish
Whenever I hurt myselfI have a feeling
Someone is watching
So I look around
But there's no one to be found
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
ExpirationWith you I always feel like I’m
to break in the wrong size of shoes.
Sometimes I sit and stew
over how you’re seventeen and
you think I’m a princess
the trapped-in-a-tower kind
and how you wear suits and talk about politics
and think you know the world.
My throat interrupts with an affronted gurgling sound
sometimes when I think about you,
you deal out advice where it just isn’t called for
you quote science-fiction to justify war
and you’re seventeen years old and you think I’m a princess
and you just have no blooming idea.
Darling, one of these days I will tell you my mind
But until then we’ll never fit
I’m afraid –
that even after that day
you’ll still be trimmed hedges and
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, with 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
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,
DryIt takes more than courage to help people
these days, to make sure someone else
gets theirs because if you didn't get
theirs they wouldn't get yours either.
It takes more than resolution to see things
these days, for not what they appear to seem
but rather what they'd seem to you if you
were under the sea and could not swim.
It takes more than fortitude, these days
to write what you are going to write because
you felt it, because it's there and because
you enjoy to look at photos of yourself.
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^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