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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
LemonsIf life gives you lemons
Make hot chocolate <3
It warms your heart
Dries your tears
Makes you smile
Vanquishes your fears
Have a cup with me
And together we'll make
A perfect fantasy
sometimes hate is not enoughi feel guilty
because the chances are
i'll ruin your life
and all i'll do afterwards is write about it
PerdicionTe conocí en invierno, las calles cubiertas de nieve, el frió carcomía nuestras pieles,
tu piel pálida y congelada, intentado calentar tus manos.
Ese día, aquel donde sentí un fuerte impulso de hablarte en cuanto te vi, sentado en la banca del parque moviendo tus piernas para entrar en calor, solo guiada por un impulso
me acerque a ti, te di mi bufanda y gantes, luego solo me fui.... sin preguntarte
tu nombre, ni de donde eras, ni que hacías, solo me fui.
Días pasaron, y no te volví a ver, creí que solo fue coincidencia el haberte encontrado para evitar que murieras congelado, pero increíblemente nos reencontramos en mi cafetería favorita, te distinguí de inmediato por que traías puesta mi bufanda y guantes..... aun recuerdo tu rostro confundido ... como si buscases a alguien.
Recuerdo tu rostro iluminarse cuando giraste en mi dirección. Me dijiste que mi bufanda tenia olor a
24 not-poems later1.
it is so hard to be okay
when all i've got are cigarettes
the voices of strangers
and memories of you
it's so hard to be okay
when you hate yourself
for not being okay
all i want is to hear you say
that you love me
so that for five seconds,
i can believe it;
just a few moments
of being alright
i wonder what you would do
with the letters i have written
but never given you
with the truth that i have known
but never told
if i swim
until my arms could no longer
hold me up - you wouldn't
even have a body to say goodbye to
i wonder what you would do
if i wrote right here
that it was you
i wonder what you would think about
and what we have done; the love
that we have destroyed
with our cowardice and our weakness
like a windowsill plant
left out in summer
i wonder what you would think
if the last thing i tol you
was that i loved you
god damn you kissed me hard
when you left
as if you knew it would be the last time
what if it was
the last time
you would never have to catch another moth for m
I Love You.
Oh, gorgeous goddess!
How your beauty tantalizes me!
Leaving a dumb statue
In my place.
How can You,
O Great and Majestic One,
Sitting on your golden throne,
In the sky,
Have created such a girl
As the one I see
Oh how my heart flutters!
Sweet angel, you gave
Wings to my
You blessed a poor soul,
With that wonderful magic
Only you possess.
I will give
I will cross the world for you,
I will serve you,
I will think only of you,
I will do anything for you!
If only I can
Hold your delicate hand,
Skin so smooth,
Soft as silk,
And be with you,
Every step of your way,
To comfort you
In your sorrows,
he's got a girlfriend anywaywe both know
that it's hard to write about
it's taken me seven months to start
while you slept, i burnt your crimson sheets
and painted your ceiling purple
part of me thought you might understand
i was trying to show you how i felt
i was being brave
it was how i wanted to tell you
but i was destroying more than i created
(just spread your love
set fire to the storms)
i tried to tell you
but i was tied to tracks
and it's too close for the train to miss me when it stops
if there is still a chance
you might need me
you will find me where we fell in love
sitting under cherry dark skies
with shaking fingers crossed
and blood stained lips locked
LovesicknessI've only known you for a few days,
Yet still this longing feeling stays.
It makes me hate my in active ways,
I need a distraction, for the longer I laze,
The more I think of how you amaze.
Without your touch I feel so alone,
Anywhere near you could feel like home.
So please let me near, it's my heart that you own!
After all, you said that you love me so dearly,
Do why can't I hug you at least yearly?
you jump i jumpit shouldn't be a crime to want to die
but when it comes to you
i'm so fucking glad it is
A State of Consistent Emptiness“Are you feeling better now?”
I feel I have to lie somehow
But instead truth comes spilling out
Before I cork my mouth
With a never mind,
Save it for another time
When I am open to sharing
I know that it will come someday
A point of self-reflection
And everything so huge
Will get smaller, easier, and less dramatic
But for now I swoon over you in the dead of night
Assisted by the bloodied objects of my plight
And I wonder when that day will come
When there is something I set my sights on
And strive to be it
Floating, falling dangerously
Like a dandelion above water
And like a small child you are the only one
Who actually wants me in their lawn
Who might actually miss me when I’m gone
And sometimes I want to strangle myself
Just to see if I’m worth saving
But still I ignore and consent to drown
I’m better off when I cannot breathe
More in touch when I cannot see
And so I bite your hand away
With my last breath
And then I sink into the abyss
All of my regrets
Treat Her Kindlystorybook
bright blue eyes
and stuttered glances
long blonde hair
laying on the floor
they know where the water ends
press of lips
everyones supposed to know
when the door walks in
the clock dripping
its a painting on the wall
in a circle
word of mouth
nothing makes more sense
than the things that people hide
one day well live together
hes says life will be better
and thats the way love goes
for one or two
three or four
and they give
because thats what lovers do
outstretch a hand
with the world
theyll be vindicated
who exactly knows what from
everything from everyone
but theyre still singing spinning dying
her blue eyes are crying
and the world stops to a still
lies make more sense
finger there to a cheek
and the stars are falling
with a word
Vanguard, Chapter 1: DuncanDuncan's Journal: Day 1288
I consider myself a good man. I respect women, elders, my equals, and the dead. I say a morning prayer, and an evening one. Hell, I even thank the gods for a meal, instead of immediately chowing down in the voracious manner as the other soldiers here do. By all logical means, I should be in paradise. No really, not just because I'm a good man, but also because I should be dead by now. So I ask myself: why, oh gods up there, have I ended up in hell?
1288 days. 1288 days of my life have been spent in this misery, and I'm beginning to lose faith in the glory I was promised. Some of the rookies still live in their ignorant bliss, but I've lived long enough to realize that there's not much glory to find here. “Sing the songs of glory and march into battle—-join The Crusade today!”. Such were the words of the posters The Crusade has spread all over The Mortal Realm. Gullible fools practically stand in line for these songs of glory that th
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