could you bear me out to the edge of doom? would you roam the heights awash in the ether of hope, that which dies last - would you carry me in you, tucked between the other afterthoughts worn smooth by years searching between seas? what of the swash that calls to the wild thundering in my veins, no answering pull of tide to guide the motion of the moon; you reverse causation and so i retrace the way we came but the drift of dunes is the tomb of our unfinished phrases, the diminished haze low on my brow. there is an eighth of aches that play across the slant of my mouth, another treble gliding into a chorus i can’t name from a song played in a thousand hearts but mine
beloved, the devil himself would submit to an eternity in fire just to kiss your eyelids as you sleep; he would look upon the fairness in the shadows of your shuttered face and weep. darling, did my soul consume your heart, did my teeth divine our dead-end future in your entrails? how are you so lovely that you could slake even an incubus' thirst? does he itch you like an unholy ghost, did he break your well when his throat was alight like your flame in my blood? i am ashes, and you are still so yourself - i am empty, so you can pour in to me (humour me, my love; usually you take it so well my desert would melt to quicksand at your feet. you always liked that desperate suction.) would that i were somehow worthy of your barest snarl and cruellest words, a wound for all the ways i ache. oh lover, leave me here so you'll be safe from me, because of me; i am the dirt in your veins, the smoke in your brain. you are my lantern waste, my midwinter crack in the lake. you drown me in
i am a bruise purpling in your undark, undone in a burble of blooms bleeding where the earth opened and spat each petal out; broken teeth woken from sleeping i am a calling you do not follow, i no longer command your intention keeping no score, for what is writ in air retains no shadow, inflames no kindling you and i, there will be no flesh between us, no threshold for sweeping when all that remains of this is the memory of ash in my mouth, and my yearning.
i'll keep you in my mouth where you are a muffled prayer, your hands a rosary or else a noose, my fangs sliding the edge of desire open; i will drink your eyes dry just to put a smile on your face
hand me the susurrus of your heart; i want it in my mouth, my tongue feeling the oracle hiding what is mine; secret veins crowning a forgotten land. quick, cut to the marrow of the matter; i cannot remain unwanted. i drink the pulse from your ears, plead to some forsaken power for grace. am i knocking on the hollow of your clavicle, a shelf full of porcelain hopes? i can see them thrumming, submerged in your skin thin with longing. a finger runs along the rim, ringing a crystalline cantata. here you cup the acid of unforgiven ways, where my unforgotten aches graze on blades of dark water bruising like a boot on heart. threaten me not, for where pain recedes my heartbreak rises and roars its name.
cloudbanks are ripe with rain, pressing
on peaks like a sibilant shroud. night’s void
is an achingly sweet voice, whispering
soft wind over wet faces.
press this caress here,
where it hurts most;
it simmers with unspoken hearts,
artfully skimming unasked questions.
pierce this echo with a sigh
drawn from vast reserve
between held hopes and
voiceless shivers, edging
toward confessing a shapeless desire
that cannot be recalled.
let the wash of years and
yearning forget the begotten,
the unbecoming hidden
in the pale drift of hours. let it
sigh in dire silence, let it
sire a distance of continents,
in exchange
for the letting
this cut synapse sings, searing
where i have no business feeling
like i am owed some part of you
i can't feel. this is numb, i cost
my touch - arguably i
never
had one. you hold my nerve,
dancing at the precipice of
repressed indecency. is this what
it yearns to mean? or
do you mean
to earn my devotion, unlace the
electric quick that screams
this is not allowed. you steal
me from sweet sobriety, caution
caressed in light's wake, motes aflame
in sunset's syrupy embrace. i shake
here, and here, skin
like water. i ripple unseen,
sun skipping axons to a pleasure
i cannot own. i let it
lie.
i.
there is no need in this, only want.
ii.
i fear for my safety, and you know this.
i dont know if i should be disturbed by your telling me that you would kill them if they ever hurt me, and yet you are nearly a man too. i am disturbed by how far i let you in and i am glad you cant see how you are the one who could hurt me most of all, and
only the trust i have in you will prevent that eventuality.
iii.
i have always been an obstinate creature. my mother spent years telling everyone who asked how i spent days clinging to the inside of her womb, unwilling to come out with the rose-tinted, nostalgic wis
The bird has sounder recordings; the murmur, good morning - call of the dog inside, the baby's coo and cackle, drip of faucet; the default temperament of each voice as it elevates and falls like a flow of water into its plume. The luddite would surely approve of listening -- of adjusting to the softness, and picture window a montage of ourselves. The wall soon worn down to a wider, open range. The filter of far away lodged in its bill -- wings unpinioned, echoes, voices rippling to you like patches of familiar lands. The way thoughts emerge. Even as alien sounds there is the atmosphere of a haunt, a summary among the wires, and shelf of books that suggests something like the rapture, an apocalypse -- that they were meant to fall from the skies.
cover my eyes
and reach down my throat
to take the words that have
coated my lungs
replace them
with your own.
it's funny how liberation
can so easily become
manipulation
how a group of letters
can be dissected
into
senselessness
and i can't help
but wish
that you would let me
sit at the table
and put them
together
not for lack of going by dialtonepoetry, literature
Literature
not for lack of going
I throw myself out and out and out again, cast my shadow into waves of sea, drift without a sail, one briny drink after another. If there was something I was looking for I’ve forgotten it, but if I’m not out here with a net, who will bail the sinking boat? who will sing the shanties? who will forget to remember the way home? I dream about writing my own odyssey, but I’m no homer and I couldn’t pass penolope’s test anyway. maybe I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be still. maybe my soul is an ocean, turbulent and burning. creaking timbers on no compass path, currents take us where they will. I’ll k
when this story has run out of words i will still be windswept barefoot on the trails looking over summer’s colors and the shine of heat so thick not even the cicadas want to sing (lushness eating everything) but for today i’ll pluck plantain to bruise for dressing wounds chewing sweetgrass roots while fires burn the tree line into grave markers under a blood sun today i’ll watch the farmhouse burn (your tinder laid so carefully) and feel destruction singe me as i sing for Her to spark again
perhaps love is meant to end. love opens one's eyes and mind to hope, validation, presence; meaning should exist before, during, after else one be lost in a sea of throwing-up-hands and mirrors smoked. tears are choked back often, smeared journal entries erode over time to be faint scars; we are libraries of guilt and apprehension stacked past icarus' wonder. once your fangs grow you're in the bite, only right to taste a throat or two before you file them away like wildflowers between pages of a book you will bury in dust. perhaps love is meant to remind us of kindness offered, of striving to be more, of how we know ourselves when we feel blessed, of coughing up beauty like stars aligned with expectations. and then, as a candle at dawn, let go.
the gun goes off.
softer than i thought
it'd be; i keep my eyes locked
on his. my ears ring
as he gasps, shock
and the fear of death
in a silent weave.
the gun goes off.
i wince. he seems to keep
inhaling. i convince myself
this railing is less support
and more stairwell to heaven, steeped
in unmentioned life left
failing.
the gun goes off.
i rip god's banister off
and spit blood upon the altar.
my hands have never shaken,
my eyes have not closed
since i awakened. i don't remember
why i'm in this corridor.
i am omniscient; i must be
mistaken.
the gun goes off.
when i reshape the earth
in my form, i'll force
avalanches and sandstorms
t
hands together when i kneel by gliitchlord, literature
Literature
hands together when i kneel
i may not be much
but swear to christ i'll level you.
cut your teeth on me
and drink devil tongue
when we kiss.
unsettle your desperate itch
and lace your ligaments;
i will swallow you
within an inch
and own it.
i'll be bearing mary
up until the twist,
then rectify my wandering eye
with touch
of lips.
locked, you exist
to please me.
hand me the susurrus of your heart; i want it in my mouth, my tongue feeling the oracle hiding what is mine; secret veins crowning a forgotten land. quick, cut to the marrow of the matter; i cannot remain unwanted. i drink the pulse from your ears, plead to some forsaken power for grace. am i knocking on the hollow of your clavicle, a shelf full of porcelain hopes? i can see them thrumming, submerged in your skin thin with longing. a finger runs along the rim, ringing a crystalline cantata. here you cup the acid of unforgiven ways, where my unforgotten aches graze on blades of dark water bruising like a boot on heart. threaten me not, for where pain recedes my heartbreak rises and roars its name.
gratitude
ah, to hell with being away for exams - I can't let this slide without saying thank you to a whole bunch of people for the beautiful surprise that I found waiting in my message centre today.
Many thanks go to !KneelingGlory (https://www.deviantart.com/kneelingglory) KneelingGlory (https://www.deviantart.com/kneelingglory) for suggesting my series http://prairiedaisy.deviantart.com/art/reasons-for-dying-six-160491309 (reasons for dying), :iconfallenidle: fallenidle (https://www.deviantart.com/fallenidle) for inspiring it and :iconLadyLincoln: LadyLincoln (https://www.deviantart.com/ladylincoln) for featuring it today. Exams and life in general have not been as bright as I'd like them both to be lately (I firmly believe it will get better, but in the meantime I just have to k
literary things
:bulletred: If you haven't heard already, `StJoan (https://www.deviantart.com/stjoan) StJoan (https://www.deviantart.com/stjoan) is hanging up her hat after serving the dA Literature community as Lit GM for so long. Go say hello and thank you! It's the least she deserves after all her hard work for the good of the lit community.
:bulletred: Thank you for your continued support of :iconMythMash:! :iconskerd22: gliitchlord (https://www.deviantart.com/gliitchlord), :iconfallenidle: fallenidle (https://www.deviantart.com/fallenidle) and I are working on some new things which will hopefully come to life in the not-too-nebulous future (Contests galore! New galleries and features! :dance: :w00t: :giggle:). There is more to come when we've worked out all the det
sometimes i look back and it makes my jaw drop that i could have ever written something that still feels like a punch in the gut, even after all these years. and coming from me that would be biased, but from you - that's real. so thanks, so much.