February 2012
56 posts
depression is a oil-filled flower waiting to bloom and you’re the moon that refuses to shine and he’s the clouds that hang low and she’s the slow-coming dawn and i’m the one who watches and sees no beauty for
depression is a oil-filled flower waiting to bloom
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Red rivulets run, blinding brights burn. Red river, yellow flower,
set the sun on fire set the sun on fire set the sun, set the sun run for the pyre.
burnburnburnburn crowds cry
you’re a witch look at your hooknose burn with all the poppies
i’ll laugh
dead
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Tears. Roads that stretch on. Wilting flowers. Dreams on the wind. A gale that rages. A gale-like rage. Aching joints. Drowning on dry land. Restless sleep. Endless dreams. Nightmares in the daytime. Seeing red. Milk-white. Snapping. Snapping. Broken.
I like writing about what happens tomorrow. I like writing about the day after the Apocalypse. I like writing of the beginning of Some Things after the End of All Things.
I like writing about love. I like writing about romance. I like writing about candle-lit dinners, on a tartan rug, with champagne and all the stars shining above us. I like writing about falling asleep together, our legs...
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Allen Ginsberg said;
I saw minds crack when the dark Night came; They were uprooted like pavement, cracked like cement when an old, gnarled oak creeps its roots beneath. They snapped likes bones, brittle, not enough calcium— a sign that mother neglected her duties. Drink more milk.
Lightning burst overhead, as a promise of destruction, and the children applauded in...
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You’re allowed to be depressed sometimes. I know it affects me, and as long as it doesn’t advance, it’s ok. Just don’t let it destroy or own you. You are more than your emotions, you’re Nicky fucking Cayless. You’re a badass. You wrote that super fantastic poem, what, two days ago? I sincerely doubt Shakespeare wrote one of his sonnets or plays every single day.
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stages
I .
It begins like a whisper. It’s susurrous and smooth, an idea only that slides along your snakelike skin. Its caress is sweeter than than the blade, which gleams silver underneath the moonlight. You crack open your windows at night, and watch the world breathe slowly, a sleeping giant. How many others, you wonder, are taking in red instead of dark? You had never thought you would prefer...
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i learnt from the greats
I have measured out my life in iambic pentameter; within assonance, assiduous in its attendence, lay the key to my left ventricle. The right—
beat lonely as a daffodil, beneath the sky, blue as bluest blue. Where once petals lay, two eyes that knew more than I would ever know sprouted. Then that flower told me a story, which broke me down to my knees.
I shall compare you to a...
And it was when I was faced with the abyss for the first time, that I truly felt the nothingness of fear. I walked through those jagged mountains, with the scarred rock faces towering above me, hanging over me like crooked, bared teeth. The storm was raging with all the might of Poseidon himself, and Zeus threw thunderbolts and lightning; whilst Hades collected the dead. One by one, the men in...
You were made up of half-hearted breaths; as if breathing were a dreadful necessity that you resented. I breathed for you.
It was exhausting.
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an epic of dreams
I fell in love with a dream, it seems —where you wooed me with words, and with promises of an intangible future.
We lay beneath stars together, stars that reflected our eyes and our hearts and our hasty breaths. I looked into the night sky;
but you did not,
for your eyes were blinded by the rising sun— and you named that sun after me.
I fell in love with the promise of a future,...
WatchIn which I have enthralling life updates and my face looks unattractive in stills.
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death and life
I’ve been thinking lately a lot about death. I don’t mean that in a depressing way at all. I don’t mean to say that I am lying there each night, wishing for my pitiful existence to end, whilst the rain falls hard outside. Even as I sit here, through my blinds I can see two young blonde children laughing and running in their backyard—and I am thankful for life. But duplicity...
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“We are blind and live our blind lives out in blindness. Poets are damned, but...”
– William Carlos Williams (‘Howl’ for Carl Solomon: An Introduction)
You know, instead of telling ourselves “I’m okay” or “I’m fine”, until we believe it, I think it’s more important to say “I have the capacity to be okay. I will be okay.” Because then the pressure’s off and we can just be.
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Time.
Time never stops. It never slows down, it never speeds up. It just beats, like a metronome; one, two, three, four, five. Sometimes, time flies. Sometimes, time is sludge that we have to wade through. Who’s to even say that time exists? Who’s to say that time is a definite fact, that it was intricately woven into the fabric of the universe, along with light and sound and matter? Do they...
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like green tea and coffee
His hands rumbled over her body like a bullet train, heading from Kyoto to Tokyo. He growled and leant down, biting her neck. Her skin was so, so white, could she not see it? It was milk in coffee, while his was green tea. He looked at her through hooded eyes, and murmured her name.
“Keiko.”
She looked up, suddenly. Her velvet hands were no longer enough along his skin. The illusion of lovemaking...
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courtyard of death
The Tower of London had an eerie feel, but nowhere more so than the Courtyard of Death. That wasn’t its real name, but I thought it fit. They had these blocks, you see, to rest your head; not the originals, but a cast iron replacement, meant to inspire grisly sensations and chills down your spine. Beneath the shadow of the centre castle they sat, and you looked up to see bricks layered,...
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sitting with a cardboard sign and a milk crate
He’s the man you walk by when you’re late for work. He sits outside the train station; a part of the scenery, a part of routine. You barely even spare him a glance, too used to his presence to bother that slightest part of energy. But even when you were new to this area, even when you had never so much as seen him, you barely looked at him. You, in your Armani suits, you hurry past the...
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parisian dreams
It was in Paris that I fell in love for the first time. It was before I ever met Mario, before I had met the charming Italian gondolier. No, it was in the city of Marie Antoinette and Napoleon Bonaparte that my heart first breathed. With thumping chambers, I took in the sensation that made humanity keep on living. I had wandered aimlessly through the Lourve, along the banks of the Seine, inside...
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gondolier
It was then that I thought of the gondolas in Venice. I remember how expensive they were, how the old Italian mamas shook their heads at me from their balconies, how wrinkled old men laughed at the horrendous deal I managed to negotiate. I remember looking down at the immaculate black paint, at the pink, red, purple frilly cushions—meant for lovers looking for the ‘quintessential...
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today
Today was a day for the future, you see? The sun half-shone and half-hid behind half-hearted grey skies—it was a half kind of day. I wasn’t sure where to stand, what to eat, what to say, what to write, what to dream. My thoughts spun wildly around, in my tightly coiled mind. It was every kind of opposite, paradox, antithesis, as everything that was not co-existed with what was.
Today...
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entwine.
entwine your legs with mine; while the sky sighs along flesh.
entwine your lips with mine; and break this whole heart into two.
entwine your heart with mine; and we will beat together in tandem.
entwine your mind with mine; and memories and stories will be fused.
entwine your soul with mine; and when we die, we will be one.
entwine until we’re one person altogether
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“But nature is a stranger yet;
The ones that cite her most
Have never passed...”
– What mystery pervades a well!, Emily Dickinson
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why I drink
I have found out why I drink. It’s not a pretty reason, it’s not a safe reason. I don’t drink because I love the sweet taste sliding down my parched throat (though beer does do that for me—but I don’t drink beer to get drunk). I don’t drink to loosen up my aching limbs, to dance the night away with strangers I have never met, to make easy conversation with the...
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something a little more hopeful.
Once, there was a tadpole who couldn’t swim very well. His tail wasn’t formed as long as some of the others, some of his brothers and sisters. They could swim very well, and they laughed when they went to Tadpole School, and they ate all their greens at dinner time, which Mumma Frog served to them a bit more than they served to him. He didn’t get to eat very much, you see,...
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bring me lavender on my deathbed
They told me that there was a light at the end of the tunnel, but I squinted through the dark and saw that it was only the Sun; mocking me, as they walked out in the elements, and I crawled back into bed. It’s warm and dark beneath the covers, like my mother’s womb, a barely remembered past. I do miss flowers, though, of all the things out there. He brings me food and water each day,...
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Gítardjamm
Dim lights lined the dusty hallway, a long, quiet hallway which led to that wooden door. He knew it well; he had spent the afternoon kneeling before it, tracing over the panels with his fingertips, learning every spot. He had smelt the polish, almost faded away now, and rested his cheek against the mahogany. And when he had strength, he had stood with the door inside him, and gone to his room.
...
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A smile for you and me.
I smile when you smile. It’s an instinctual reaction, you know, not one I have much control over. But there’s something about the way that your cheeks curve up, and your eyes glow with a merriment that you do not possess when you’re tired (but I’ve seen it so often lately, and I wonder if it’s because of me). And then your lips finally split, and your white teeth...
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imagine me a menagerie.
For from my midnight perch, I see golden fields and green-lit seas.
Poseidon’s hand plays upon the waves like a harp, and Hades collects all the drowned.
I crouch in the winter, gaze into the warming sun; dusk kissing upon cheekbones like lover’s lips.
I have flown with eagles, I have fluttered with doves, I have prowled with a ravenous jaguar. Your pen has scratched across my...
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tender is the night (i spend with her)
It’s the feeling of hands against breasts; and the sigh of lover’s melodies against sea-shell ears. We create momentous music when her dark hair, as black as ebony night, brushes against my porcelain flesh. She makes me moan her name when the moon reigns high. I am of the night, and my soul blends into rustling leaves and clouded skies; but she, she is an angel of the sun. It is...
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China tea cup
I wonder what your eyes would look like reflected in a cup of tea; would China color them curious, or something a shade closer to introspective? If I had felt your gentle hands wrap around porcelain stories, I would have been content. So often had we sat on opposite sides of the table, our knees nearly brushing. Our feet nearly entangled together to create a beautiful story, but we stopped one shy...
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best friends don't say that
And that’s when she looked at me, then looked at the picture, and then back at me. Her fingers traced out the silver of the dress on the too-thin model in the papers. I felt bile rise in my throat when I looked at that anorexia, disguised as beauty. She went on and on —Don’t you think she’s done well for herself, and I didn’t nod, but it didn’t matter, because...
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Che
I think I would have dated Che Guevara, and slowly fallen out of love with him once the revolution was over—disenchanted now that the rustle of wind in my hair was gone. I would have begged him not to go to Bolivia, and felt guilty when I heard of his death. I would have moved away, and never mentioned his name again. I would have slowly forgotten the Che the world knew, and only remembered...
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if i am broken after my fall, will you see the...
Inspired by this.
There is a girl I know who stands statuesque and tall. I have never seen her eyes blink, nor her mouth twitch upwards into a smile. I have never heard of her heart beating from another’s touch, nor have I seen her take someone’s palm in her own and trace the lines there. I have seen her walk silently beside someone in need, and although they are not held nor spoken...
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burn this bile from my flesh
There was something to be said for his clean, porcelain arms, wrapped around me tightly. I remember tracing fragile fingers down his chest, exploring crevasses and lines of skin. I felt every nook and cranny, and he felt all of mine. I had opened myself for him like a flower, and he took and took, and gave and gave. It was this symbiotic relationship, where I showed places of my heart and soul and...
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For God so loved the world.
I ran away from church, today.
The old walls were full of termites and mould, and the room smelt musty as the preacher preached. I sat and listened, my ankles crossed beneath my modest skirt, and my hands clasped neatly over knobbly knees. His words infiltrated my heart and soul, and I was a good girl, sir, I was. I didn’t have anything to confess to the priest, but that’s okay,...
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Inside, outside.
I left the darkness that pervades my room, if only for a moment. I simply had to remind myself that outside, the sun was shining, and that a whole world turned out there. I breathed simply for a moment.
But then I went into my bedroom again, and there was nothing but the gloom.
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I feel sick.
Each morning, I wake up, stand up, look at my reflection. I worry about what I’m going to wear, whether I’m going to look okay. I blow-dry my hair, and sometimes I put on makeup, but not very often. Every morning, I look at myself in the mirror, and try not to be sickened by what I see. There is nothing valuable about the curve of my lip, or the gentle frame of my cheekbone. When I see...
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Break this hard-heart.
there’s something to be said for barricades & fortresses; nothing violent penetrates those walls, though we are locked inside the towers.
we cannot escape, but you cannot enter.
the courtesan longs for the days of innocence; she sings of the times before we tore the land apart. she fucks the king in his iron bed, remembering the days she collected lavender & poppies from the...
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I heard him say.
I once heard a boy tell his mother that the night sky was the most beautiful. The way the stars floated across the blackness reminded him of hope when everything was dark, that there were these pinpoints of light that gave him something to look at. When he was married, he told his wife that, too, and his son. The night sky was the most beautiful, but your heart is even more stunning than that.
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Where Silence comes from.
“Silence rides on night winds,” he whispered in my ear. Owls cried their songs of melancholy, as he moved in me like magic. He was right. Darkness reigned the land supreme, and the only sounds were my cries and his prophecies.
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I'm Daddy's little girl.
“I have this vivid memory of my dad driving me to the fish market when I was four. He was showing me the best kinds to barbecue and the best kinds to bake, and then he went and bought fish and chips, and we sat by the harbour eating one chip, and then throwing one to the seagulls, and we did that until all the chips were gone. On the way home, we sang loudly to Boris the Spider by the Who....
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He won't let me go.
So you pressed a flower into my palm, and told me that a rose was not nearly as beautiful as my smile. I blushed and shook my head, disbelieving you. I traced my fingers along your lips, and told you that you too were handsome, trying to deflect your love and attention. But you wouldn’t be shaken off, you wouldn’t leave my gentle skin unloved, untouched. Images of your women before me...
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I won't let him go.
I’m a little jealous of the girls that got to touch you before me. I’m jealous of the hands that caressed you, in the witching hours, before dawn. I wish I could have been the one to dig my nails into your back, leaving scratches of possession. They would peak out the top of your shirt, and girls would recognise that sign, knowing you were mine. I have these images in my head of you...
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Canine & Feline
You, canine, guard me as I sleep; tossing and turning through REM & nightmares of old, relived. You stand alert, watching— make sure my heart beats & my chest rises, with each breath. You protect me, as I love you.
I, feline, stretch next to you, all cramped up from sleep; lithe & limber, body against yours. I rock, move, and feel, reacting, twisting, turning, touching. I make...
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what we do.
So there’s an open place in my heart, and you tap-tap-tapped your way in there. I felt you excavating around at night, finding a place that fit you perfectly. It didn’t happen right away; you had to navigate other friends, family, my cat, my never-ending love for tea, and my sexual attraction to Isaac Brock’s voice, but you managed to find your own perfect spot. Thump, thump,...