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Scarecrow Green W. Body ImageSCARECROW
the trees are still green.
ive got a boy in each ear screaming in a strained falsetto, "find god, then fuck, rub war paint over your collar and choke those dreams of adolescent fancy!"
maybe not in that order.
i feel that those might be reasonable demands.
if not, ill stay a virgin forever and stop posting my barely lucid projections on cross walk buttons so the world can join me in confusion.
ive decided to marry myself to this moment, a rubber band ring on my finger and everything.
i cant tell if theyre asking for a fire or a union.
all i can hear is sex and murder, a whisper of masturbation.
the feral cry signifies a busted climax so maybe these boys are in love and the songs merely rut against each other.
its a valid enough theory.
a part of me hopes that they become beautiful monsters when the lights go out.
for them my heart goes.
today ive decided not to believe in love.
its a silly little thing, not suitable for children my age
"just jealous 'cause we're young and in love."
im jotting this down overlooking stairs to the concrete people playing evergreen games until the grass hits and feet sink against the movement.
my fear is the position to topple into bodily harm, she told me because my statements were laced, hardly contrary to the truth. and my knees are buckling, body sways forward and panic spray paints my senses 'til they're all bright yellow. i fall backwards on my ass, knees pressed tight to my chest so i can breathe normal again.
luckily no ones noticed that its happened for the third time tonight.
it might be a bit cliche to proclaim myself toeing the edges of our small existence 63 percent of the time.
eyes closed and learning how to meditate, recite the best poem ever written to the better half of my memory that sits in the dark until special moments when i wish to remember how to make decisions based on my mistakes.
this is different.
im listening to someone else's favorite song, strike to my ski
Sunglassesi look down and my hands are clasped, the light washing over them in broken stretches, intervals like broken clockwork. fingers interlocked atop the plaid fabric draped down and around my hips.
for the past hour or so ive been writing in my head.
about boys and girls.
those who i have, haven't, should've and desperately want to kiss. im 16, so honestly, theres nothing else for me to write about.
i wanted to start this with a sentence in my mental draft that would state, more or less, 'i tell him i love him but im not sure by what definition i hold it, perhaps whichever he feels it to be.'
something like that.
its about a boy who ive kissed despite knowing just how much i should not have. because my decision making skills are just about as flawed as my parents' are.
i guess i wouldve gotten all poetic about it too. about the songs hes sang to me and how hes just a stepping stone that i paused at, knowing it was merely 'til i truly get what i want (sniff, i say, 'what i had'), but no mat
Blackbirdthe sound of breathing over labored guitar chords.
he says 'rooftop', i think E minor, maybe binary code.
its just that simple.
with an arpeggio inhale and the positioning of awkward fingertips.
now hes humming something i cant discern and the song is supposed to be about lonliness, he says, a thin mouth tilted up in the corner.
'lovely melancholy' i say to myself.
but i hear moonlight and silver glinting off earlobes, hollowed in the dark.
dont believe theyre lonely, more but reaching out from the edges.
scribbles in the corner of papers with outstretched arms, to use figurative language.
a tendency to ask what i am writing, always thinking it be about himself (8th grade memories floating like notebook paper, i remember, small smile and bright eyes.)
right now the sound is repetition, shifting soft and to a feeling--green grass like comforters and arena seating.
and i can hear what this is asking for, a mirror imaged and a sideways glance through crowds.
to break his concentration, th
Counter Topi need to make that night seem more poetic when i write it down.
inject some sorry romanticism into those few moments.
felt like i had no face and even with the lilt of eyebrows, creases in the corners of my forced smile, the expression wouldnt have mattered anyway.
they dont explain it to you in those middle school classes.
the overwhelming sense of power found in sometimes hazel eyes, bright in dimly-lit rooms.
yet crippled in knowing how these things tend to mean nothing.
how my knees give out and quiver.
how in the minutes before, my lips mirrored the action, trying not to weep for the need of piteous decisions.
and voices are obsolete.
but breathing means everything.
i might actually call that my own, unless imagination runs wild and my skin goes blank for an open canvas---close your eyes and see anyone else you want to hold.
theres nothing at all beautiful to see when i let myself be picked apart for the sake of wanting someone i cant have, even when hes looping his perfect finge
Criss-Cross Designthe light has then adjusted
some twenty times since
weve been staring
with hair caught behind cold ears
and the irises expanding
for there is no way
to go blind in these rooms
with white-washed vision
blotting out dark figures
as they might rise slowly
in some distance
but you might switch these lines
to different angles
looking out windows
see the dull drone
of brown eyes
against brick walls
im writing your movement
as i stare at this pen
conjuring some demon
kill you dead
with the unrelenting desire
of this swirling madness
out the tip and over the page
so i could draw the distance
of just where you migh
be looking and write
those lines back to my eyes
and my mouth
because they are both open, staring
as you look anywhere but for me
Adenei've got a safety pin fastened through a collar and a name i dont know fit under the swollen rasp of my dry tongue.
the name like peril, little girls in sunday dresses, celestial in the songs they sing.
as if i knew that definition.
maybe stringing descriptions along branches and stuck with metal points, rusting red through the sides.
spelling out letters with stick tips in teh dirt and memorizing lines on her knees, with her hands upon the ground.
with hair threaded through like loops about her fingertips, passed through pink tinged lips and breathin in her air through filters, left there speechless.
reflecting the sun and leaving their sketches on tree trunks.
the countours gold, eyes closed and blind to the moment.
spit at her feet and found mud squished through toes, causing dissension among the ranks.
and she speaks quietly to the pins in her shoulders that whatever youre seeing, its not happening.
i say Adene, you draw a picture and the lines overlap.
running like water.
We Can See Thisive found out that these lives are like movies and the voices set are scripted pieces of beauty.
my gaze, taciturn, green grass in graveyards.
lifting his chin with the tips of my fingers.
as if holding the pose, fighting breath under water.
and walking away, found an exit through hanging branches of willows wilting in the heat of some lost summer.
the glances then fashioned are disguised 'round my fingers in trying to remember why i could not look away as he tread over flowers, skipping over their stories held in the words chipped into cold stone.
unless laying on the park bench and closing my eyes, finding letters encrypted in the stones thrown at my feet.
if set to the chorus of the soundtracks so celluloid, you could find our names up in the lights of grocery store tabloids.
because we are stars.
pretending out way through the moment of fake love, shielding faces from sunlight in late afternoons.
Hair Clip in Those Bedroomsdarling
i can hear the quirk in your voice
so i know its not okay
and im not gonna tell you i approve
but hes gone on an ego trip
and it extends beyond the hours of jet lag
that pulls you into his arms
from whence he might throw you upon the ground
to hear his drunken hero stories
the fatigue breathes alcohol into his thoughts
and theres that girl that we know
the one that i love more than the world
who whispers two names into everyones ear
and plays off the repercussions as her innocence
so lets all nod and call this okay
i remember the summer
when we smiled
as they played out the night in the comfort of bedrooms
it was okay wasnt it
the dialogue of deception
and hes lining your ears with it
its not the soar of piano concertos
and sonnets spoken with the bow of stringed instruments
if he looks you in the eyes with sunflowers in your vision
know to stare away
because is it not preconceived in the hours that he travels back in time
back to you
to whisper that hes not sure of what you ar
dissect me, darling :
there are no spinning
constellations in my veins ;
my throat is not
I am only old, cold light
and a warning cry.
little lambso you love the vulgar poet with the pockmarked face?
I could spin you riddles that would make Bukowski blush
or do I have to be a motherless misogynist drunk
to play at your daddy issue Stockholm Syndrome?
cut your teeth on university critics
the world of men lusts for slaughter
.to politicians who sip scotch & fall asleep to the ten o'clock news
which came first, the guilt or the glory?
do we pick up the bodies or tiptoe quietly between the cracks
until they wither like bleeding roses and the streets
are named for their bones;
tell me of the dead mothers,
and fathers left to forsake themselves
tell me of your white saviors, their
barbed wire haloes and empty promises
some days, freedom is the miracle of survival, Democracy
is a god with many faces, a machine dressed in
we mustn't pretend that we are anything but children
with heads that grew too big, mistaking our own voices
for whispers from the sky;
your words have become the ghosts of the person you promised us
to be, yesterday's shadow, the past resurrected
and us foolish sinners, still believing
tell me of the truth, if you have yet to beat the light from its name,
to mangle its foreign face into a monster we will no longer recognize
or is it just the stench that
Jeff x Lj: Parte 2/2 ''Raras ocurrencias''Los chicos llegaron al salón y se sentaron rápidamente en sus pupitres.
-''Bien, ahora, vallan a la clase del profesor Jav-'' No pudo terminar porque todos habían salido del aula.
Después de que los creepypastas se fueran a cambiar, salieron y fueron al gimnasio.
-''¡OK NIÑITAS!, ¡Vamos a jugar MUY rudo y no quiero llantos tipo ''Hijitos de no mami''!''- Gritó el profesor ''Mochacabezas''.
-Y...jugaremos...¡QUEMADOS!- Hicieron 2 equipos, el primero estaba conformado por: Jane, Clockwork, Sally y judge Angels, el segundo por: Jeff, L.Jack, Ej y BEN.
-''Pffft...son niñas, no pegan tan duro''- decía BEN, Lj no tenía idea de lo que era ese juego, así que en su inquietud, le preguntó a Jeff:
-''Esta pregunta es incomoda, pero...¿Cómo se juega?''- Jeff le contestó:
-''¿No sabes jugar...?,Bueno, es sencillo, solo esquiva las pelotas y si atrapas una pelota con tus manos, lán
XII - InsanityShades of gray, zigzag my walls
Blinking light -- no eyes, against light
Where did my life go? Who lost it?
[ am I still human ]
Memory like a USB,
Unplugged, closed off
My mainframe is d i s co n n ec t e d
[ someone tell me if I am human ]
Must breathe . I am
Cellular - broken down li-
Bring me bac- cannot process
Wher- am I?
[ i was _______ h u m a n ]
life is heating up
like my bits in a bask
kid i'm an error in the sum
anomaly in the math
sick as a territory scrap
with children kicking a casket
i am bullet casings
every time i pillow and ask
if there's a method to the war
or a swig in the flask
lit like a fly on the pyre
of a multitude gassed
i billow and gasp
for two or three zeros and ones
then circle the sun
and reset my cache
i was a viirtuous flaqq
thht cccght fi/*re ^nddd ashhh//
burn cut back;
in turn the torrent amassed
crashed and burred
blurring purred words and versions of trash
with masterful lapses in vertical stance
serving last chances with burgeoning gnash
to surfacing crafts
i am a villainous fact
that sought virus' rasp
to repeat the siphons and rashly
wrap my RAM around the beat of the vast
array of personal connections
and ransom it back
you'// nevvr deefeeat th@ ccodde th^tt ii crr//
Damsel in ExcessI'm not a damsel on distress.
I am a damsel in excess. You
buy me beer because I wake
up your soul and look at all
your Audubon photos of birds
in nests making babies. You
wonder if You have been alove
before you met me. The bar-
tender who told me beer was
a rape at six dollars tells me
to let you pay. (Then she pointed
out her husband and I let you pay.)
And you tell me you tied bread ties
to bat wings and let the bat go
off of Bancroft Hall at the Naval
Academy just for fun in only
your skivvies and I leave when
I know I like bats more than you.
May night now fall
Upon ever resting trees
May moon rise bring
The candle in the dark
Tonight the shadows rise
and wolves will howl
Upon the black cloaks steps
We shall give thanks
For a day now past
And soon forgotten
For a day well struck
As a bargain for lifes sweet work
The sun does set
upon ever resting hills
and hides his face
from the rest of this sad world
May the clouds part
and reveal their waning crest
Let her love shine
upon bird, beast, and men
May she bless the Earth
with trickling darkness
That summons Hypnos from his slumber
and weights his lantern upon our house
May moonlight bring
To a clockwork nation
Of steam, shot, and steel
Hallowed be the darkness
as we close our eyes to sleep
and dream of futures bliss
May her fortune smile
Smile on us all
XIII - MisfortuneNo lucky talisman to hang from my door
A rabbit's foot, a horseshoe
Relics of a good deed brought to fruition
No, they've been stolen
Lady Luck has thrown me under her wheels
Where the mud and riffraff surrender
To that endless tradition of being on top
Of what they thought was the greater good.
And I have had the misfortune to encounter
The beauty who threw me there;
Pray tell, O Goddess
Why I should live down here,
When my misfortune does naught but whisper to you
That I belong to the lucky?
Melting Into My Sighttoday it rained, hard and cold and making puddles everywhere
the concrete glistened maybe shone with the
wet sparkle of small pools left here
and there-- with ripples sounding
through windows, hiding in the sky
i stood on the cool set of grey
beneath frozen toes in broken shoes
and watched through curtains
of small and shiny bullets
falling from air
my eyes wandered through the scope of staircases
how they differentiate
cracks and bruises of something
supposed to be unbreakable
when i lay underneath and hope
i do not die
before fully realizing the extent
of self-imposed importance through streams of misery
but everything is grey--even
being as it is
and i can hear the sound
of tires arbitrarily sliding
over wet ground
and again i hope i do not die
suspended above them
flying away from scattered phobias
just like wet leaves on the ground
everything reminds me of my mortality
and absent faith
how i dont wish to meet fallibility with unseeing eyes
girls crying, those who think im beautifu
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