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Rest These Weary Wearies.
x-Posted to GetItWrite
His breath smells like the slaughter as he exhales against me from above. I flex my rebellious arms at my side and wait for the big bang. There's a sting like a crumpling wound and it's begun again. I do my best to concentrate on the swirling colors of the ceiling instead of my own shame.
I'm in a new reality now and String ( Read more... ) -
Regular.
He rolls off of her ( Read more... ) -
A Long Way to Longevity.
The world lurches under my feet and all of a sudden I'm a yellow jacket on the ceiling watching myself pretend to cough as you lean in to make known your intentions with a kerosene-fueled brush of your lips, tongue, and teeth against a similar group of such fleshy, bony, slippery tools opposite your slightly tilted face. I suppose my mouth is only ( Read more... ) -
Sorrow-Colored Breath.
I can handle this lateral sting, but I can't decide if you're worth the parallel lacerations in the lavender hearts of my rotting ancestors. I'll never know if the angels in heaven are trumpeting their dissatisfaction in the form of a resnant Bb unless this roller coaster tears such rose-tinted glasses from my earth-bound eyes. I care explicitly ( Read more... ) -
Double-Knotted Heartstrings in E Minor
Flesh-warmed steel bands can lay so firmly on these wrists and this malnourished mind won't forget wrongdoing. Once a mistake is made, it knows to live on in the reticular formation. In this way, one won't sleep without reminiscing about the misstep. My memory is clouded by doubt and bubbles and chocolate and fear, but through this carbonic haze, I ( Read more... ) -
Idle Idols Left to Dry
I would do well to deem myself the white owl in the indigo dark, catching warm currents in the wine country. Who am I to carry this bouquet forgotten by the flames of the daybreaker? When will I learn my own way? I'll be your sensuous Hindu love idol until you need me to be your delicate southern belle once again because I'll never acknowledge my ( Read more... ) -
An Addiction to Hands and Feet.
Open the door, and the smell is like time or thyme or everything you forgot to remember. Something about this attic or this back and forth between you and I is just enough to keep me interested. Something about this time we spend dancing around each other makes it hard to lie in bed pretending to sleep. I can't fight the fire in my eyes, lips, and ( Read more... ) -
This (That) one's nature.
I've never seen snow. Somehow, I've always been visiting the northern reaches in early October or the Summer. I find the entire concept so intangible. Cold white wet raining - but not - from the sky. What if no one had ever seen or heard of or imagined snow before? What if huge grey clouds rolled in over the sun and sprayed forth this flurry of ( Read more... ) -
Exceed. A story of cold things.
And here I am, with night on my side and a fight on my mind and a heart that definitely needs the time to trust and love and care again. It's like frigid nature in my chest and I'm specifically sick again. There's a strobe light flashing like fireflies in my eyes, and I'm feeling like a silent film. Everyone's perfect and beautiful, and if you're ( Read more... )
