(My) Propensity of Seasons

Crouching -
An angry low; being covered
blanket of snow.
Distaste to every death and being.
Living, barely breathing.
Icicles on the tip of my tongue.
Feeling frost harden skin while burning.
Slowly rain pouring and purging.
Deep breath, gag up the death.
The metamorphosis of heat and sun.
A warming upon an upturned face.
Crouch to a lounge, a stretch free from burden.

 And the shelves of winter shatter in the wake

(Leaving chipped glass hidden for the future.)



-
I'm not sure why I like this piece so much. I just loved writing it though.
I love that destruction

Keeper of the Dead Flowers

The harness around the mirror is cracked,
Blood, bruises, and pain are your better friends.
I'm hardly a consolation.
though i think you like me near

I think I admire your bravery.
I think I admire your blood, bruises, and pain.
I think I wish I could drown.

You could.
But I admire my desire to live more, or hate it.
Unsure. Either way,
I suffer for it.

Because you could drown.
But I'm always drowning.
You just gasp and throw up blood.
I let it live like poison inside.


-Poetically beautiful, no
Artistically done, not at all
Bored and feeling like the world is claustrophobic and without much hope of betterment? Per usual.

In Rememberance of those Poetic things

Remember this as the world crashes down. There was a falling building inside that raindrop. The streets engulfed in flames are behind this wall of rainfall. I can feel it; even if it isn’t real.

Remember these lips. They press against yours softly as I curl my body against yours hidden within the sheets. These sheets are my modesty. They hide my scars. The scars you lightly trace with your hands. No pity – just those soft hands. Sometimes when I can escape the madness in my head and the roars of all the noises and voices I can just feel those hands lightly tracing. Most times I can’t. I relish the moments I can; like now.

Remember the song we sang together, the first and probably the only song we will sing together. We both are horrible singers. We just happen to both know the lyrics as it was on the radio that cloudy day on the ride home. That really was an ugly day.

I’m feeling numb and I know I’m dying in a slightly accelerated rate than I had originally intended. I don’t mind.

Dying helps me remember this

In Dying

And so the mist swelled up from the snow
dancing in its own gloom glow.
Swallowing sun rays whole.
The roses crippled in the darkened night
begging for the return of light.
To burn out the blight.

Gold hues abandoned the circlet in the sky
and dust replaced the eye.
Permanence in sight.
No more in love's ache and never in hurt.
A frail existence subverted,


And for the body?
Burn it.

The HollowMan

My heart was the first to go-
but even so
Thoughts tortured me
So I said goodbye to my brain and pulled out my eyes to string the lines of life, poetry, and all else through
The blackness still made it hard to breathe-
the truth
So I dissected my lungs.
I really found no use for everything else and took it out as well.
I realized my skin still bled,
So I carved some wood and slipped inside.
Yes the fire still burned,
but I was still terrified of stone.
And didn't want to be like everyone else.

Falling into Sunrises

You make me want to write bad poetry.
Roses are red, violets are blue
Instead of tying up angels.
Glossy oil over marble Michelangelos.
Or even jazz that sings from horns.
Normally it's sex. Or death. Or those interconnections.
You make me want to dumb everything down,
You vacuous gelatin mind.

You make me feel less abnormal.
By the way,
I think I hate you for that.
There's something to be said for anti-insanity presences.

I want you to listen to my lip syncing, listen hard. Close your eyes,
Damn'it:

Sunrise's burn the waking eyes,
there's painful last breath as you die.
Clouds will touch you,
and although you won't feel,
You know by the tip of your tongue,
They do.
Earth may fold me in an embrace,
but not now, not now.
Today,
I feel your breath on my neck.
Stronger and warmer.
Ready for me to retrace.

This is Nothing

She was dancing. Lithe movements like something from a movie; was it all intentional, this perfect coordination? Water broke around her ankles and splashed her face and upper body and she bent low and tossed her head like a raging horse. Her red hair flared against the night and her pale skin seemed breakable, even under my gaze. I could have seen her shatter for how strongly I watched her. She wore shorts only, and a tank top. Nothing seductive like a curtain of skirt to dance upon, but still it was enough. Bare skin flashed with each movement. Cue the music that raged in my head. I couldn’t hear the music she obviously did. But I felt it. Thrumming deeply underneath my soles and through the ground, and exiting through her and her graceful movements like a spout. I felt the rain fall, and it never stopped her. Every night it never stopped her. --------------------------------- So funny story. It rains, thunders, and lightning is in the air and I'm watching it pour and I get the craziest urge. I can't think of why not to do this, which is insane in itself right, but I figure what is there to lose. I go outside and lay on the ground. It has rained so much that it is like lying in a shallow pool of water and it's raining so hard that I can only barely see the lightning in the sky despite feeling the thunder under my back. I stay there for about ten minutes before my odd laughter turns into shivers and I realize I've ruined the new dress I bought. It was worth it.

Print.

Do you want to hear a story? It's a Love story, I promise. Once upon a time there once was a girl who knew Love just about as well as any other very young girl. One day everything changed, and she became aware of Fake Love and Abusive Love. The girl became a victim of child abuse at 7 years old. She never told anyone, yet everyone knew from her broken bones and surgeries. Years later she'd realize she had discovered another Love, Shamed Love (although at the time she didn't understand). The many people she Devotedly Loved, and would continue to Love, yet still never said a word to her about what she went through. It's okay. By then she was very good at pretending nothing was wrong. Some say it was because of this that she is the way she is. She disagrees. Her Guardian (Angel) became her brother. The only one to stand up against her abuser. She went to live with him. However, she only discovered another Love. Desperate Love. She so desperately wanted to be saved she lived in a house full of young alcohol and drug abusers, all whom searched for Love at the bottom of the bottle. This desperation began another tale. She would be quite a different girl. From her eyes to the way she spoke. She had plenty of time to grow up, plenty of time to think. She wasn't like the other girls. Not so good, and not so bad. However this difference led to fascination. She was becoming of age where boys found attraction in those silly words she said, and other things. She would have 3 proposals before she hit 18 years of age. She'd break many hearts and have hers confused many times and broken as well. Worse she had never successfully became numb. She didn't feel like others seemed to feel. She felt each pain she hand served so much deeper, while looking like a warm heart breaker. She saw emotions and the world in such a different complex way that she'd never forget a single name, all the while never looking back. She'd meet many types of men, and boys, and dirt. Some who would betray her and rape her friend, some who would stalk her, and some who would use her lack of self preservation to guilt her into many things -Someone who mistook Need for Love; Oh so close, yet so far. She also attracted other people. Her family. Her Uncle. And she'd tell no one why she can't be with him anymore. So all this while this is a Love story. People tell me there are many different types of Love; what you feel for a friend, a family member, or your significant other.

Tone

*A note, a comment, a little hint. Do not read this plainly, monotone, or like a mime. Read with the hint of rhyme - although there is none. Read with sarcasm, frivolity, and mourning...Read with emotion that had been locked into a television screen. If that makes sense to you. Without further ado: If there was ever a picturesque "blackened woods"- it was these. Painted over by an oil so thick that it not only chocked the trees, but air itself. Screams were swallowed whole by these woods. Although you are lost, however no more or less than anyone else, you dare not take off the blindfold. Being lost, at first, was not so bad. The darkness was not lonely, and it hardly appeared dark. The shallow breathing that was forced out of your deflating lungs was symphonic, and almost companion worthy. It began with the itch on your nose. You itched it. Just barely brushed the blindfold. Just barely. In fact, so barely that it was softer than the air around it, and even the occasional breeze. However, it was so alien that you became aware of everything for a moment. The oil layers on your skin and the numbing cold as it stiffened on you - but that was gone soon enough. But something wasn't. You felt the edge of your blindfold on your face so acutely that every thread hummed with a strange life. You dared not touch it. But it rubbed on you, slipped and slid across your eyes, and you itched and rubbed your body in hope to distract yourself. But it was powerful. Even in sex you felt the threads over your eyes. Mocking you in their strange life. Sitting at the roots of this blackened tree in these blackened woods...You've been bleeding out slowly...You cut your tongue out...Ripped your nails out...Still the blindfold lay against your eyes like the marriage band. Stuck. Suffocating. The shallow breathing had slowed and you heard your heartbeat. A thump, a thump, quicker thump ... then a thump, a thump. Touching your face, the blood smeared. Your fingers skirted away from that filth. Skirted until you began touching the electrifying edges of that blindfold. You place your hands over your eyes as if to smother it in. Grimacing. You become the scream swallowed whole. ** I've got no explanation for this. All of you! Come out of hiding immediately.

Aftermath

He's like the ghost in my bedroom, true I can't see him, but I feel the presence enough to not want to change in it. I feel your breath, tugging on my soul. I am though: Soulless, ...maybe it's my heart. Heartless, ...maybe it's my dreams. But I sleep dreamless still moreover. Whispers catch my ear, although I'm deaf. And I feel your presence, although I'm numb. I'm the ghost to your handlings, And yet you haunt me. -Not a poem, just my rambles. Miss you all again. I'm on the crawling high loop of life, but I'm only just now adjusting to it again. You know what I mean.

Vanity: You are no Fairytale

The Debut: The hearts you place in your eyes are deceivingly sublime. Stop those claws from the pearl of your skin. Take instead the bite of your lips to make accounts of the smiles you receive (ignore the pity). Wear it like badges upon your chest, but on your wrist. The Silent Ball: The pallor of your skin is not envied, Belle. The horrors of your nights are not hidden, and yet not horrifying. The whispers that ring your bells and shake your tea cups isn't gossiping Jealous, and the white room isn't encased in rose thorns (bending in coquette curiosity). The Fall of the Midnight Hour: Hence to your image in the ripples of the lake, and just as humble humility comes - it comes too late. The rose petals have fallen and the frozen pool has stolen your image. Hiding it in copious dew. --- Hello Everyone. This isn't a poem. And probably doesn't make sense to a lot. It just, wove out you could say as I wrote on a page: I have nothing to write...it began writing itself. So, much love. I remember you all, so come out of the shell to say hello. -Rachel

Flecks

I am an eraser- I rub away your pain and sorrow. Give you a little of me Willingly... my heart and soul Soon all of me whole, Till I'm not shiny and new, I don't erase like I used to. I'm still there ... as I am erased all the way, away So I've given you me- Would erase it all away for you again. But now who is to erase the sorrow? the end of me has become? I ask now- What has become of us? And where are we now? ----------------------------------------------------------- Oh you all know I can no longer write, I no longer write. It was good to read all of yours again. I do advise you finally see those comments I should have written a long time ago. Please come back. I'll let you know, I'm here. But maybe not for long? Heylo all. I still love you.

Daisies

Heylo to you all. So... What's up with the picture? =P -Not that I mind. Just curious. While I'm at it. What are you guys? Whatcha been up to? Updates updates. (Yes this is my excuse for not writing.) Just a random thought. Don't you hate it when you are just doing something then think of an amazing line with the perfect word in the sentence... And then when you go to remember it later. You've totally forgotten the *perfect* word. Ugh,

Permeable Ghost

July 4, 09 Empty words waver into songs, Into souls you don't care to feed, Cigarettes burn into tongues, And liquor is the eye to infinity. And only. And only because you want You want your words to be empty. Feel them and desire nothing, Permeable ghost, You can die but you don't die From the constant way you bleed, Beggar from the few, You feel your life is empty. -July 4, Rachel