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a liveI only feel alive in barren lands,
Where nothing else can take responsibility for my heartbeat.
Hot, sticky fields of tall grass, and
Tiny wild flowers like toys in a snake playground.
Honey hair in braids, and
Cottage smelling milk.
Here I am a virgin forever.
But virginity is lonely,
As barren lands, snakes, cottages, and pledges of integrity often are.
The Birds and the BeesHot weather has come.
Summer has come!
And the lovely little lovelies unfasten their sepals.
Their petals spring forth in bloom,
swelling and flushing with color,
engorged with eager expectancy,
even smiling at the moon.
The bee boys gather, ready to lather
Rigid with lust,
they fly from their husks,
their honey-cave prisons,
their walls tacked with the sticky sweet memory
of last summer's infidelity.
They hover and buzz between the blushing flora,
examining, imagining, but not conspiring.
They sting in solitude;
every yellow-black fellow to his own,
and to each: all.
There is no need for your rhetoric here.
There is no need for your sweet talking, cat-walking, jabberwocky here.
"dimpsy darling baby rabbit"
"creamy fowl" rose clouds of creamy, foul persuasion.
Small game still knows when they are hunted.
Lord Byron died st(r)oking his own passion.
They begin their infringement on the petals,
tickling and taun
I used to be uniqueI used to be unique.
Kool-Aid hair dye and all.
Boys wrote my name on bathrooms stalls.
I swore at teachers.
I drank vodka behind the bleachers.
I puked at football games on cheerleaders.
I had black eyes and cigarette burns and soccer thighs.
I used to wear my shirt undone.
I used to have fun.
Now I own a 6 room house,
a 4 door car,
a water-dispensing fridge,
900 pairs of shoes
a self-inflicted curfew
sexually transmitted virtue
and many, many cats.
All this between walls painted in 6 muted shades of deja-vu
from whence I commence my pin-cushion voodoo.
I sleep in pajamas.
I set an alarm clock and my snooze allowance never exceeds 4 minutes.
I spend my mornings yawning
through thick oatmeal,
undressing in the dark,
having nothing to reveal.
I work in a bank
in an office
on a phone,
making friends with dead ends.
I come home to wash, rinse, and repeat,
undress in the dark,
Come HomeIf my ceiling were a two-way mirror
You would see a tangle of limbs and mouths
of beer, some mine,
Atop the shrine you built for me.
You would see me
Under a blind black sky
Although quiet inside, counting sheep, backwards.
Over and under and under, but breathing,
Hunting and seeking, but mostly just teething
Fired by a lake of dizzy barbiturates.
Your absence instigates me to recriminate.
I set fire to Magnolia State and become a patch of real estate.
For every one of those wiry claws there is one set of ecstatic applause.
And I live to please.
Because at least on my knees
There are hands in my hair
And the devil knows you're never there.
The swinging door.
The open sores
Will scab with the lake
And it all becomes readable:
The sun is astringent and the red of my blood
is contingent with the nearness of your bare back love.
SpringIt all can happen in the hour
Between the night and day:
The dead world is brought to life
As spring blisters awake.
The Earth inhales, its breath a surge
Through pores of ragged ice,
The claws of winter thaw and loose,
Surrender their device.
Crystal thrones melt with the bones
Of kingdoms spoiled by doom,
Now ivy weaves itself around
Like dressings on a wound.
The sleepy Phlox also ascends,
Now feels it has begun,
Breaks through the gauzy sheets of snow,
Climbs sun-drunk to the sun.
Within an instant all the world
Is changed from grey to green.
Though soon is red and brown again;
As it has always been.
And weeping willows mourn for death,
The Fall they can foresee.
For in the ripest apple sleeps
A worm with sinful dreams.
I did spend timeI did spend time
throwing my body over couches,
sighing deep from the belly
to sad music and murky martinis.
I was so heavy
I would crash land
at the bottom of long-necked bottles with
red stained lips.
But I have finished that crying now.
I'm standing, whole, in heels, somehow.
Calloused and glittering.
And I'm feeling rather cat-like down here off the wing.
Devils have romanced angels since the beginning of time,
charmed them stark raving naked in organized crime,
and they've all gone tumbling down, skirts in the air,
into forests of red fingernails, lost and impaired.
I met some new friends there.
And in this forest of frost
the burning between my legs has returned
stronger than stronger than stronger than
And it's become my new master.
In this forest of frost
I am the snow queen.
ima wear my black hood now,
ima wear my white boots high
find me some low-flyin angels
to join the dark side.
hyenas make the best lovers.i need to stop looking
for death in every body
my fingers touch.
i have been force fed
old lovers, & slices
of the moons lying dust
i am messy poems;
i am fractured confessions.
i am laughter
my jaws ache
with the taste of
i am still hungry.
give me your sugar;
I will share my breath.
you are still made of starstuff,
& i am no longer caged.
PretendingYou, full and complete you, you have become my strength and my talisman for all times...
You, and again you, you let I wrecked just in you…
You, my madness is you, you tie me to your body and do not let me go...
You, inside me, between every atom, between every cell you live among...
I say all the time: fear not, there are songs that will never know who sings...
Those kisses never know who prints them on your lovely lips...
You nail down your dreamy eyes and tenderly ask me: Are you crying?
No, I answer. Dried my eyes are... to the bottom you can look into them.
If you get lost, breathe me and you will find you.
The truth is that I beg you to remember that this that born in my mouth, this awakening in my eyes, will sleep latency in your soul.
Undoubtedly you will become the most beautiful and sad fisherwoman of Stars.
I'm hiding my will to live, of my desire to live for you.
Maybe I can lose myself in the eyes of the person asking for a miracle, but it is certain that, I want to
StockholmBut my heart beats for you alone
You are not
You are ever watchful
Hoping for devotion
My wandering heart
Beating for you
My SunlightYou are my sun,
My only light,
As you fade,
The moon is there,
A memory of you,
Of the darkness,
Before your dawn.
You are the breeze,
That kisses my face,
Those tender lips,
That rushing embrace.
You are the grass,
Beneath my feet,
You hide my tears,
You support my weight.
You are the last,
One for me,
There was many before,
But they were never the same.
With you its right,
With you its love,
And if tonight,
I come above.
I'll see your glory,
From the moon,
From the memory,
Of this afternoon.
Puppet String SymphonyHere come the snares,
wrenching at my heart;
like my tongue can’t find the words to say.
I've been resurrecting your skeletons,
just to place broken flesh over it and watch it all decay…
…scratching at freshly picked scars and rose petals,
while digging up old habits and hatchets;
just so I can whistle a tune so tragic.
Here comes the wind,
stomping at my lungs;
like my emotions are gasping to be released.
I've been coughing up your cover-ups,
just to place my index finger over it and watch it all cease…
…living in this darkness, sulfur-tipped match tossed in the breeze,
while thinking it’s just not worth the candle;
just so I can hum a song you can’t handle.
Here come the keys,
playing at my mind;
like all eighty-eight demons and angels serving one star.
I've been worshipping my self-inflicted headache,
two times twelve and that’s how many bars…
…I've got to show you the color I feel.
When the puppet string symphony beg
About ArtA sweet poem,
All but a
For the true art called
I PromiseIt is a painful thought
To know he kissed you,
To know he stole your innocence.
He felt the warmth and comfort of your love,
But manipulated it to lust
And turned that perfect smile I now see,
Into a lifeless vessel
That gave into his
Carefully painted words
He had you
Before I ever knew you,
I'm sorry I wasn't there,
I'm sorry I could not save you.
But look up at me now, love,
Look up at me with those astonishing, crystal eyes
And know that I will love you
Until this heart of mine has given out.
I am your present
And your future;
I will love you for more than your body,
I will love your wild personality,
I will love your motherly instincts,
I will love your acceptance,
I will love your understanding,
I will love your "frustrations",
I will love your timidness,
I will love your stubbornness,
I will love your laughter,
I will love your tears,
I will love your scars,
I will love your flaws,
But most of all;
I will love you.
HowlHe’s a dancer in the dark
With unearthly rhythm
She’s the moon he left to sleep
In a sky without her stars
Like a poem led by lust
In a world of not to happen
Like a symphony of phoenix flights
On a December night
Singing for the ones they laid to rest
On their holy ground
Without an Earth
He’s the wolf
Howling with regrets
In a world of his own madness
She’s the moon
Without a sky to hold her high
In the night
Like the odds are not in favor
Like the sun that conquers
And the moon on someone else's sky
Like the legends we used to fear
Children by the fire’s flames
We used to be believers
In a world without its hope
Dream, boy, dream of wonder
In a world without sparkle
Like stormy days
In a September goodbye story
Of sleepless nights and awaken dreamers
Stars that pierce the sky
Are just children of regrets
Of a love that never happened
But always echoed in the night
Unrequited LoveJust think of me.
Text me good morning and good night.
Text me at lunch just to let me know you're alright.
Wish me a good nap around five or six.
And if you're every bored just give me a call.
I'll make you a fangirl no matter what.
Even if you never admit it I'll let you off.
Meet up with me every now and then.
Never end a conversation with just goodnight or goodbye.
Ask questions and explore life with me.
Support me but don't try to fix me.
Even though I'll try to fix you.
But first I need this dream to come true...
Old hauntsSomber rays of sun drift oer the cornice,
Melting in its exit, dreamless and breathless.
Flora, but not fauna, stretch arms along the floor,
Barricading gates and blockading fallow doors.
Its cold, laying hands on these stone castle walls.
Footsteps resonate, caught in these yawning halls.
But, at night,
Voices not my own echo down through the rooms.
Whispers round the bell do battle with the moon,
Asking it to wait.
Wraithlike breezes from the North rattle papers, feathers shake.
Theres scratching, clawing on the headboards. None sleeping, none awake.
Whittled wands cast little spells, spawning lazy earthquakes
And grapes on the vine listen to three witches wait for long lost mates.
Somber rays of sun plunge into windows, retreating to the precipice for fear of waking
an anxious, thrashing,
of restless widows.
They beg the sun,
Asking it to wait.
HomesickI am the river's son,
my arteries flowing turquoise
and turning to rapids
rushing around my frame,
filling me with this sense
of buoyancy, minnows
tickling my sternum.
I am the river's son.
My palms caress each
silty shoreline, every
battered bank and bend,
and these places I know
so well become me
as my fingerprint,
even the bridge above me
inflamed by the afternoon
sun-glow, burning rusty and
the steel blue sky.
I am the river's son;
I bring my home along
like hermit crab,
where I step
I pull water from the earth.
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More