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In The RainI could see a ghost buried alive,
curled tightly beneath folded leaves,
and branches stripped bare from this past winter.
She writhed in pain without moving at all,
caught in a wind that wasn't,
crying out in a noiseless whisper.
I had to close my eyes to remove myself from the scene.
What had happened to this creature to bring this...
this existence that reaches levels beyond any hell Dante could have known?
I want to reach out to her,
to brush the silken strands away from the sun bleached bone,
but I don't.
She'll infect me,
I know it.
She'll infect me with her misery,
her pained essence,
and I can't have that.
I find myself infected with a life that couldn't be far from hers,
and to add her sickness to my own...
How much faster would it take me to her?
I should do the right thing:
I should call someone for her;
help her from this place;
hide her from the light;
sing her a song,
for she is truly one of the missing.
What does it ma
Skin of Saltiest TasteIn the blink of an eye,
we all start to die;
wilting like a black rose tossed in the saltiest sea.
a bird will caw,
mourning it all,
while we all start to drown in an airplane's wreckage buried in the sea.
Don't you forget me,
and all these things that I've done.
They've not all been pretty,
but I don't regret a single one.
In ExileI live my life in exile,
standing out beyond the edge of the road,
feet firmly planted in the dust,
watching the railroad lights flicker and fade.
Somewhere out in exile
a thunderclap is born,
burst forth with lightning,
a new pilgrim in this wave of sky.
I watch it scream across the mountains,
through the desert,
tearing through my walls of desolation,
threatening to eat me alive
if I let it.
It doesn't know I'm here,
doesn't know where here is,
not that any of us really do;
it just feels the sky,
dodges the earth,
and rolls on into the inky horizon.
We live our lives in exile,
not by choice,
but by nature,
and I doubt that either of us
would have it any other way.
NightmaresNightmares on nights like these,
like scattered ashes blowing,
setting fire to all they touch.
The world it burns around me
in a maddening glow
and I know as I watch
that all of this is my fault.
I unmade the world.
Monsters Dancing In SnowThe way the sun hit her,
The way she laughed.
The way my arm brushed against hers...
So far gone,
I still remember it all.
I don't remember it the way I experienced it, though,
Now I just remember it the way it really was.
She is so flawed and far from perfect.
Back then, though,
Every flaw was perfect on her.
My Own MadnessDarkness echoes off the corridors of my mind
Memories of hospital walls and static sheets
Those nightmare lands of pasts not forgotten
Where the men in white coats hold my hands
God, don't send me there again...
RavenousShe stands at the edge of the clearing,
sun lighting her hair on fire,
gripping at the hole in her belly.
the world decays.
She reaches into herself
as the blackness spreads across her skin,
consuming this reality.
Silently at first,
her hair flowing,
trembling as an earthquake
violently tears away at her,
but then there is audio to this madness,
and banshees are forced to cover their ears.
She tears away at her own demise,
breaking the world,
shredding herself out of desperation.
Blackness breaks and cracks
as her skin crumbles and is pulled inside
-- into the darkness that is all consuming,
that is her.
Her eyes close for the briefest moment
two frozen lakes of mercury.
She haunts this world,
long after it has all been pulled in,
Your words into my soul
Your sweet, translucent lullabies
Tears into my heart
That drown me in eternal sorrow
Don't be anything
Don't be anything
Unless you use your voice
The one that I know so well
Don't close your eyes
You might miss this moment
And moments are all we have now
Don't look away
Don't look away
Fine AgainCome and tear me down
And chronicle my fall
If it's all you see
You've never needed me
But I'll still wait
Broken in the shadows
To see your face
Once more in the light
I will never push you away
Or turn my back on you
In all the hell you put me through
I'll still be here for you...
When I see you smile
In your devilish way
My heart always skips
Just before you rip it out
And yet with this hole
Deep inside my chest
I know there's something more
And it can never rest
I will never back on down
Or try to walk away
Even in this wrenching pain
These three words I'll always say...
Because you're my...
My whole whole heart
Yeah, you, you're my...
My whole heart
Despite what you do
And the pain I feel
All the knives you've stabbed
The fires I've burned through
I cannot forget
The way I feel
Inside my heart
When I gaze at you
But now the sun comes up
And cuts through the black
Helping these wounds to heal
Pulling knives out from my back
Your words are kind
With apologetic lies
And I'll lie in k
Some Lessons Should Never Be LearnedHe was intensely blue eyes. He was improbable laughter at predictable jokes. He was sunlight and moonlight and flowers in bloom.
She used to laugh at the way he stared, squirming under the spotlight, a bug and a loving microscope, a bright light she was not used to. She'd turn her head away and blink through a curtain of hair.
"Why do you keep staring?" She'd ask.
"You're beautiful," he'd say, and she'd blush or frown or squint.
Later, she would learn to push away the protective shades and
She would learn to see the light as a sun, a star.
She would respond in melted kisses and stare back.
They morphed into one and let their fears fall through the cracks, pushing against sunlight and falling on the grass.
For the first time, with him, the color green wasn't so fearful. The tickling of leaves felt warm.
They learned to marvel at each others' mere existence, the way his footsteps followed hers and her kiss always righted wrongs. In twisting corridors they curled together, sweetnes
CoffeeWhat can you do with a bad cup of coffee other than drink it?
The pot isn't going anywhere.
Most people pour their mistakes down the drain.
They learned that from God.
I'm talking about the weather.
If you don't burn your tongue on the slop
Then it's a good day to be alive.
Some people like the taste of boot straps.
I'm my own minimum wage waitress.
Blowing smoke rings on a lonely omelet.
My stomach hasn't felt right since summer school '05.
Two ingredients but there is margin for error.
Always another batch.
Sun rise, sun set.
Midnight poison on my teeth already.
Someone can use this as an ashtray.
funeralI did not speak at your funeral.
Though you knew me as a writer
I did not write a speech.
On the way to the funeral I stood on my
front porch and heard the
copper leaves rustle and
decided that was enough. The
wind spoke all that was needed from
The others wore black and
even though the words were
I said nothing.
I did not
cry. I heard jokes and happy memories
but I thought they were dark.
I could pour my memories into the
empty air and whisper how
something that created me was
I could murmur
meant anything anymore
but they wouldn't believe me.
You wouldn't believe me, if you heard
what they said about you.
They loved you, but I loved you
I think I started to cry
but you didn't see my
so they didn't matter.
I sobbed and
the earth was silent and
I did not speak at your funeral.
The Nature of Losshe wakes with dim morning and relieves himself,
washes his hands and face,
and dresses in the same clothes he wore yesterday.
he walks out to the garden,
following a cobblestone path to the copper fountain
to scrape algae from its basin,
disturbing robins from their bath and fireflies from lovemaking.
the sun rises above thin clouds
and beats upon him; he wipes sweat from his brow,
blackening his forehead, filling cracks brought by years passed.
he waters the petunias, the asters,
leaving the blue hydrangeas after he prunes their dry blossoms,
throwing the waste at the compost heap.
their hammock, tethered between ripe cherry trees, has weathered
and can no longer support his entire weight,
so he rests his hat on her cushion,
the one frayed and molding, embroidered with her name,
resting where she left it.
gardeneri need to love you
but love's like ivy grown to choke a house,
to strangle the poppies and tulips and
leave the trees in desert soil,
to frame the windows and smother glass
broken by the strength of roots gripping
at sand once loose on a beach who
knows your footprints,
and when i have torn up vines by the root,
drenched the green in caustic vile,
burned the furniture wrought with seeds
and thrown away the trowel,
i was never more unhappy;
i need to love you,
to groom the thickening leaves
and dense forests in our living room,
let my hair grow long and my eyes accustomed
to the arid night because you made promises
of rain, and the rain cannot come without clouds,
without blindness and fright
and it will drizzle but someday
the storm will be torrential and the lightning
will dazzle my fear, my need to flee,
to take the dusty gloves you use to cultivate,
stem the urge to quell germination
i need to love you,
and trust will follow like the patter of a summer shower.
Crimson LoveMy heart is broken, beaten and battered
Shattered like the most delicate of glass roses
It lies next to you in your bleak and desolate grave
The solemn hole you fell into when you took your final breath
Our life was sound, our love pure
Then we watched our walls come crashing down
As fate intervened in the form of reality
We heard the death clock's chilling chime
I'm left forlorn in this tragic world
I try to live but all in vain
It's not living without you
All that's left are my memories, my illusions, my delusions
The ominous blade, a reassuring friend in which I trust
Glistening with the tears I cry for what could have been
It slides so lovingly into the empty void of my once beating heart
An incredulous and overwhelming sense of relief
I lie in a pool of crimson love
Smiling as I fall from grace
Now we can be together forever
In the land of perpetual darkness
stillyou lust to make his long legs quiver
like two blades of grass
heavy with morning dew
but you're the first frost of november.
love's austere and lonely officesi.
ronnie picks rose petals
and eats them, chews the pink to yellow
in his cigarette teeth. his sister, peggy,
asks how they taste, and he says, "good,
like whimsy and perfume," and picks three petals
fat with pigment and water; she tastes the first
and likes the second and the third is the sweet on her tongue
when ronnie dies of liver failure. she eats the reddest
blooms on his casket.
if tommy were a girl and jenny a boy,
the children would be perfect:
tommy with impish nose and nymph hands,
jenny rumbling with the rooneys from new city,
and mother frets for both their blond[e] heads.
peggy buys the twins paletas
but ronnie spends most days with grandpa.
he comes home and tells jenny they're blackfoot:
she could have been a warrior woman,
tommy a medicine man,
and mother wouldn't fret when tommy kisses jason.
ronnie is sixteen and thin.
willy is the youngest boy and clings to skirts,
plays with dolls because eva smothered him. tommy
pushes him down the stairs because jenny w
tesla dreamed of pearls,
and i drank a bloody mary
with all the fixings, choked
on spiced tomato scented
in sweat; one man's struggling
to pay his rentand i never
liked feeding the energy bill
or hearing about bloodied
pigeons. last night, i thought
i heard the crackling of one
man's revolution, but it was
just the fridge left open and
money on the floor. last night,
tesla dreamed of pearls, and i
read about one man breaking
his calloused feet, sun-dried
skin turning purpleand his
wife hates when i get like this,
when i peel an orange to lick
its sticky-citrus and forget
the white shirt browning and his
eyes were black and gleaming;
she hates when i call latebut i
tell her tesla would have conceived
of a light that looks nothing like a
lemon, that looks nothing like death
in one man's weathered hand
"you always liked bloody maries,"
she hissed, "and tesla dreamed of
Frozen MemoriesBy accident,
I found her tombstone.
It lay buried beneath snow,
encased in ice,
under a canopy of white held aloft by the trees.
I had been walking,
as I often do,
on the clouds of steam rising from my mouth,
and what they meant to me,
when my foot caught hold of the crumbling cross,
and sent me tumbling down...
I caught myself on hands in a sea of crystal white,
flesh stinging from the cold,
my foot aching in pain,
burning hot in the winter wood.
Why would there be a grave here?
What poor soul would be forever lost in this hollow?
in the cold,
throughout the fading light,
and into a darkness of falling snow,
I worked to unmask the grave,
and reveal the name of the damned.
I toiled for hours,
until my fingers went numb and bled,
spilling red upon the white,
a contrast so stark in hurt my eyes,
but in such beauty that was not lost on me,
until I could reveal the faint carvings that were letters.
Her name was as beautiful as I'm sure she was in life,
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