|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
No CirclesPlease be an angel,
Or I’ll die chasing beauty,
In folded forests we slip,
Hold fast your wit
Or I’ll lose myself on your tongue.
But please be an angel,
I wait for you each night,
A WhisperTo say I loved you in some cliched way,
Like the burning of a thousand suns,
Or with the passion of a Shakespearean tongue,
In terrible metaphors and atrophied puns,
With tired similes and forgettable thumbs,
Through weary eyes or in ways not done,
Would belittle my love,
And that won’t do.
Put simply, nothing loves,
Not how I love you.
I love you below, between and above.
I love you the way you deserve to be loved.
Little VisionsUnnaturally, she falls from trees painted bare by winter in my mind,
Concrete shadows chasing days she swears were yours.
Patiently, unwilling but carefree, she falters peacefully into the waters,
Bubbles, silent, trace letters in the reflection of my world
Trivial, these little matters, we float on by, by airs we float on graces;
Traditions and social uprisings, we gather with our leaves
And by Spring, repaint the trees in airs, in visions of you.
ElizabethEach sacred syllable of your name
Lilts upon my tongue, gifted
Ideal and beautiful, whispered
Zealous and sacred.
Ample and pure, to feed my desires,
Breath in my lungs and air in my fires.
Each holy intonation,
Trapped in my soul.
Hold on to this, lover, this lover I hold.
It's not the end.Sit quiet, not in solitude,
But in peace, be at peace.
Be forgiving, not judgemental,
Once at least, once at least.
Appreciate the sunrise,
Thank the East, thank the East.
Love with all you are,
Love's a feast, Love's a feast.
And when the moments right,
Then you'll know, then you'll know.
And when the stars align,
It will show, it will show.
Live and be the tide,
Ebb and flow, ebb and flow.
And things will be alright,
Take it slow, take it slow.
Remember MeRemember me when it snows
For you know I loved the snow.
Not the cold, nor the ice,
Nor the melt nor the flow.
Not Snowmen, nor snowballs,
Nor freezing, nor toes
That feel frozen, or bitten.
Not smitten by footprints
Or Angels in snow;
Simply the white.
I'm sad when it goes.
So when I, too, am gone,
And the weather turns cold
When the year is still young
And the world growing old
When the day is too long
And sets fear in your bones;
Remember me, happy,
Whenever it snows.
Change this lifeHiding in the shadows
Resisting in secrecy
Trying to find a way
To change this life of misery
The future is unknown
The past is to forget
The present is dull and boring
Is this what life has to offer?
I want to change
And I keep trying
Only to fail miserabily
Every single time
eight ways you've made me small1. I wish
this was for you.
2. my journal pages - the
brown one with all our monologues -
were jarred with hollow vows of
last poems of
letting you slip into a coma
of bad memories, watching you
fall to your death off
a cascading cliff of disease
and dis ease.
it was never
easy for me
3. there's a reason I ask
whether you're grey
(dark white, elusively black, in between)
or blue (behind the clouds, under wave-foam,
whateverthefuck runs through the back of my
palms); I'd rather have
than the arms
that once held you half-
heartedly. you had always been
my harmony and I
would have killed
to have been yours.
4. it could never have been just me, the way
it could never have been just
5. disasters are not beautiful,
but how is it that you
managed to make my inner linings
converge into bows
and explode into wings the very
night you decided to rebuild your walls
to a lower height?
6. I wish
Whenever I hurt myselfI have a feeling
Someone is watching
So I look around
But there's no one to be found
on bradbury and table dancingYou are not a wordsmith
whatever you might like to think. ('Smith'
indicates precision and coldness and fire:
words are softer than that unless you mold them strong.)
It's a difficult road to follow, and not many
make it past the fork. Choose a path,
Janus says, whirligig keys spinning on his shoulders:
I am a wordworker, with my tools too crude, forming
rough-edged carvings painted with pretty imagery.
Notebooks scattered across the landscape
of a child's room, to be stumbled across,
read, red-penned, in the thick and choking breath of night.
When the bough breaks
a hanged man laughs. He carries typewriters
in his pockets, and cigarettes in the soles of his shoes.
I will never be a word mistress,
whoring myself to the speech of people I do not know and will never know me.
The oven is set to Fahrenheit 452, but the words were already aflame
before they ever took shape under your tongue.
You love everything they've ever written, and carry
unabashed loathing for every syllabl
ExpirationWith you I always feel like I’m
to break in the wrong size of shoes.
Sometimes I sit and stew
over how you’re seventeen and
you think I’m a princess
the trapped-in-a-tower kind
and how you wear suits and talk about politics
and think you know the world.
My throat interrupts with an affronted gurgling sound
sometimes when I think about you,
you deal out advice where it just isn’t called for
you quote science-fiction to justify war
and you’re seventeen years old and you think I’m a princess
and you just have no blooming idea.
Darling, one of these days I will tell you my mind
But until then we’ll never fit
I’m afraid –
that even after that day
you’ll still be trimmed hedges and
when i stimulated the prayers of rib-beat
when i licked the temple of my teeth,
speed pushed my fingers shaped like confessionals
clasped holy, carved my throat to fixing-
lover; i did this for the anthem of your eyes,
the feel of strangled feet crushing the fame of stars
for the glow of streetlight worship, for the moons
of your crooning throat, for the halls of your arms,
the strayed revels of your arms,
lover: you manufactured a god out of the drugs i used
and had me addicted to the divine, to the dignity of music
you pressed in my direction: just what i am, hallelujah,
marijuana, day and night-
lover, i fell in love with your culture
that preached the real definition of dusked kneecaps,
the plea of closeted throats, the whisper of bless,
unlearning how to say please god in borrowed tongue,
i fell in love with your attention, nervous grace
lover. i levied the rubble of my sins
Even The City KnowsIs it at all easy?
Being by yourself, I mean.
Sitting in a car, on a train, on a bus--wherever you might be now, isn't it hard to be a drifter?
There are no men with newspapers, no women with strollers, no love-crazy teenagers, no annoying toddlers, no anybody.
You stare out the window, like there are people out there, calling your name. The trees are out there, and they've lost all their leaves, all their buds--they've lost everything, just like you.
The sky is out there, and it's gray and colorless, just like you.
The stars are out there, and they're so blown-out-of-proportion, and they're just like you, too.
But the trees, the skies, the stars, they're used to being left alone.
You lack the ebullience of your drink, but it, too, is fading.
Frost has gathered on windows, on the ground, on rivers, everywhere.
Frost comes and goes, just like you, when you finally melt away.
The city draws to darkness and quiet--it disappears, just like you.
But, even frost
Death to the LoversHe screamed,
He tore his hair from his scalp;
But it didn't bring her back.
The beautiful girl
With the gorgeous smile
And witty remarks
Would always lay six feet under.
She would lie in her death bed,
Her arms folded on her chest
And her face full of peace
Known only to the dead.
He would be the first to rot.
First his health,
Then his sanity.
She would forever feed on his emotions
Like a pretty little leech,
Sapping his well being
And happiness from her underground world.
And he would let her,
For a fool like him
Who allowed himself to love,
'The One'Dear The One,
I wish to end our correspondence,
Ive grown dreadfully despondent,
And simply ceased to need you in my life.
I will assume, by first incision,
This is a mutual decision,
How silly of me to think you would ever be my wife.
Though my soul was once unsinkable,
And sins were once unthinkable,
Now I fear to think my soul is rotten.
My will was once unshakeable,
My heart was once unbreakable,
But easily I break, my will forgotten.
Since you value virtue priceless,
And my past is less than viceless,
It is a virtue that my past cannot be saved.
The beast was once untameable,
The whore was once unshameable,
But you went and tamed the whore to be your slave.
If my early indiscretions,
Were believed not in cessation,
Then the issue of your trust has left me shy.
We have come from first impressions,
All the way to last confessions,
I love you, but wish otherwise, so this is my goodbye.
Yours faithfully, as always,
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More