Year II - Issue XXIX
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Ingenueshe lives off petrichor.
sometimes she'll spend her lonesome days watching the soft spell of rain
reach the depths of cyclic whispers and paradoxical breaths, lost behind her sleepless eyes.
she laughs at gravity.
sometimes she'll notice how the broken inertia of her body is nothing but a reflection of
the chemistry given between her grief and the afterglow of beautified language.
sometimes she'll break the bullets caught in her teeth and mould the tired fragments into something worth loving.
700I read a story once about a man who had six PhD's in six different fields. I don't remember what fields they were, but I remember being impressed. The reason he found so much success was his severe OCD. He was so consumed by the disorder that every page of textbook he read, he read hundreds of times. I thought that was crazy, insane, psychotic. But I guess it worked for him. So I forgot about the man with the six PhD's and the torturous infection of his lifestyle that doctors like to call a disorder.
Until I Met Candyce Karolyn Ethanson.
It was fourth grade and I called her names behind her back because she had to get on the swings so many times in a row that she never even swung. Before she could get her entrance right, recess was over. She cried when our teacher pried her from the swing-set, not allowing her repetition to continue. Then we went back inside for class and I remember looking to my right and seeing blood on her fingernails from where they were buried in her left forearm
Altamura A Spanish lament
blooms in high halls; ... in incarcerated windows
unflowering on the marble almost touching the vines
then pouring and straining in their stony spouse's eyes
through jigsawed cobbled streets. a length of breath away.
... and intermittently pulsing strings The sadness of the World
spray the orange from the lamps sprouts in between the crevasses
painting the cries ripe and full of taste -
and mellowing the sorrow.
i. I was still, once;
a rock amidst constellations that
flapped like birds.
Their spinning gravity wells
have strung me—
a glittering necklace of asteroids.
Madness is only a quiet hunger for those
who do not live within the skull
that is being broken apart by too many stars.
as a fox kit i will wander ice white russian forests in winter hoping to be taken in
longing for bright red curls but silver furred and searching hungry for the mice beneath the snow
ringed round with chicken wire and caught amongst the hens wishing for the
russet hair that would blend me in
if i were catherine the great i would not have to feel the rising fear every december
and as virgin queens go i would be more of an elizabeth than a victoria always
turning tailward to devour enemies of the throne
but the most i may hope for by march is to be caught by the forest witch
and have my bleached boiled bones strung like constellations amongst my fox kin
Regards, The Abortionist.A letter came in the mail from a return address I wasn't sure existed for some time. It still did; the address was the exact same. The handwriting was quick and short, and the request seemed simple enough. I put on my coat and found myself walking down the street under a thick grey sky, one hand in my pocket and the other keeping my hat from being claimed by the wind.
The buildings grew dirtier the further east I travelled. Grime crawled up the sides of the walls from the sidewalk, and the sewer drains gurgled with yesterday's waste. A homeless man in a tattered version of my own coat held a tin cup out to me, mumbling something about spare change. I gave him a handful of nickels and buttons and wished him well before arriving at the old brownstone.
The sign that had once stood in front was marred with rust and beaten up by time, all of the letters missing except for an M and a D.
A For Sale sign hung in the window in front of a thin white curtain.
I rapped a closed fi
metamorphosesif i wished, i could easily divide my life
into two acts:
before you and after you.
i might like to write my life as
a shakespearean play, with you as the hero
or as an epic poem,
just as ovid and virgil once did.
my story may not be as intricately woven
as the tapestries of the iliad or the aeneid
or even woven at all
perhaps the silk worms have not yet spun its threads
and it is untouched, unsullied by human hands
perhaps its time has yet to come
i can split the play of my life into two acts:
one before i met you
and one after.
before is punctuated with sadness. drops of laughter scatter across an empty horizon,
fleeting against a background dull and grey as the walls of my cage(home)cage
birds call and children play, yet the world is
somehow empty, somehow
i see you one morning
and i instantly want to see you again
for you are shown just as quickly as you disappear
the snakes of my mind beg me to pick the forbidden fruit
but accustomed to my world of cool metal bars
Paranoid ClairvoyantI wanted it.
And I did not allow direct acknowledgement, wrestling with the idea. More than want,
more like need. And the absurdity of it! Why should I feel this craving,
this magnetic necessity?
He was more than I had ever allowed myself to hope for. And maybe he wasn't exactly angelic, but something within him was untouched, tucked safely away from the world.
Sometimes I could see it; this stability, this utter sureness. And as I hoped for something else, any other explanation, I saw him struggling, trying not to let it touch his eyes. He'd always been ready to leave.
My heart swelled past a unmanageable volume.
stripped of value.
kissed on forehead
"hey, you're beautiful"
And hey, I wanted it, right?
1With liquid bones and sunlight hair
I've drunken myself down to a watery mess
of spilled words and ugly mysteries.
I find myself in you,
and I cringe at the notion that maybe today
I should love myself.
There's no sense in realityI can't be something I'm not
(i'm not yours, i was never yours, was i?)
I was just your doll in a showcase, but we both knew
i was nothing to be shown off, because i never loved you,
because there's nothing in the world to make me love myself.
Kisses planted in a generous clusterKisses planted in a generous cluster
With all the sweetness love could muster
Decked in Hope's brilliant gem-like luster
Cheeks blushing a ruby fluster
Oh my love, my spell-caster!
If only time could pass a little faster
To the day our beloved pastor
Will declare us mistress and master;
The day we stand before the altar
To pledge a love that will not falter
Making vows that'll never alter
Come flaming hell, or raging high water.
So here I am, upon my bed
With but a pillow for my head
To travel through dream's cascade -
A 'goodnight' I must, to you, bade.
cicatrix.she bites her lip
to keep in
the words she will not say.
strength demands distance.
they don't tell you this
when you're young,
but sometimes love isn't enough.
sometimes things just don't work-
no matter how hard you try.
sometimes you lose-
you fall on the pavement
and no one catches you.
she had nothing left to give,
so she gave herself a break.
sometimes love can't save you.
sometimes, you have to save yourself.
MajestyBlack the night that closed around me,
(Now I see!)
When I listened as He promised
Long I waited; still she turned and
Looked on you!
Son of few years, quickly fading:
Shadows steals across the City,
I shall drown both star and candle:
Bring the Night.
See the furnace-glow of crimson?
Hear the roar?
To Doom I have brought completion:
Bloody chaos breaks around me,
I shall find her – she'll forget you:
But your arms are strong as iron,
Have no doubt;
Past the rail meant to save me
I spill out.
Seven times they jagged crush me,
'Til I fall no more but lie here-
Blood-stained rise the walls above me,
As light through deep water darkly:
Ragged, now, my cloak of glory,
Here in silence ends this story:
Here lies dead.
Lost LoverI woke up to a world entangled in white,
where the black trees coexisted with light.
And the ice fell swiftly upon my pale skin,
waking me and making me feel alive again.
Enchanting it was, but it left me so cold,
as I was yearning to find my lover to hold.
Somewhere deep in the darkness of dusk,
I had lost him to the wintry must.
So I searched for him again and again,
shouting his name in the depths of the wind.
But no matter how hard I tried to speak,
I could feel the ice sealing my lips so weak.
Then in the distance I could hear a sound
that said, "Darling, won't you come around?"
It shook me and made me feel empty inside,
for I didn't know where his spirit would hide.
I whispered, "Won't you appear for me?"
But it only remained as calm as the sea.
'Til traces of angels appeared down below,
and I knew where my lover would surely go.
I ran through the cold and blustery winds,
shouting his name again and again.
Then finally I saw the black diamond tree
with branches that stretched out
8. Untouched (Speak Gently)The bits of silence stuttered through her confession
This is my first time saying this to anyone
And the blush that lights up under the skin of her
Tells you she does not come with job experience
She does not come with secondhand innocence
The drop of her eyes when you say her name
Says she has never heard someone pronounce it that
The parting of her lips when she looks up, hoping
You're still there
Tells you you're the first one to walk these roads
Wrought Iron CageOnly those going through the same hell as you
can understand your insanity.
Each of us deals in his own way with the world
but inside suffers with the same intensity,
his voice hitting the black walls of this wrought iron cage
which they call soul.
And only rarely a lightning shatters the darkness
followed by a thunder to break the dreadful silence,
both signs of a coming storm
which rains its golden rays of hope.
Thus life is a continuous dance between happiness and pain,
a tango in which they hold each other close
even though from their fingertips to their toes
their skin burns, it twists, it hurts.
Toolwe often think that we all know everything
but the truth is, we don't.
we don't know anything at all, actually.
it is until something happened and tongues starts to flap.
i thought i knew about alot of things
but i was just silly and naive.
i try to help those how needed help.
true, i had anger issues.
but i could change, right?
it just takes time and alot of patience.
i suffered alot.
i rebelled yet i did my homework.
i cried but no tears were formed.
i laughed but no genuine laughter was there.
i needed help.
i was alone.
i needed a friend.
the thing is,
i help those who are around me
yet i have no one to help me.
ironic isn't it?
the whole reason i help others
is because i would like them to understand
that it doesn't hurt to just sit and listen.
it doesn't consume much time
and though if there were nothing to be said,
the person that talks will feel so much better.
i'm in college now
and everything is much better now.
the only thing is t
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