Year II - Issue XXXIII
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Bipolar Affair.I've always
that make you
and with feathery touch
every raise and dip
in the texture
You make my skin
my thoughts go
like a great big wave
leaving me feeling
helpless and weak,
far too raw and far too exposed
tug of war
just to let the rope
I bleed truth
the heavier your breath
feels on my face,
the closer you come
to steal a kiss that
You like to leave me
out in the
watch my body
my lips turn
I get a sick feeling that
it warms you up
to see me getting the
Choice is change, chance is bullshit.Summer revealed the bitterness in her sugar-coated reality, the gold in her eroded to silver and her long-term dreams into freshly-murdered stupidities. The light adorning her name started to fade into a pitch black darkness she saw no possible escape from. He felt warm(er than she did) and, ignoring the hurt he had left her with, she begged for him to accept an unworthy forgiveness as her delusional mind felt a rain that was not there and her broken voice whispered "please, we’ll make it, we’re getting wet."
Fall was all about falling; deeper in love, deeper in despair, deeper into any depth her heart would bare grasp. His mistakes were long forgotten and he resented her for anything she did and everything she did not. Infinity, now carved into her hip, was hanging by a string so thin and fragile you would not expect it to hold such a heavy burden. Pessimism was constantly confused for reality, and insanity ruled both their minds.
Winter was full of hate, a perfect
NostalgiaRocketing in wavelengths emaciated and impeccable.
Irregular pressure palpitating
Looking through kaleidoscope distortion
Prisms shouting shards of fragmented color
next toyou curl up
knees to eye sockets
your breathing paper-volumed
like each inhale of the cold
you can't help it
and i hear-
i can't help it
rubbing circles into your shoulder blades
may cause my fingers to go numb
i like to imagine that the feeling
goes straight into you
and stops your tears
breathefeathers on dream catchers,
bells on strings;
lullabies and magpies
trying to escape.
moments and memories
and the birds on the wall―
owl eyes begging to be released,
but cold window panes
and screens block the way.
snowbirdsthe body count peaks in february,
december at the earliest or
march if you're lucky,
when the lonely ones find their way
to warm layers of skin and smoke
and coruscate under the pressure
like the gleam of the sun they've
miss. (it is not-
never will be-
don't let yourself be
i am only as good as
the down of their feathers
and though my
fingers can move much
as long as i
iron strings stain
far worse than you would
PlasmaI had a friend tell me that war is the blood between our bones,
That it keeps us moving and
Without it we are stagnant. Nothing.
But I can’t see the light in night-drenched dreams.
And I’m sure that cannot be.
Peace is a cool kiss on fevered skin,
The silence when the false thunderclaps end,
The skylights holding a promise that morning will come.
Death is not pigments or science or molten gold,
The pillars of civilisation or the illumining crown.
It is blood on a child’s skin. Words that will never come home.
Mothers that will never find air to breathe again.
Peace is a sight unknown to my mind,
But it’s the only beauty worth believing in.
Rembrandt of PainI.
Lay down with your legs united and spread the hands. That is good, that's what He demands. Let us begin this mental funeral. Take this rose that grew black from corruption and this crown of spines. The rose goes in the left hand, now lower the hand to forty-five degrees, hold the crown into your other hand and raise it by the same amount. This is perfect. Now we shall begin the ascension. Close your eyes and do not speak for I will help you overcome the weak. Let's not spill more blood, shall we? We'll try keeping it clean.
"The only fear I know is the fear of my own mind. For all the times I have, rehearsed the slaying of your kind."
"How sweet of you to use wisely your last words. An epitaph for terror. Maybe you want the definition of right and wrong? Or simply you want to know how it all came to this?"
"Let me meet my mistakes and understand them through your words."
"The only fear you know is the fear of your own mind. For all the times you have, rehearsed the slaying of my
Worn Out Siren TalesI was once the moon-rippled, crystal clear
disturbance at shore
and you found hope, resting
on the borders of
sand and wave.
When I moved, you breathed,
It just isn't worth it,
I was carved on ship hulls for a
and I was summoned from sleep to
drown myself in the clutches
of a sea that disowned me
for one too-
and I wrote on woody parchments
for more attention than
So when you moved, I stopped,
Tell me this is eternal,
I had not.
DeconstructionI don't like
the lost souls
a mouth full of smoke
crown me with bonescrown me with bones
and draw the unspoken words out of my throat -
rip the promises to shreds
sew my lips shut
and keep my voice
in a box made of your saccharine lies
open my ribs and tear out my heart;
drown it in formaldehyde-laced ash
and scatter it under the moon's blessing
carve out my shoulders
and slough off my flesh
trace the maroon rivers of my blood with iron and steel
draw out my soul and crush it to dust
and may it rot
before dawn comes.
[blood] lustyou're just like me,
a million little shards
shoved together to create something
malleable and forgivable and human.
ink and blood
and caffeine and tea,
that's what i'm made of,
without a doubt.
the question is-- what are you?
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