you're no artisti'll paintyou're no artist by theshadowkissedgirl
my lips purple
to match the
stain you slathered
across my skin.
hey, this is
|You don't feel me in here, anymore.|
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I stayed up all night painting your face so
I could beat the birds to crying your name
and the world would shudder and shake in two syllables
once the first glitters of dawn skittered across the horizon
and skipped across the tips of your blindfold eyelids;
I stayed up all night losing my sanity so
I could on auto-pilot put my body to work
and my hands would find a natural rhythm
in the swoop and crash of heat transfer
bobbing up and down in the waves of your skin;
I stayed up all night dancing so
I could prance through the doors of your dreams
and I would step and spin without your guidance
until your eyelashes fluttered awake with pride singing
and our distance would hum along with the song and close in;
I stayed up all night lighting fireworks so
I could pretend I was a sailor lost at sea
and you would find me shipwrecked at the shore
tame my soul's raging waves before the day could break
and giggle the whole way back to your lighthouse escape;
I stayed up all night writing these verses so
I could capture the firefly words to speak when your lips
first parted with the adieu of a yawn
and my tongue would sprinkle across them all
the te quiero's and ich liebe dich's my heart has been choking on.
Pieces of me are scattered across the city,
sleeping on storm drains, kissing their feet,
but I am unseen.
I giggle, "Hey, look. Those are my initials."
I point and recite, "M. E. S."
and the rise of his brow
whispers that he will never
be able to strip the memory of me
from these streets.
I smile and we take a step
Rain drips down the drain
and washes away my footprints
but my initials remain.
I am gone.
22 aprili was told that when she woke up, we were thisclose to each other and our faces nearly touched.22 april by ohsostarryeyed
did i ever tell you how i don't mean to push my spine to the surface and you away from me, when it's time to sleep, how i only do it because if i don't, i'll find myself falling into the way your hands move and how little you are as you sink into sheets and how wide your eyes become, green and bright like a forest, and i have to turn so that when i close my eyes, i know your lips aren't about to find mine?
i wish i didn't feel that way a lot of times, but that closeness lights my skin on fire and it's all i can do to keep my hands immobile and the minute space between us alive, because it's impossible to see you, supine and near and soft on my pillow, and not find myself pulling the threads tighter to sew makeshift stitches between our hips and fill the gaps between our lips.
i thrive on intimacy -- sex, tangling bodies as though they were singular secrets, knowing another as wel
koreaeveryone always forgets you and that's why you have to be so damn loud,korea by ssleep
isn't it? maybe once upon a time it was acceptable
for you to be a child, but now all you do is cry too loudly and make a fool of yourself.
that compact wiry body of yours, you do it a disservice by scrawling
death to all things across your chest and letting your mother bandage your wounds.
your life is such a terrible place--
why does your girlfriend refuse to look at the burden of that
twisted black thing you force down her throat, that rotted disease you call love?
why wouldn't she? your tenderness is bruises and your kisses are never anything but discomfort.
you're so small, aren't you, and so hollow on the inside, but maybe you'll get lucky--
maybe she'll realize you're nothing but an arrogant fuckwad and leave you. and
you'll be twice as unbearable then, but at least you won't be touching anymore.
at least then maybe you'll look at all the empty spaces and learn something,
you arrogant asshole.