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apart.and I was sitting in the gutter
after trying for the fourth night in a row
to drown you along with
all my other ghosts
and the church
was across the street
cross lit up high in the sky
and it felt
like the complete
opposite of salvation.
it was 4am
and with the neon blue
shining in my eye line
i realised i was alone
i was utterly alone
in the saddest way possible.
awake from my dream state.it was a leap of faith
but i wish someone had pushed me
so i had someone to blame
give it up.- how to guarantee a panic attack in the next 24 hrs -
admit out loud how you think you're doing okay, you haven't had a panic attack in at
least three days, and it feels really nice to be calm and in control for once.
- how to sob violently in the cab -
drive through that one street, because yes its shorter, and yes you can
just not look out the window. but come on, did you really think that would work?
- how to sob violently at home -
kid yourself into thinking that you can handle that song/albun/movie/book.
you cant; and you shouldnt. besides, didnt you already tell yourself to toss that out?
.i avoid the eyes of people when i'm nervous
stare at spaces in between their eyelids
and let the conversation fade
i don't know where to let my eyes rest
when you appear
in my head
around my bones
there's nowhere to look
except through you
nervous ticki. i curse you some nights, kicking the soil around your grave and daring you
double fucking daring you to be alive somehow
ii. i heard you at my grave. my god your face has lengthened, your jaw was so slack and wide and i nearly lost it
lost it like you clearly already have.
i want to tell you i do. i'm alive, in most ways at least
iii. your mail still rattles my door of a morning hiding in with mine like it can sneak past me
past my dulled senses and weakened barrier.
everything is numb.
vi. a shadow. thats all that i am now, friend.
i have tried dialing numbers or scrawling words but they don't come.
imagine that, me, out of words.
i am not myself anymore
v. solitude will be the death of me.
i'd swear to god, but you've ruined that too
you logical bastard.
Untitledthings she's destroyed this year;
two washing machines
from the pockets she fills with rocks
when the rains come and she wants to drown
the corners of all her books from flicking
bending and shaking edges
whenever she thinks of you
you stupid boy
her first car
crumpled in a ravine
and it left a scar on her stomach
that she sometimes can poke
and feel a lump that science can't explain
and she thinks it physical sadness
the entire box of plates
that her mother gave her for moving out
and making it on her own
well, she almost made it
but something about them
being under the ground left
her shaking uncontrollably
and the tears slid underneath fingertips
and she lost the grip
and didn't notice until she'd ran to phone
and left a trail of her insides
along the corridor.
her heart lines
or whatever it is that lets the happiness in
they're sealed shut
tight and all she can do is
at things that don't notice her
whatever it was that connected him
and let the sparks
sometimes she wanted to tear the skin off her arms and dip the bared bones under water
and see if they still swelled and grew into logs rather than the twigs she craved.
it was as if there were little sandbags under the surface and they were delicately lined
and the water would sink inside them and grow and bulge and drag her under
(sometimes she does, sometimes she considers herself the bird in the bush:
dewy feathers doing nothing but chilling her to the bone; and she floats, head hung,
waiting for the currents to make her less than the nothing she considers herself to be)
but the weight is invisible, and despite its insistence
and the grey she feels all over, her feet won’t reach the bottom;
her toes are the only thing losing feeling--
she painted them red. cherry red like summer’s lovechild even though winter
had already found its home beneath her bed; red and quiet and refined like
the paper women she’d seen in magazines. she wore spring blouses with flowe
processthink how much blood
a woman sees
in a year, a lifetime.
think how very much more
one like me
encounters—think what happens
when bleeding becomes
and more art. think of every
scratch and graze, every glaze
of rust-coloured paint
you've worn on your skin
then multiply that by three.
forest firesmy signature scrawled across all
of your sentences like a stain of apologies:
i'm sorry for anchoring you to my hip
like a one-sided promise, like a flood of insincerity.
i'm sorry for collecting you like a well of wishes,
for whispering you into every crack in these walls.
i do not have the depth to tether our limbs
with the tautness of our smiles, but i will
balance you on the edges of my knees until
you slip away.
i have been kneeling with my arms outstretched
but the divinity of your touch
never graced my expectant stance.
our bones built forest fires together,
but it was always my tears putting them out.
on clarity, seeing yourself as you arewe're all hypocrites here.
and we're all artists.
we paint ourselves
onto someone else like
it isn't painful for them,
like it isn't killing them
in the process. we give them
ownership of our failures,
we lay our flaws under their
tongues so when they speak,
more often than not, we hear
some distorted version of
ourselves. we expect them
to love the way we love. we expect
them to fight the way we fight. but yeah, we're
all fucking artists, right?
and we're all individuals, of course.
we're all on our brave, one-man
trip to enlightenment,
we're proud of the way
our word has been shaved
down to feelings, and moments,
mood swings, and oxy
off the bathroom sink.
well i can't be the only fucking
one who's tired of being an artist.
i can't be the only one tired
of seeing my skin stretched out over
everyone i know. i am tired of watching
my reflection shimmer and fade in their
smiles, in their wrath. i am tired of becoming
silver in one moment only to tarnish in the
next. i am tired of asking
model behavioreccentric hips
and bustiers insistent noise
and noses powdered
hose and shoulders
and lips like
a murderer's choice
a collection of three landays(1.) the same bed in which we lay
is the same bed where i bow down to pray.
(2.) her legs like shiny parentheses
cradle mine in between the sheets.
(3.) the weekend arms that hold his wife and child
are the weekday ones that hold a gun and smile.
the rainchild, the skin dripped from his fingers & the blood beneath was clearer than the truth, rivulets of rainsong pouring down the storm drain straight to the pacific ocean ; he never needed to cry. "the clouds
shed enough tears for all of us," he told me once and i remember
when i first met him, those arms outstretched & palms like little pools, oases running through lifelines. the fortune teller told him he would only live as long
as the storm
"it's the water in my veins," he said; "it washes away the stardust & we are all drinking our ancestors' ashes, did you know my grandfather tasted," he said, "like raspberry cordial & did you know that freckles
are like nebulae & your cheeks are full of moonlight, did you know that thunder
only claps after the lights go out?"
when i was young i counted miles in the silence before those soundwaves drowned my ears in rumbles. the longer the silence the farther the light & now, my voice is racing to catch up with your radiancy. sometimes we can see but we
inktrust me enough
to let me carve my love into the
quiet slope of your back.
let me feel each bone,
feel your spinal cord humming
beneath my fingertips.
let me feel
it was the most derealized
when i looked at you,
felt a throb of lust
for something deeper than your cheap tattoos,
good taste in music;
another liability on my lap.
on a stagnant morning,
i saw the peeling brick houses
reflected by oil;
they waved and bleared.
i'm not much for grief,
tossing beside you,
My ResumeGood reading comprehension,
adequate typing skills,
adept at mental math and making
statistical graphs from lists of information.
Experience with computer programming,
thorough proofreading abilities complemented
by an inclination toward triple-checking.
I can develop fictional hierarchies
to understand the social politics surrounding
and talk for hours about nothing,
rattle off facts about Isherwood, Turing, Nilsen.
Boredom doesn’t affect me,
I read the labels on everything,
pull the clutter out of my closet just
to put it all back in a less ergonomic order.
Three days is the longest I’ve been silent,
I can smile at anyone
without a genuine drop of affability,
and pace my apartment for minutes or days or hours.
Caffeine and nicotine and THC
are the only drugs I’ve recently ingested,
my hands are steady,
I can pick false dichotomies out of advertisements.
My patience for useless tasks is endless,
I can stand on my head,
almost suck my own cock,
even so.you were my eternal bad feeling.
that lingering kick in my gut, from not knowing what stupid or self destructive thing you would be doing today.
you drank too much, and i tired to pry too many bottles out of your hands in the time i loved you.
not to say i dont still love you, but its different now. its a habit, or just the leftovers of the real thing. somewhere it got too much, the nights got too long, and i was fighting you more than i was fighting for you. the odds were stacking up against us, and i knew i had to get out of there before they buried us.
so i let them bury you.
Crown of ThornsShe wakes up with red staining her pillow
and the taste of blood like iron in her mouth
It stains her teeth and leaks from her lips, and as she
rinses her mouth out, she can’t help thinking that
it’s better than dirt and ashes
it feels like she’s wearing a noose
of broken promises and shattered glass
that tightens around her throat with every day that passes
She nails a smile to her face
and doesn't let herself think the word dying
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