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reality is a grave.the walls are too clean.

it's wrong how clean the walls are, how even the air is sterile. it seems almost cruel to make such a place so hollow and vacant only to have you realize it's just making room. room for muffled sobs and choked-on tears and emotions so thick that if they were to allow any dust there wouldn't be room to breathe at all. it's allowing room for stifled emotional breakdowns shuddering down your spine and smiles quivering precariously on the tip of your lips.

it's not cruel, it's just practical.

and you're looking down on wax-paper skin and glassy eyes and a voice so chipper it hurts to hear. a voice that rambles like som
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
irreplaceable.Some things in life cannot be replaced.

This is the hymn beating within the pulses of those who mourn the shooting stars who have come and gone, who cling to the stardust of comets too hot to tie to this earth of dust and soil. This is the song lilies hum when dusk falls and the ground moves from the thrumming of a hundred pleading hearts in unison; what wheat fields cry out when absences are apparent and desperate mouths are praying into pillows late at night. This is the truth that is realized when mornings shot golden with sunlight do not pluck the beauty of dreams back into reality, but rather face the hollow space once occupied with lif
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
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
bandage-tape kisses_cI'm worn and tattered on the edges and breathing knives into the ozone layer. I'm the echo of something that once was a shadow of beautiful and am now the scream of something destructive. I'm poison dripping through your veins and gas pumping straight into your lungs. So, please, listen to me: run. Run while you can. Run before I chomp the pavement to pieces and it's too late for you to get out of town alive. Run before I catch you. Run before I demolish you too. Run.

You have to know that no matter what happens, no hellfire or Armageddon, could keep me from holding you up, from crushing your demons, and smoothing your edges. Every moment of
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
guiding me home.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 kee
x marks my heart.i am lying in the field of wheat, dappled with sunlight, drunk with acceptance.

i am holding my fishnet-fingers wide to catch the dreams leaking out my pores. all my wishes are exploding from behind the rib-dams too archaic and tired to stand any longer. i am smiling for the first time in months and digging my hipbones and angelblades in the soil like seeds. i am a sunflower, i am an orchid, i am pushing the petals away to reveal myself to the waiting world. i am wrapped in the warmth, gently coaxing the tangles from my thoughts, my vulnerabilities uncurling slowly to reveal their belly to the persuasion of the heat.

i am blind, but with ey
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
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
my final request.this'll be the last time i put my heart on your porch and the last time i'll slip faded pieces of poetry under your door when you're asleep. when my song has been sung, i'll stop painting my wishes on your ceiling and humming lullabies at moonrise. i won't come knocking at your door any longer or whispering into the back of your neck when you're walking away. you won't feel my fingers pulling on the edge of your shirt or slipping in your back pocket or clinging to the corner of your heart, because it's obvious that none of it belongs to me any longer.

i promise, this'll be it.

so, don't run or ignore this or throw it away, because i swear,
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
paint with love.close your eyes, darling, cross
your heart with my lips and listen
to me. play your favorite hymn
on the tapered flutes of my bones
until i'm an instrument fitted

to your devoted artist's hands.
draw maps of the constellations
on the raised edge of my scars,
translate directions to faded love,
before putting an 'x' on my left breast,

sealing the treasure with a prayer.
mold my hips like wet clay, sculpt
my pulse so i'm breathless with tension,
serene with knowing i'll wake again
tomorrow with cello-curves pulled

into the tide of your ocean-chest. sing
faith into my hungry arms, chisel hope
into my cynical skeleton, paint
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
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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
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
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
silent screams.taste the venom between the smacking
of twin lips as they break their joint spine
and revel in the sound of death drilling
behind your eyelids until alone is a sound
you think you might want to rest in.

close your heart and button up the shutters
and board up the doors until the wind howls
and the chain is beating against the wood
with a hollow sound like a fist knocking,
but you know better, because no one has
knocked on this door since thirteen hundred
days ago when time was starting and you
had fresh pain[t] and a bright smile.

music hurts in the way of your skin peeling
and love is too bright to even look at and
the voice
one more step.it's nights like this that make me wish i could gnash mountains between my teeth and drain the stars from the sky. it's nights like this that leave my limbs cold and my hands crackling so i'm on the floor trying to pick up all the pieces littered in the corners. theoretically, if i decompose, i'll find a way to compose myself before morning, but such a composition would never be music to the bleeding composite tongue binding around me.

[i'm wailing on the airwaves, trying find the right frequency, but it's hard to hear my thoughts around all the static.]

the wind is too cold for june and my heart is too frosted for the heat of this love cha

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less than a dream.

:iconcorina90:

i can't be the sun if i'm only a candle.

i can't be the myths of greece and the legends of troy if i'm only beginning to write my story. i'm not diamonds spread across the skyscape or dreams saturated with salty rain, i'm just a girl. i'm trembling fingertips and insecurities buckling down on my intercostal muscles until breathing becomes a labor of love instead of a hum of habit. i'm tearing apart diary paper because i can't stop moving and regretting; i'm curling my toes to withdraw when the stakes seem too high.  

i'm not everything you're hoping for and i'm not worthy of poems getting scrawled in wet midnight sand; i don't deserve sunshine serenades pouring from your lips. i'm not made of piano-chord veins and i'm not spitting up beauty i've [never] kept hidden behind my molars. i'm just me.

i'm just a girl with wide eyes and a habit for losing chapstick, pens, shoes and the people i care most about. i'm not special or extraordinary or anything you wouldn't expect to find from the waves of people keeping the entire world pulsing at night. i don't have the kind of face to launch a thousand ships or the kind of words to inspire entire countries to action.

so, if i put my heart in your hands, don't expect a gem. it's a little dusty, a little bruised, the edges worn smooth from the river of life constantly pounding away. it won't burn the shadows away or cleanse the toxins from your veins. it might pinch your nerves and cramp your muscles and tweak your skin until you're howling with pain. it might hit all the wrong frequencies and break your favorite wine glasses and crash your car and leave your life as one haphazard ink splatter on what used to be a pristine page.

don't pretend it's different. i wish it were. i wish i was aphrodite or calypso or something bigger than life that i might offer you. instead, i'm the sister of pandora, the cousin of circe. i'm disaster's lovechild, heartache's favorite daughter. i'm a porcupine of emotional distress and your skin is the one thing i couldn't bear to tear. i'm a dagger wet with anguish, the blood of those brave enough to get near me staining the ground as my only legacy.

so don't fool yourself into thinking i'm a shooting star when i'm only a crashing satellite.
don't trick yourself into thinking i'm a raging river when i'm only a leaking faucet
:iconcorina90:
{"we're made out of blood and rust
looking for someone to trust without a fight
I think that you came too soon
you're the honey and the moon that lights up my night
but right now, everything you want is wrong
and right now, all your dreams are waking up
and right now, I wish I could follow you
to the shores of freedom where no one lives"
--joseph arthur

a response piece, because he couldn't help himself: [link]

and holy what?! my second DD...that's incredible. thank you so much for it, `ATrue and ^LadyLincoln, you two are fantastic. thankyouthankyouthankyou!
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Daily Deviation

Given 2010-04-29
=Corina90's work is consistently filled with beautiful images and raw honesty. less than a dream. is another great example of her gift for writing about ordinary things and making them memorable. ( Suggested by `ATrue and Featured by `LadyLincoln )
love 16 16 joy 6 6 wow 3 3 mad 0 0 sad 1 1 fear 0 0 neutral 0 0
:iconsimonevdz:
Mood: Love ~simonevdz Apr 2, 2013
wow beautifull!!!
Reply
:iconth3chos3non3:
~Th3Chos3nOn3 Jun 15, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
One of the best things I've EVER read on here and in my life. It's practically my life, considering I'm nowhere near a shooting star. Teach me your skills? :heart:
Reply
:iconwhimsy657:
~whimsy657 Dec 31, 2010  Student General Artist
You have been featured in my journal amazing job on the dd.
Reply
:iconpoplockdance:
!PopLockDANCE Dec 28, 2010
You are an amazingggggg writer!
W O W :)
Looveee it!
Reply
:iconkaleidoscopiceye:
~KaleidoscopicEye Nov 7, 2010
I love this story. It's so wonderfully written and I think a lot of us can relate to it. <3 Keep writing!
Reply
:iconsweetsolitary:
~SweetSolitary Aug 7, 2010
I've read alot, to much; This by far is my favourite. Thank you so much for writing it!
Reply
:icon0lderthandirt:
~0lderthandirt Aug 3, 2010
your humility generates your beauty, stop putting yourself down, you are worthy and deserving of all the affection tony shows to you; life is haphazard, life is change, life is chaos, life is not stagnation,you, my dear woman, are very, very , VERY special indeed.




ps. shooting stars ARE falling satellites,,,they're just not man-made :P
Reply
:icontheblackbride431:
~theblackbride431 Jul 5, 2010
I... wow. That's amazing. I envy you and your stunning poetry.
Reply
:iconsheissinking:
!SheIsSinking Jun 15, 2010
:heart:
Reply
:iconkrhicks:
Mood: Cheerful ~krhicks May 27, 2010
That's aweomse
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