[x]

CalamityI keep expectations
in my back jean pocket

and i tuck disappointment
into the folds of my shirts

they stay with me always
while confidence makes friends
with the dust bunnies under my bed

I store empty promises
under the weight of my spine

crushed by back bone shoulder blades
turned from fragile bones to wings that will never fly

and there is always anger
hidden beneath my fingernails
flooding my lungs until I can no longer breathe

while pleasure and pride
become the lost love child
of closets and old shoe boxes

frustration sleeps in my veins
accumulating like blood clots

incompetence makes itself at home
in the spaces bet

Immolation: a dialogueYou cried sweet yellowed glue
when my fingers danced across these bindings
and so I said:

I will not scribble in your margins
or blacken out the tender purple skin
below your eyes where the veins
and profanities show through.
But I will throw you up
let the fire catch your pages
till the ink bubbles and runs
floods each white expanse as it burns.

I did not tell you how badly
I wanted to be rid of your rough edges
big colorless eyes, thin arms
and run-on sentences.
You tugged at the dog ears and bookmarks splayed
around your neck and wrists like collars
opened dying bookstore lips
to say:

I am not meant for your hands
or th

VaingloryI watched Daedalus cradle his ivory child,
melted, winged bronze crowned in seaweed:
he released his reckless child,

threw him to the winds in hopeless abandon
watched as the sea ruined him.
Decadent in ripped seashells,
he escapes into obscurity,
exalts the lamented to the point of notoriety -

Tell him I saw his face again
...in Picasso in art in war in despair,
lo, Daedalus:

he hid his face, a disgraced Eros
(still winged, still winged,
these wings bind flesh from stone,
from sea-besieged rock)
but still so naked in his shame.
"So desolate, o desolate,
O, so desolate, Daedalus?"
croons the wicked wind,
and the crooked man's back hunches

Faithi.

I must have lost myself
in the distance between
what was and what is

trying to look towards the future
and towards the past
and instead just getting
confused about forwards and back

ii.

I must have taken
a wrong turn between
almost and already there

because this distance is
supposed to be short,
but I've been walking
for miles and miles

and my destination
is nowhere in sight

iii.

I must have the knack
for falling into pit holes in the
roads that separate the beginning
and the end

because I never seem to finish anything.
And maybe I'm just too good at quitting,
but I've walked this walk four times too ma

celiac boyit smelled like burnt hope and celiac and the boy on the hospital bed was
beautiful with his bruises.

his eyes are closed but his nerves are open, he feels his poison running through his veins.

he thinks quietly,
"I am
frozen wastelands of celestial summer-stars
dusky oceans of moon-bright craters
haloed hurricanes of winter ice-tears
silent tsunamis of broken atmospheres"

--

it is 4 a.m. and while sleep has scurried timidly around his mind, thoughts like escaped zoo animals rampage. it is nothing but selflessness, everything but himself. all thoughts are present except sleep.

he shifts in the dark and remembers and remem

Grandfather's BirdGrandfather had a pet bird. Just a small, yellow and white parakeet; he named it Georgie, after Grandmother. Every morning, he would wake up at 6 o'clock, make a pot of coffee, grab the newspaper, and feed the small bird a small pile of birdseed. And he would gently carry the birdcage, and place it on the table and talk to her as he drank his coffee and read the newspaper.

"Gas prices are up again Georgie, geez, remember when we could pay 20¢ to fill up our car?"

And sometimes the bird almost chirped in response. Years and years went by, and Grandfather grew older, and he could no longer carry the bird off the shelf, but he would still

He's Not HereI.

She was the woman leaning against the wall, staring down at her shoes. Her dress appeared to be a size too large, hanging loose on her thin frame; her thick dark hair was scraggly and unkempt. She was either a woman above it all, or a person falling apart before the world. It was difficult to decipher, and so passersby avoided her, averting their eyes from the poor girl standing next to the bathroom, straining to hear inside.
He was vomiting, John was. She could hear him retch from the other side of the locked door. It made

All FatherI feel creaky today,
dressed in a bark exoskeleton -
I keep scratching at my skin
hoping it will peel away
and I won't have to explain myself
to anyone.

My limbs stretch,
gnarled and skeletal,
earthward.
Cicadas trill ceaselessly in my hair.

Peel the lid back from my eye,
and I might tell you who I really am,
briefly, before I am gone again.

I cannot answer the question that is myself.
Not within the limitations of words.

Writer's BlockThe numbers on my desk calendar started to blend together as my eyes began to close and I dozed off. I regained consciousness with a start, and I involuntarily slammed my hand down to what should have been my desk.

"Wh-where am I?"

"Oh my dear! We certainly weren't expecting you today; we would have cleaned up a bit. Heh, you see, we're having a bit of a well… technical difficulty." Said a round, rather pleasant woman wearing a polka-dot dress with a nametag simply saying "Dot."

I looked around; I was in a large, disorganized office with people and papers scrambling with bundles of copy paper. I grabbed a paper from the desk beside an

The Man in the Coffee ShopThe man who works at the coffee shop looks like you. I noticed this some time ago and have since frequented the place. He recognizes me now. He smiles at me when I come in. His smile even looks like yours. He doesn't say hey though- you always said hey.

I still work at the library even though you're not there.
Sometimes I look over to your desk and expect to see you typing at your computer, but someone else is there now. It's not you.

Sometimes someone will come in who looks like you. Maybe he will have the same hair, same stature, same profile, same laugh, same voice. It's never been you.

Sometimes I drive myself crazy. I pull at my hai

curious company'this town is too small,'
she claimed.
'too small for things
to actually change.'

a lit cigarette dangled from her lips
but we ignored the smoke;
the light coming from the tip
will burn longer than anything she knew.

such a nonchalant complaint
dismissed with a blink;
she flicked the embers out onto the street.

there's the sidewalk for a chair,
but the runt of a tree for a roof
fails to cover the disappoint
she always found herself wading through.

a siren in the distance
coming to save her?
no, not this time.

a rescue slowly passed by,
hoping for her acknowledgement
but she knowingly misses the chance;
the words of her

instead, instead, insteadi can't remember the last time i saw you.

instead, i trace your name
along my arm:
goosebumps like braille, raw
fingertips and
the soft side of my wrist
you've never touched.
i know me better than i know you
and i don't know me at all.

-

i can't remember the last time i spoke to you.

instead, i erased your number
from my phone:
i'll miss your static, my poor
reception and
pretending to have nothing to say.
you never guessed that i was penning novels
beneath my tongue.

-

what i do remember is
the last time i was whole:

my hand and yours
criss-crossed, entwined.
now i'm left with splintered palms and

ghosts b

Triptychi. The Three Graces

You love the smell of bonfires, Dido.

I needed you, once—
you were Grace itself.
But I was not ready to be yours alone.

You are a mobeus strip,
so quick to turn around
and be a lover for someone else.
But you will die in your Aphrodite's lap first.

I hope the path you have chosen
is a full one—
beware that the lace you drape across windows
does not turn out to be cobwebs.

ii. The Three Furies

You, Odysseus,
you have stolen Troy,
and my angry waves
will drag you into the depths of the sea.

You left poison in my soul
for two long years.

iii. The Three Fates

Porcelain-skin,
the Fates have your

The Princess Colored PrinceI combed
and brushed
my hair
today
I thought
you'd like
me better this way

Clipped in
the pink
and purple
barrettes
Sprayed
my hair
so the curls
would set

I pressed
and ironed
my pink and white gown
Zipped
it up
without
the frowns

Slipped
on mom's
favorite white shoes
The ones
I said
I never
could use

Adorned
myself
with delicate pearls
Made
for all
the "nor-
mal" girls

Jany's picture
face down on the table
Being with her
was my favorite fable

I painted
my lids
with the faintest
of hues
The way
that mother
forced me to do

I speckled
my nails
and blew them to dry
The

DisharmonyIn Lethe's silver waters
I drown; unheeding,
sweet sublime I find
you, the happy prince
swallow, swallow, little swallow,
will you not stay with me one night longer?

O what sin these sweet lips
have tasted; leaving,
broken demons smiling
the angel chorus in disharmony
the steps to a dream burn
Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?

Echo me, as I walk to Paradise
echo me; do not follow,
never follow me as I walk
towards the sinner's end
you must kiss me on the lips, for I love you.
And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his feet.

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Fever DreamThe hour ticks over and nothing's changed.
Still repeating like a mobile of cardboard birds,
Circling and waiting, carrion innocence.
Ice packs on fevered skin;
It's impossible to sleep in the ceaseless heat.

It's said to be new, but that's a lie.
Everything is older and I'm still here.
In this infinite loop of rejection,
My manifold mistakes again and over,
I am freed;
It is foregone and the conclusion is clear.
There is nowhere but here.

I thought the pressure in my lungs would crush me,
but it turns out there was nothing there
and the pain is meaningless.
In the absence of any emotion,
I lie on the burning sheets that fold

Yellow Sea FallingThere are so many things I could say which won't mean anything.

The stars that dance on my fingertips leave an after-image that burns brighter than the original,
Burns like it wants to exist.
I wait, knowing that there are words in my throat which linger long enough to be felt,
Feeling growing understanding morphing accepting changing to resenting.
Lingering like stars.

It sleeps in my centre, breathes in my core, ready for release at the slightest provocation.
It is not a muse; it is not an intellectual pursuit,
Its heart is beating inside my body, it is everything, it BEATS.

It watches, like my angel, like her, like him, like the w

In the SilenceYou say you're tired,
But you just don't understand this bone-deep weariness.
I'm seventeen going on suicidal
And I can't get to sleep.

Your face is framed by the rain
And my loneliness
Like something only I see.
So much to do, but I just lie on the floor
Staring at the sinking ceiling
Staring at nothing at all.

What did you expect?
This could go two ways, but it's not about love, is it?
This is me
Falling to my knees in the ringing silence,
Biting words to blood.

Things aren't fading fast enough,
But life slips away from my hesitant fingers while I hope despairingly.
The tightness in my chest is choking me;
Say something to

Clockwork FriendshipI wish I could tell you how I feel
The cracks in the sky don't let my rain through.
If I built a tower to touch the moon
You would call it contrived.
But I would make it to let it fall,
So that you might see my soul if you were looking my way.

I don't mean to hurt you,
But you're so determined to bleed.
My slightest sound rips you to starlight.

The first taste of summer is bitter, it lacks your smile.
Have I done enough to be forsaken this time?
Have I cast off all our memories, unsaid understandings,
Days spent dreaming of something more?
With a word, I fall, with a word that left my lips
Of its own accord.
I am guilty, you ar

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Submitted: May 2, 2011
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I'm fine

by ~Scout73, May 2, 2011, 11:31:18 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Paint splattered like dying sobs across the wide emptiness,
Running away like ink from bloody fingertips.
It's close enough to midnight not to matter
And these words are written with hands
Shaking from forced apathy.

A voice lingered,
It sounded like yours,
Or else it was the pages falling closed,
A regretful sigh in the early hours of the end of the world.

The television's on repeat; it's crying for help
And I thought it might have been you,
But it was the angels instead.

They circle like carrion
And steal all of what I wanted to tell you
About the meaningless feelings I've been having,
Replacing instead with the poignant:
"I'm fine."

The lie is beautiful, undeniable, evident
And so firmly established that questioning it
Would be the action of someone who cares.

The light is thick and liquid
And seeping into my veins in order to cut off circulation
To something that's supposed to be important,
But I've forgotten somewhere.

Somewhere in a place where the snow falls black,
The birds aren't flying
And you await with arms outstretched.

That place where I can breathe toxins and poisons and love.
Where I belong.

"I'm fine, but I wish I wasn't dying."

I'm fineby ~Scout73

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Little poem written, as is my custom, in some ridiculous hour of the night.

For the Written Revoluotion:
[link]

I was going for a lot of synasthesia, did you notice?
Which was your favourite line?
What was your interpretation?
How would you improve it?

~Rieal-Dragonsbane Jun 1, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

Ahh. That last line. Beautiful and sad. ; ;

I like the bit where you described angels as carrion. It worked really well with the whole poem. ; ;

~Scout73 Jun 2, 2011 Student Writer

Thank you very much, I'm happy because you liked it.

*doodlerTM May 11, 2011 Student Writer

This poem is beautiful. The imagery is very good and the poem itself really stood out to me. It is difficult to find poetry that speaks wonders and a clear message, and this piece of writing did just that. Thank you for sharing.

~Scout73 May 11, 2011 Student Writer

Thank you so much, you are so sweet. Additionally, thanks for the collect.

*KJ-Illustration May 7, 2011 Professional Digital Artist

_{#theWrittenRevolution

• Oh yes, I did (: And you did it beautifully The imagery is touching and very real.
• Ohmy, that is a very difficult one! I kept on reading because I truly loved your wording and the way you build it up to its climax. Mmmh, but if I had to choose a favourite, it would be this; "A regretful sigh in the early hours of the end of the world."
• My own interpretation was that of a personal struggle through life or love. A place or person difficult to reach...
• I feel it doesn't need improvement! I truly loved it from beginning to end}

~Scout73 May 7, 2011 Student Writer

Thanks so much. It's so nice of you to put so much effort into commenting on my work.
I think you understood what I was trying to say and we have the same favourite line.

Thanks again.

*KJ-Illustration May 8, 2011 Professional Digital Artist

_{Truly my pleasure! I loved your piece, so it was no problem (:
Lovely to hear we had the same favourite line}

*Carmalain7 May 7, 2011

Really cool imagery and unique portrayal of a commonly felt feeling. Your synesthesia induced appeal to senses certainly came through the poem and almost seemed to captivate my senses (in the best of ways).

It came across to me as the thoughts and perceptions of someone trying to move on from the past yet constantly reminded of that which she is trying to leave behind; most likely because she knows she never wanted to leave it behind but fate deemed it so anyways.

My favorite line was "'I'm fine, but I wish I wasn't dying.'" mainly because of my obsession with the constant presence of time; the thought that as soon as you're born you start dying is captivating in many ways and leads me to the hope that the narrator pulls themself from their longing for the past and starts to live in the present for the future.

This is a tough piece to improve. It seems to me that you accomplished what you wanted literary and you also imparted a strong story full of descriptive senses to the reader. All i can say is, great stuff.

~Scout73 May 7, 2011 Student Writer

Wow, you really give nice critique. Thanks.
I think you saw a lot of things that I never intended to be there, but hey, I'm not complaining; it makes me sound smarter than I am.
I'm really glad you like it.

Have an awesome day.

*Carmalain7 May 7, 2011

i tend to fall prey to reading more into things than they may have meant, but let's just agree that your subconscious genius added them in to appeal to me.

i shall have an awesome day, but only because you said so, as long as you agree to have a better day; a fair deal no?

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