[x]

show me the meaning.staple my eyes closed and promise me that's the best way to see.

press your mouth to mine and breathe poison down my throat, bite my tongue until the blood is dripdripdripping a steady path down to my waiting lungs. backhand me when i choke, call me ungrateful when i try to cough it up again. rip reality from behind my lungs and tell me not to bother with it, tell me i'm mistaken and the world is a lie and the only map i'll ever be able to trust is the rotting directions spewing forth from your gilded tongue.

ignore me when i question. get angry when i keep pushing. shove me into the wall and pull the moral fibers from my heart until i forg

stuck in transit.Time bends and snaps the spine of reality between its hands.

Desires bleed like the ink you've left smudged and faded on my hips. The room is empty without your breath to swell the walls; my bed is cold without the warmth filtering through your pores. The clock is manipulated and broken, the ticks becoming distorted screams, the silences becoming gasping moans. Sleep flutters behind eyelids and drags at the exhausted mind until I am writhing under the sheets that smell like you, nails biting my scalp, body contorted against the pressure you kept at bay.

My memory sinks and anchors on the same parts:

The honey of your tongue and the heat of

the sun isn't a candle.you never did learn that beauty can't be painted on rotting ship hulls. decaying wood will always smell like the ocean's betrayal and the salted funeral salute of gilded words. swirling acrylics will only mask the bleak gray and bled-dry sinkhole of your chest. so, you can sit there and call yourself the queen of your world, the mistress of mystery and empress of lust, but you're taking on water and sinking fast and the imploding sea around you is the last grave your cat-eyes will ever witness. you're sinking like a stone in your hate and deception and the one hand that would have pulled you back is the one you gnawed off at the wrist.

you s

sheep-wool covered lies.i ate your heart and reveled in the way it smashed between my molars like ripe grapes, the way i could feel the pulse beating between my clenched jaw, the life squirming in and out to stain my lips. i swallowed it whole and felt it beating like a drummer boy in the pit of my belly, your sorrow the beat i danced my day to. your misery was a lullaby i sang to myself at night, the sheep i counted when my eyes were closed. i could feel it in the way it seeped into my veins and tangled around my bones like weeds growing too fast to contain. i gloried in the power it gave me, the way i could pull your strings and make you dance, the way i could blo

dear t, love m_cDear M, I used to wonder if the collision of our skin would be the ignition of rapidfire passions, the birth of brilliant starlight in the cold of loneliness, of suffocating space. I used to imagine that the heat of your breath would spill across my tongue, and reignite the cold ashes in my lungs. I used to hope that the sway of my skeleton and the clacking of my bones could be a rhythm you would stay around and dance to. I used to dream of us on moonlit beaches, sleeping on the waves and swimming through the sand. I used to do a lot of things, but your shiver-up-my-spine smile tends to drag my thoughts out to quieter seas.

+

Dear T, I used

the redefinition of right.this is the kind of mistake you always hoped might happen.

it's the sequel backtracking and breathing life into the clay-lungs of your favorite character, the news reporter glancing back at the teleprompter and ten thousand more souls clawing out from the mushroom cloud. it's the kind of mistake that fixes the imperfections and calluses of reality, the kind that smoothes over the ordered lashes.

it's not getting what you deserve, but rather, what you wanted. it's feeding you honey when you were prescribed bitter root, slipping you into satin when burlap was folded at the foot of your bed. it's the kind that scares you, because you know bett

bleeding confessions.dear boy-with-a-solar-heart,

love songs are never enough, poems are empty carcasses of emotion when it comes to you. i've spent entire evenings rummaging through the backlit crevices of my thief's mind, trying to drag the proper words from the shadows, but they all flee. the words all hiss and spit and claw: words that describe emotions that have never once been exposed to daylight. words that have slumbered for decades in the hope they would never be touched. words with seeping wounds and open bruises and complications a mile-wide. words that lived in little fear until your warmth shone through the slats of my reality-prison. words that are

the sun thief.this is the point i'd like to tell you how i really feel about you:

this is the point you sit down and shut up and keep your wandering fingers to yourself. put them in your pocket, in your lap, shove them in your mouth, down your throat, in the fire, under the knife. frankly, it doesn't matter to me -- just keep them to yourself. you have a nasty habit of trying to pickpocket emotions that aren't yours to have and trying them on for size when no one is looking. you have nervous fingers that pluck at loose strings to see if you can unravel the tapestry. you have a terrible way of picking at the chipped paint as if you have the power to erase

dare to dance the flame.i'm not the kind of girl you'll be able to forget about in a moment.

i'm the kind that'll stick like a burr and breathe ice down your veins, but just wait because my lips will melt the frost in a moment. i'm the kind of girl that'll sneak into your system like nicotine so you'll keep asking for just a little bigger sip each time, just one more bottle, just one more drag [just one more, one more].

i'm a lie in the making and an addiction brewing in the spaces between your bones. i'm terribly atrocious and wonderfully divine and you'll hate me almost as much as you don't. i won't be part of your memory, because i'll flood it until i'm all tha

born in flames.if we don't start fires, then we'll breathe forth floods.

beneath our poetic simplicity is a raging monster with gnashing teeth and complications snarled all around its bloodied tongue. we're earthquake-palms hovering over the equator, sending continents careening into one another, their haphazard edges crumpling like damp paper. we're gaping ocean mouths gasping as life and death and the mess in between is sucked dry with a terrifyingly efficient gulp.

we're emaciated and starving and clawing at the lock to get to the feast on the other side. we're clumsy and awkward and knocking knees trying to finish a race on four feet and two hearts an

skewed perceptions.it sounds poetic.

sitting here with the window open and my hair knotted at the nape of my neck and cotton twisted around my torso, it's easy to think i'm pouring cool wine from my lips and plucking ambrosia from clouds. it's easy to think that when i'm speaking of love, i'm whispering in voices of the riverbank and looking at the not-yet-visible stars with a glazed over wonder that can only stem from a deep-rooted and profound love of soil and earth. from far away, i might look a dream. i might look soft and sweet with cherry-lips and, even perhaps, diamond-eyes that click clichés off like the tearing of dog-eared books that you bought

second-chance renewal.i can't guarantee i'll be what you want.

you see, i can only offer you the remaining fractures of a weathered, storm-bruised heart in trembling palms; can only pour the relics into the crevices of your chest. i can only offer you the ruins: tangled and mismatched and soggy from salt-rain. can only give you the junk drawer, the elbows and broken bits no one wanted: the jealousy and anxiety and selfishness and impatience and insecurity. i can only give you these, wrapped in newspaper-covered cardboard boxes, no satin ribbon dressing them up as something they're not.

oh, and you deserve so much more! what i have left rotting isn't enough and i

life lessons in death.i didn't know what pain was.

pain isn't sitting in your room with the music blasting and the world going in slow motion, because your heart's been metaphorically ripped to shreds and society doesn't understand you and your clothes don't fit [in] and your tongue has unraveled and you're too tired to try and pick it up again.

pain isn't watching your friend walk away and your dog lie under the sheets of autumn leaves and throwing your moth-eaten book into the cardboard box next to him, because if you're going to lose one friend then you might as well lose them all and your arms are sore and your chest hurts, but night is coming and somehow yo

sleeping to dream.last night, i dreamt of you.

you were trapped between the hot, urgent waves of my pulse and the cool, twisted sheets of my bed. you were desperate and angry and everywhere. i couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't live around you. i was sinking in your chest and praying against your throat and the moon washed us silver with approval. the stars looked down and smiled for such young, frantic lovers are hard to find.

we were more than the earth, more than faded myths and legends buried beneath the silt. we were closing gaping distance with hungry mouths and sealing ancient promises with naked desire. we gave it all to one another as i stri

chronophobia_c.the sky is dark and the ground is falling and you're holding my hand and asking me why my nerves are trembling in the middle of my palms. you're wondering at the quakes in my lips and the tsunamis breaking on the edges of my fingernails as they rack against your skeleton. you're pressing the curling edges of my pages together, straightening the spine of my molting book as i do my best to unravel at your feet. you're holding me close and whispering into my neck, asking me why i am afraid. asking me why i tremble and jerk like a bass caught on a line. asking me why the sun is reflected and lost in the whites of my anxious eyes. and my answer wi

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fractured clocks.Anxiety is a hummingbird in the throat of those who wait.

Palms wring oceans and pulses flood plains until time chokes on itself to leave the minutes battling on the brink of insanity. Each second is an entity that stands on its own, a demon to be fought and conquered. Each breath is a challenge, the air tangled in lungs before clacking teeth drag it forward to throw it shuddering into the wind. Heavy footprints echo fears on the walls, possibilities birthing and maturing and turning from fledgling shadows into heavy-handed fiends.

The door remains closed. Time ticks on.

Thunder coughs in comparison to the heart roaring across the deserted

play for keeps.spin around twice, count to ten and come to find me. listen to the wind twisting around the forest and the break of sun dappling the foliage. hold your breath and hear the misplaced air from where i was, where i've been, where i am no longer. break the twisted limbs of young saplings and duck the looming arms of the aging ark. use sonic radars to locate me curled sleepily in the elms' embrace. i'll be dust-covered and cobwebbed, my arms wrapped around the dam of my ribcage. climb the bark ladder and wake me with hesitant, wanting fingers. whisper truths in the maple-vault where i've lay dormant, lace your fingers through mine and pull me into

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guiding me home.

by =corina90, May 2, 2010, 8:05:02 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

you found me bleeding on the side of the road.

you found me spitting up death and choking on life and letting reality throw bruising fingers around my throat to squeeze the remnants of belief. you found me quaking on the tile and shaking the entire building, my spine cracking like a weathered book. you found me as a victim of my own sense of fantasy, my own desires manipulating my nerves like a finely tuned violin playing nothing but funeral sobs. i was half-awake and half-aware and half-of-something-i-couldn't-even-label; you were in over your head.

three days later and i was stitched up with chapped-lips but swallowing whole foods and keeping it down for the first time in months. i was tasting the milk of your healing hope and the honey of your patience. i was soothed by your cool lips against my feverish forehead, but, i was still scared. i was waking up in cold sweats and breaking out to race down the corridors. i was lashing out when you tried to calm me and exploding at the barest brush of contact. i was untied by my own securities and dismantled by my past. i took the pieces you had just glued back together and flung them into the air; you said not a word, just started from the beginning.

five and a half kisses after that and you were teaching me how to pronounce 'trust.' you were letting me keep my heart because i wasn't ready to cough it up just yet, but cherishing it all the same. you were holding me close and holding me together and holding the demons at bay. you were telling me things i called lies like "you're beautiful" and "you deserve this" until the repeating turned into a pulse i wanted nothing but to fall into. you held my broken-fingered hand and kissed the swollen knuckles, told me i wouldn't have to keep fighting if i didn't want to, but you were strong enough to stomach any punch i threw out in fear. i was dipping my toe in still waters; you just breathed deep and waited.

today, i woke up and your mouth was branding my name against the base of my spine. your truths were scrawled in unknown languages over my heart. i jump started my nervous system and rebooted my belief in magic when you sang me lullabies under the summer sun. you stroked my hair and untangled the knots, told me i was beautiful even when i was broken, but you preferred to see me whole. you touched two fingers to the knife-scar on my side, pressed two lips to my jaw and breathed two words against my skin: "i'm yours."

you are a lighthouse; i am home.

guiding me home.by =corina90

Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

_{{"if you were a river in the mountains tall
the rumble of your water would be my call
if you were the winter, I know I'd be the snow
as long as you were with me, let the cold wind blow"
--tristan prettyman}

love 1 1

~~joy 0 0~~

wow 1 1

~~mad 0 0~~

sad 3 3

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~ciphey Nov 4, 2011

i can dream oh i can dream

time never really does help people do........

~im4ger360 Aug 5, 2011 Hobbyist General Artist

I Had to read it again.
i cant help but love everything about your writing!

~SailorIchigo Jun 15, 2010

"five and a half kisses after that and you were teaching me how to pronounce 'trust.'"
Love this! The whole thing is great, but this line stuck out to me.

~nothingleftofus May 23, 2010

i don't even know what to say. i just love this.

=corina90 May 28, 2010

thank you so much!

~PulseofExistence May 17, 2010 Student Writer

So, so beautiful. This piece made my heart ache, but I'm so happy for you that you've found someone who can bring about such enchanting emotions.

=corina90 May 28, 2010

thank you soso much

~ohgloryx May 17, 2010

_{your writing reminds me of the writer of Speak&Wintergirls. Laurie Halse Anderson. Have you ever heard of her?
but—
i think your writing is much more beautiful.}

=corina90 May 28, 2010

i haven't! i will be sure to look her up though :]

~ssshadow May 13, 2010

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