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Year II - Issue XXII
Volume LXXIV
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i'm a bunny and i hate themI was thinking about that time when
we sat barefoot on that log that
hung over that ledge and I Sunk
my toes in the moss because I
was afraid I would fall
Off
like I fell in your room the night
before.
I can’t breathe I can’t breathe
Shut up shut up catch me
But this time it was a cliff and not the mattress so I didn’t think
you could
and even if you did my arm would probably
rip off
or something
like that.
That log was also
a beginning and that cliff was (is)
an end
but you didn’t even know that until now
because you’re probably reading this
even though I didn’t want you to.
I took two and passe
ghosts in the gardenand she slung
her slender bones
down
swallowed by fabric
gardens
chintz roses echoed
on the rattling
teacup
in her shiver-quake,
taut-canvas fingers
and folded
her molasses tongue
around the unraveling
storm clouds gathering
gray
—good for the flowers—
and the canny mouse
curled cozy in some
dusky cabinet corner
—bad for the biscuits—
before smoothing
another sip
down her furrowed
throat.
when i was small,
she said into the silence
on a paper-whisper,
eyes cast
on an errant past,
my sister died.
and they laid her
on the kitchen table
in her Sunday best, and
i remember
her small fingers curled
and i fancie
MelancholiaI crawled beneath the skin,
nails taking crescent moons
to labored arteries,
where life birthed.
I gave rash to skin, rippling in marrow,
bulging flesh and pore…
all to break free.
I laid beneath scarlet muscle
sick with Loneliness: a bittersweet
disease of rusting hearts.
I let it throb, pound—ache,
sulking within the cradle of spine,
rocking joints to solemn sleep…
and how easily resignation
was acquired,
for they were weary,
used to hunching to sorrows
resolute
and chronic.
Honeythief.straw-stitched and hanging
off every word--
violated:
pressing my ears
against your brittle
hives
and smoking you out
LeavingSoul-burned, I speak
these parting words -
nods, goodbyes, promises,
grieving
born of human frailty;
a heart, yielding
to truth and beauty.
Holding me back
is the holding - a life
put on pause, wrapped
in cotton wool. Now these threads
that once bind are pulled
to prosperity, spun
of feeling and new will.
Throw off these naked clothes.
Stand up to the sun, and remember,
parting is such sweet sorrow
and yet, on the morrow,
the worm will break the earth,
and laugh, dodging the bird,
burrowing its way home -
home, where the heart is.
.i avoid the eyes of people when i'm nervous
stare at spaces in between their eyelids
and let the conversation fade
or dissolve.
i don't know where to let my eyes rest
when you appear
in my head
around my bones
there's nowhere to look
except through you
:thumb339146097:
one am thoughtsI hate this feeling that keeps arising in the pit of my gut. This emptiness, loneliness, that sends chills up my spine and tears running down my cheeks. I miss you, I guess. Or maybe I just miss knowing who I am because with you, everything seemed to make sense for a while. The sky appeared to be bluer than blue and the grass greener than green; the darkness was an intriguing shade of navy and the light always seemed to be brighter. But these days I just can't seem to find the rhyme.
I am just so sick of hating my life. And I'm not necessarily saying that I would hate it less if you were here, but maybe I would. Maybe I wouldn't feel so lone
ElegyReveries of pale silhouettes cavorted beneath her eyelashes
Skylarking with alluring steps,
Restless in her walking,
She followed them into the covert;
The hallowed and disembodied presence soon began to abscond
From the wretched and chitty girl, to somewhere beyond.
"Oh, my beloved John Doe, thine sweet redolence lingers with me,
Agony for a sufferer without a path,
How I cry for the immolation of thy memory, to let me flee
Far from the bane thee hurled onto me.
John Doe, prythee!, let us meet once again,
For my wounded spirit would not be able to abide
To a such loss, it will tear me in twain..."
Shadows come and go,
Filt
WinteringDecay's lush colours
brighten the cooling season,
herald winter's chills.
Dead blossoms remain,
once yellow heads become husks
of breeze tossed summer.
Not the months alone. These are no more than the signs of those ever-returning cycles as the universe continues in its timeless revolutions. Against that backdrop, the rapid blinkings of the cosmic eye, there is to be gained a paradoxical stillness.
Not that I, or any I, will prove to be impervious to change, to the fitful shifts of decay and regeneration. Rather, the strobe-like blinkings seem to freeze my flickering existence. The candle flame is a process of static motion. I too per
Locket Of NecrosisHer mouth taste like corpses
lips closed; graveyard gates
A sad story hiding behind iron
but the lock has been mutilated
...oh what a conundrum
Infected I became by such sights,
hectic pulse beating under my skin
made this a prolonged fight
Stealing this cadaver
has brought absinthe to my veins,
turned her flesh to flowers
and decayed my soul
Her mystical essence whispers in my ear
"Take me, all of me. Indulge yourself before you rot."
I obey her whispers
for her allure can't be denied;
her sweet succulence-my will
Miasma dispersed around us
morphing into a sapphire locket
before falling to the dirt
It opened itself and dr
Brain VistaHe is wedged in every corner of her brain
licking crevices
vowed,
drowned
memories drunk and swam
imagined time, by-and-by
growing conscious there, composed
fine waves slogging for divinity
crackle,
ever so slightly
too quiet now
too peaceful
in danger of losing transaction of feelings in
the face of all the un-planted
trying to scoop him up
knowing no one will arrive in time
in his eyes
pools of light drain
in hers
no flecks,
no proper translation
through wormhole corals
split
blight, struck gorgeous rhythm
bled from crystalline flesh
mourning him in full sun
bewitched
by an anato
Silence
it's like water slipping through your fingers
or the stub of a cigarette bud going out
like the color of the sky right after the sun sets
or the drip drop of the water of a leaky faucet
like a roller coaster — only broken
it's a silent cry for help that is never spoken.
portraitselfborn of thunderclaps and rocket-smashes
clattering, cracking for air in black smoke
mechanical gears frozen mid-routine
ridiculed the ghost who lost his tombstone
hankering for a home that never was
offbeat and lost in a land of oddballs
searching for holes in gates guarding the door
singing strange songs for fabricated friends
fail and fall, disenchant the floor people
stranded roadkill in turnpike rush hour
with twisted fates and destiny condemned
easy fun playing the cop on cocaine
each passing day thinking it's happier
never noticing how more empty fills
run for judgments, opinions, decisions
sold them all for free, those f
The SpectrumThere have been coloured instances
(the latest one, I think, was grey)
in which I've dwelled, inside my mind
and dreamed of diff'rent coloured days.
I have known violet states of thought;
the blue ones I could just abide.
They lasted 'til 'twas all there was --
then broke through to the other side.
Most briefly came the amber ones:
the sun would turn my eyelids red
but blacker times were longer still
the single shade inside my head.
And only one was ever real.
No other tones could I foresee
when murky hues of brown would glaze
across my ev'ry memory.
There was nowhere to go but on
against a solid-coloured mind
until a new and lasting plain
Red Rum and ChardonnayShe's got these hands that
memorize and define her,
wrap her up in a pretty bow
like a package to be shipped off
to another destination
because that's all she has ever
wanted was a little excitement,
a little freedom that will carry
her to a place where she doesn't feel
like all there is in life is open skies
and flatness and normal.
She's got hands that I want to
hold to make her stop running.
I want to take those hands and
tell her that no matter where
she goes she still has me and
even when we're old and withering
in our rocking chairs I'll still call her
and ask her if she remembers
that time when we went walking
on
chasedo you believe
in stockholm syndrome?
come here
& let me love you-
i'll show you how
it can hurt
to feel so good,
how the dark
greedy hours
turn violence to passion.
come here
& i will turn your eyes
a fledgling green,
show you that
pleasure and pain
are two chambers
of the same heart,
two hearts
of the same being.
do you believe
in capture-bonding?
by the end of the night,
my dear, you will.
Jade Eyesjade eyes
cool as stone
softly they look upon me
starting to unravel the bones
of my body
the fabric world we have known
i see a girl
just a girl
lost in herself
if I pull you out
do you stop being yourself?
if I take the jade from your eyes
are you going to take the life from mine?
if I find the truth of a lie
could I ever say goodbye?
Including Suggestions from:
~madameshadowenn
Suggestions are welcome and encouraged. Send in your suggestions
for feature by noting them to `dreamsinstatic
Thank you and have some wonderful holidays