[x]

end life, end.when i was almost god,
and my fingers were honeycombs
woven into embroidered dreams,

is when my breath danced
in your hair,
(never to be tamed)
your lashes weighing down your eyelids,
joining fingers with the ones below.

a wish escapes from between your teeth
(a cavity in the brain,
it's acid, it's acid. it's acid.
pleasant thoughts poison the mind)
end, life. end.

(wade into the ocean,
salt fills your lungs that shrivel up
like slugs in the desert sun)

sleep.

and i call it revoltingand tongues that wag like the tail of a dog,
shit-stained teeth that glare in the suffocating light,
bouncing off lips that crack with each move,
canyons of dry skin as if fingers peeled it
like a sickly brown banana, pus slithering,
a melted snake, with a melted red tongue,
flowing between its lips.
lashes like whips that slap at the cheek,
worms burying into thin ducts, curling upwards,
away from the white swamp with mold in the center,
a vile stench stinging their nostrils.

they lick the pus from the canyons,
inserting their tongue in between cracked skin,
gazing into swamps, fluttering the worms,
and wagging their tongue

Oh! There Goes My HeartTap, tap go my feet
To the rhythm of this beat.

Step-step, up and down,
Twirling, leaping; where's my gown?

Clap-clap, side to side,
Let's go; I'm ready to glide.

Front, back goes the dance
I'm lost in Fairytale's trance.

Oh! There goes my heart;
The dance caused it to depart.

Well, masked prince, take care,
My heart is yours, sweet and fair.

InvincibleThey say that I can't last much longer,
Grinning as I scream in pain
And laughing as I gasp for air.
But they won't reach their goal.

"Daddy, you'll be back, won't you?"
Her words still echo in my head,
A piece of happiness I keep within.
"Of course, my angel. Sooner than you'd think."

Darkness embraces my consciousness,
And every breath becomes a struggle,
But still I hear her worried voice.
"Promise?" she asks. "Promise." I answer.

And as I lie here on the floor,
Beaten, bloody, and alone,
I feel my heart beating in my chest,
Fighting to fulfill my promise.

"But how can you know?" she calls
As I'm halfway out the door.
I

hypothermiait's the plush feel of the mind's whispers
(or perhaps it was the wind, dancing with my hair,
kissing its lady hands, licking the back of my neck)

"look," the whispers scribe into the wall that is my brain.

"look. look how the breeze paints grass, bending into a coil, look how the wind whips leaves around in a tango, yet you,

you do not welcome it, you close the doors of your wool jacket,
the zipper trying to break away,
it tells you (let's dance, tango is for two)"

the clouds serenade me,
raindrops whirling with the beat,
my scalp becomes a drum, wet fingers thump,
the zipper slides, the wool wraps around my waist,
i dance.

Plucking PetalsI stand on the edge of the sea,
plucking petals from the flower
in my hands
wondering:
as they fall and
drift out to sea-
will they bring my true love to me?

Ignore AdviceWrite ten bad poems.

Write one hundred
bad poems.

Write profoundly.

Write and drink.

Keep a notebook with you,
write in public
and make sure that others
know that you are, in fact,
writing.

Write a love poem,
then throw it away
because all the good ones
have already been read.

Ignore advice,
write about the decision
instead of the feeling.

Write one sentence
-make indents,
say to yourself that
this is it, THIS is IT.

Then delete,
and tell yourself that again.

What IfA dying man once
said "Sometimes it's better to
be sorry than safe."

RuinsWe thought that it would last forever,
Praising it would never break,
Now all you see are crumbled stones
Where all past strength today seems fake.

Once our dream of glory had come true,
When this place was filled with life,
The streets were full of laughter
And the houses full of golden light.

Now where formerly we lived and loved
Time has faded all our traces,
And the earth reclaimed what once we took,
While humankind forgot our faces.

But look carefully, search with all your heart,
And you might find a trace of past:
A shard of metal, a piece of stone,
The ruin of a home that lasts.

And faded memory will be remembered,
The

Dead Heart BeatingDead Heart Beating
By Skyla Moffett

Your heart is full of sin
I don't know how it is capable of so much harm,
When it's only weapon
Is the lies it pumps to your mouth.

Your heart was wanted by many
The reward was said to be great.
But not even cupid himself
Could get your ticker to time out

Your heart was unlike any other
It could enchant even the purest souls
Only to steal their innocence and beauty
Leaving them grey and lifeless.

You would cage their fluttery hearts,
Never to allow them their freedom.
You would torture them with broken promises,
Until they could trust no longer.

Did you ever ponder,
All the agony your victims endured

Berlinyou were my five day summer.
I fell in love with the maze of your veins
and the hum of your heartbeat. I lost vital
parts of me between the brick of your
walls, and yet I found myself a thousand
times in the tangle of your stories and the
gravel of your skin.

you whispered secrets in my hair and
I laughed like ice cream, and all the
scents and all the flavors that you taught
me are now nacreous pigments in my
larynx.

it's in your hold that I was sent to sleep
with exhaustion dripping from my lips
and satisfaction nestled in my limbs.
I came to you to escape from the things
that have settled deep
inside my bones,

and I c

SubmissionThere are words I don't recognize
written on the walls of my contentment.
I'm not sure what language they're in
or who wrote them, but I do know
that it says something about surrender.
I've given up more times
than I've given anything else.

CasualtiesAs the screaming bombs fly overhead,
Here we lie dying in these makeshift hospital beds.
Terrified of what will become of us,
It seems there is no one we can trust.
People at home whisper in the street,
As they travel to purchase their rationed meat,
That we must have been to Hell and back,
But that return journey we did lack.
As we sink further and further into despair,
Our bodies and minds now far beyond repair,
All around the world,
Children start to cry,
As one by one,
Their fathers die.

footprints some days you are absent,

and i sit waiting even if i know, that although
your bike is parked at the usual spot,
you'll be nowhere to be seen.

i never ask where you've been.

maybe you found a place where heartbeats sound
like autumn leaves swirling in the wind.

maybe you just couldn't face me.

and you wear silence like a wedding gown,
soft silk sewn together with a brutal honesty.

there is no going back.

(she threw her regrets off a mountain, memories
carving their way through the cold stone, slowly forming

a waterfall

and now she feels no thirst, only
a longing slowly drowning her.)

in the end, you had to

PhoenixHis chest covered with blood
Her sweat sliding down her face
She was holding his hand
And took him into her embrace

With her arms around him
She cried while he looked into her eyes
He was dying but it was ok
The sun was too far in the skies

"I love you" she said
And he received it with a sigh
Now that he knows it
It is harder to die

Tears fell on his body
And turned into ash
She saw a fire being born
And a reflection in it like a flash

He rose with fire to the heaven
Her embrace became empty and she felt cold
Looking at him fly away she knew he won't leave her
"I love you",once upon a time she told

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compareeins.

you were

the smoke pouring out of her mouth,
(misty coils of a vague filth,
dancing to noir jazz, fading with each note)
smudged lipstick on the side of of her mouth,
and the little streak that crawled to her tooth
when she bit her lip in a supposed wonder,
and her eyes threw a faint film over themselves,
(like an elegant lady wraps a silk shawl around herself in a light breeze)

zwei.

you had

the light feet of a dancer
whose calluses were hidden under tight shoes,
whose toes would arch like Nut over her children,
(and she or you would spin with the earth, holding her frame as if-
as if earth was something of mass, as if

you were the butterflyhe tiptoes like a ray of sun
rests quietly on your skin,
his lashes flutter - the wings of a butterfly
that tickle your cupped hands
so that your fingers can't help
but clamp down
on those notorious flapping flakes
so he runs, a thunderstorm,

his eyes, wild clouds, showering the desperate flowers
with no pollen from the butterfly
whose slimy blood gets under your nails,
like you crawl under a big branch of a tree
sheltered from his useless tears,
tickling the soil with your curling toes,

so he grabs the branch,
casts it down,
you are that butterfly,
flapping pathetically with your last breath.
you are that butterfly, that

[broken] mirrorquarrels marinated in expired words
yourfault/i'msorry/wish/youwere/gone,

couches that cough up dust when you
throw your hand against the cushion,
lay your head back, and breathe,

air, a coiling snake in your lungs,
crawling back out as carbon dioxide,

a home marinated in expired words,
pillows thrown against reflections
of what its dwellers never wanted to become.

no"what's it like to be drunk?"

"the wind nips at your skin,
an eager puppy with razor teeth,
every edge is a blur, the world blends,
and you are whipped around in it,
a shaken martini, gulped down,
brains sending signals of
'thump thump thump'
as if your cells are knocking from under your skin
let me out, they cry out to you,
your nails picking at your skin,
making sure that your nerves have not fallen
in a drugged sleep."

"and when you talk, your voice floats away from you,
and you can't catch it,
your voice swims into nonexistence,
yet you speak,
words that you scoop up like dry sand in a fist,
slowly flowing out through t

TheHe,

he who held it in his hand,
and gently put it to his lips,
blowing it away,

and euphoria choked him,
and it stung his eyes,
and it spread and spread,
flickering and fogging up,
engulfing everything in its
firm grip.

And his eyes welled up with it,
and they were bulging,
and he breathed and
breathed,
and it pierced his heart
with a stainless steel

needle

fresh out of an autoclave,
and it pierced it

again
and
again,

and his lungs turned
a deep, deep red,
and it choked them
up, squeezing the air out.

And he felt good.

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then he waved

by ~jaani-androphile, Jul 30, 2012, 12:42:27 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

his fingers are harp strings,
tall blades of grass, cowering with a breeze,
a howl escaping them.
the notes with the wind curve across dunes,
mountainous joints curl with each pull,

sand escapes through protective eyelashes,
spreading its wings, gritty feathers,
enveloping a woman,
wearing time on her face like a veil,

she imagines the rugged strings
vibrating against her satin fingers
are the throats of songbirds,
cut from their beaks.

her tears and soft sobs write songs for the harp
he left near a window from which she
saw him smile to her for the last time.

then he wavedby ~jaani-androphile

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

what do you think?

love 1 1

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

*DarionDamage Nov 14, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

You have magic in your words. Please continue writing!

~jaani-androphile Nov 14, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

thank you very much.

and i will

~SimpleData Aug 28, 2012 Student General Artist

I think everything that could be said about how amazing this peom is has already been said, so let's just leave it at that. Great work~

~jaani-androphile Aug 28, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

thank you so very very much

~SimpleData Aug 28, 2012 Student General Artist

You're welcome.

~Sigma-Echo-Seven Aug 20, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I quite like the metaphors used in the first and third stanzas. Well done!

~jaani-androphile Aug 20, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

thank you very much

~Shasta-Rose Aug 7, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Absolutely fascinating. You have a wide variety of descriptors for his hands, a barrage of them all at once at the beginning. I don't know how I feel about that... usually I prefer to see a metaphor developed rather than several metaphors going on at once, for the latter style can cause some confusion and unintentional contradictions. Here I think I might like it, though, since you maintain a hierarchy of metaphors in a sense... the harp strings getting the most focus. The first stanza did quite draw me in. Very original with the fingers being harp strings... very nice.

The second stanza is just as curiously interesting and original. It also brings out the narrative more, and reveals more about what you're talking about. You bring out understanding more and more as the poem goes on. With the first stanza, I knew next to nothing, but by the end I understand a complete story. Well-done.

The only constructive comment I want to make is there's a bit of a grammatical anomaly with the "are" in the third line of the poem... it doesn't quite make sense.

As far as that last stanza is concerned, if you ever are thinking of revising any of this poem, LEAVE THAT LAST STANZA ALONE!!! It is

~jaani-androphile Aug 7, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

thank you very very very much.

hahaha and don't worry i am not much of an editor.

~Shasta-Rose Aug 7, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

And thank you again for sharing your work.
Haha, can't say editing's my favorite thing either. XD

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