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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
faded words, smudged ink.i'm writing it down.

i'm taking it all and putting it on paper so you can hear the words between the silences because words are the only things that last and the only thing i have left. i'm trying to make something ugly into something beautiful so you might want to keep it a while. trying to find the right words to say what i've been feeling in the only way i know how. so don't throw it away yet, darling, if you look it's all right here for you to find:

you should know, i think i'm weak and i'm scared of time and the smell of leaving is the worst one in the world. i'm afraid absence makes the heart grow apathetic and quirky just means insan
third degree lie burn.i told myself i wouldn't write this.

i sat in the chair that smells nothing like you and stared at the wall with the pictures you were never in, and told myself in a hundred [that's a lie; it was only ten] different ways that this piece would never come to be. the bruised words would die in the back of my mind next to the cobwebbed dreams and whimsical wishes of years past. quarantined [such poison should never permeate the cracked veneer of faded dreams], but left to decay all the same.

alas! my disobedient fingers are rebellious and they dragged them out. they threw their cursing, blinking, protesting forms in the sunlight and left them t
first-class funeral cheers.stick a post-it note on my head and stick me in a drawer as if you'll remember me in the morning. but you won't. not unless i cry, not unless i scream, not unless i throw my words against the walls until you hear the pulse, hear the beat of millions of phrases and definitions and images as wild as jungle throats and murdered lemons.

beautiful and tragic, gorgeous and oh, my word, isn't she a genius? but they all boil down to one thing: you're gone. you aren't here. your absence is everywhere. i've erased the ends of my fingertips because they look lonely; i've shoved my hands in the garbage disposal because that's all i am. it's not pathetic
collapse of the shoreline_c1. Winter
She'd be the perfect girl if her skin didn't break so easily, all pretty lips and splintered legs and peachstone eyes. She might reach out and touch you, but her fingers bend and twist like she's made of cold winters and auburn leaves freezing and rotting under brittle snow.


She bought the idea of old age from a peddler and then let it settle, let it crack its gnarled joints beside the hearth-side of her heart and settle comfortably into her intercostal muscles. But when she presses up against him, her early visitor pounds feeble protestations against her fragile ribs.


He mistook this for butterflies and excitement
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,
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
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
don't let me run.i'm scared.

the fears are pressing anxious palms on my shoulder blades and slipping through my skin to ride trembling waves through my veins. they're biting at my ankles and tearing up my dreams, present wherever i look, because no matter how hard i try, i can't run away from you. i'm shaking and clacking and falling to my knees before springing to my feet and running until my pulse is just a canyon wall echo.

please, forgive me for running. forgive me if you find me hiding and sobbing in the corner with my head buried between my knees and my fingers buried in the mud and my heart buried behind the rosebush. try to understand that i want to
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
consider yourself warned.this is the time where it'd be appropriate to issue you a warning.

where it'd be wise to tell you about the dangerous curves ahead, slippery with ice and sweat, slick with catastrophe just waiting to happen. you see, i am no genteel lover. i do not usher in honeyed words and press lily-lips against the tender slope of your neck. i do not hold your hand and lead you through rose gardens, whisper poetry in murmured tones. i simply cannot be slow and timid, doe-eyes and flushed cheeks, fluttering bird-hands floating through the fog-atmosphere until we hit the bed of satin and lace.

don't expect it of me.

instead, wait for racers to start thei
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
it doesn't come free.if you want it, you're going to have to catch it.

you're going to have to run until your feet are caked with silt and your mouth is burned with wind, until your heart is laboring behind rusted ribs. you're going to have to chase it through sand storms and ocean tantrums and to the edge of the world and over. you're going to have to strip out of your clothes and inhibitions and fear and pride because it's not slowing down. it's not going to idle in anticipation or pause or give you a fair shake. it's going to twist in currents and cut corners and laugh as it's free diving into still lakes.

if you want it, you're going to have to tempt it.

y
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
lend me your heart.turn off the lights in your silver-threaded heart and open your eyes. feel your way through the darkness and ease around the sharp corners of my insecurity. be careful, step lightly, don't bruise yourself on my doubts. if you fall to your knees, just keep crawling forward. don't stop, be brave, i need you close enough to hear my whisper.

i need another soul in the dark to hear these confessions.

i'm sitting in the middle of the ocean, choking on the reflection of the stars, but i think i'm starting to hear the echo of your pulse. i think i can hear the shallow crashing of your breath on the edge of your lips. so, shh, don't interrupt, becau
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you'll think of me.you're going to miss me.

when the night is silent and you can't hear anything but the beatbeatbeating of your heart against your ribcage, you're going to remember me. you're going to remember how my voice dropped to smoke when i was tired. the way i hesitated before diving, trembling even as i grabbed your hand and pulled us over the edge. the way i blushed and bit my lip, the way i tried to filter what i was going to say but always ended up saying it regardless.

and when the moon whitewashes your walls, you're going to think of me. you're going to think of the way i stood in the middle of the highway watching you leave. the way i looked in
i'm choking.i am sitting with smoking nerves and
frayed circuit wires, everything i don't
know knotting together for me to choke
on.

if there is a door, i can't find it.
if there is an answer, i'm unaware.

instead i am falling to my knees and
crawling under the smoke, eyes watering
and knuckles bleeding. no closer to the end
than when i had begun.

if i had the courage, i'd crack open your ribs
and get the answer for myself. if i was brave,
i'd simply reach over and pinch the truth from
your tongue.

or i'd just tie my heart to the railroad tracks
and wait for you to save it. wait for you
to cradle it and whisper that the time for
start earthquakes.run, darling, run. run to the
river and let the moon
bring down a milky glow
that reminds you of home.
run down the railroad
tracks and let them tell
you stories of echoing

desolation and the women
who once gave it all for
men who didn't even know
their names. run into the
ocean and fill your
lungs with saltwater
until you're choking

tsunamis and memories and
salvation up onto the
shore. run through the
hurricane until the wind
tastes like wisdom and
your tongue still rejects
the bitter aftertaste.

run.

run away from things you
thought you once knew and
the people who let you
believe you knew them. run
away from th
we're breaking fate.i'm crying but there are no tears; i'm laughing but there is no sound.

music is playing but i can't cage the beat. i'm just sitting in the middle of a wind storm and counting the seconds to sleep. counting the seconds until i fly. counting the seconds until i can see your face again. because your mouth is like whiskey and i'm always under the influence whenever you're around. ohoh, if i had the words, i'd give them all to you in a beat of my stuttering heart. because you always know that everything i want is everything you have and everything i have is already yours.

i can't keep myself from you. i can't keep myself from the flames but i'm
i keep looking.wanted:

a boy with dark hair and bright eyes with a smile that'll drop my stomach to my feet. a boy that says his heart feels more full when he's holding my hand and will tell me how my eyes remind him of the ocean at night because somehow the water looks deeper when cast in milky, silver light. a boy that'll laugh at the way i wrinkle my nose when i'm confused and will tease me because he knows i like nothing more than to be harassed. one that'll throw me over his shoulder and throw me fully clothed into the pool, that'll call me ridiculous, that'll roll his eyes and sigh. one that'll secretly love the fact that i'm a mess because it keeps
when i say one day.one day, i'll smile when i remember you.

if the winds of change have stopped blowing and i find myself tossed out of the gusts, i'll smooth back my hair and sink to the ground. and if it is silent where i sit, i'll close my eyes and face the memories i've been running from. i'll remember the way you ducked your head when you laughed or contorted your face to catch me off guard. i'll remember the way you could slip a word into a conversation that would completely derail me and how you'd use your next breath to scoop me back up.  i'll remember the way i was never sure of where i stood with you but how i always knew i didn't want to b

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reality is a grave.

:iconcorina90:

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 some fairytale forest brook but isn't telling anything mythical or picturesque or any damn story you ever want to hear again. it's like wind chimes shattering wishes and chirping birds announcing black widow funerals. beauty shouldn't kill, shouldn't mask rotting truths, but, sitting there with bleeding ears, you know it does.

so, you shake like an autumn leaf, your veins all fracturing apart as you drift to the four corners of the room and out the window and down the vents. you try to nod and pretend and play make believe with the frail woman. pretend she's just teasing and her mind isn't crumbling and you're about to hit the punchline. pretend this is just temporary and she's going to regain her color and she's going to leave this room on two feet and not covered on four wheels. pretend she's just sick with the flu and that beeping is just an alarm clock and that salt on your lips is just sea-spray.

pause, shudder, stare: "who are you again, dear?"
reality is a vacuum; the walls are a grave.
:iconcorina90:
{"now, cinderella don't you go to sleep, it's such a bitter form of refuge.
why don't you know the kingdoms under siege and everybody needs you
is there still magic in the midnight sun or did you leave it back in '61?
in the cadence of a young man's eyes, out where the dreams all hide"
--the killers

when i can't breathe, i write.

[i need to lose myself in songs, poems, stories.
anything to make me forget the way that room looked.]
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:iconkj-illustration:
*KJ-Illustration Apr 24, 2010  Professional Digital Artist
this beautiful and sad at the same time. beautiful in how it is written, sad in what it is about. i hope you're okay, love :hug:
Reply
:iconcorina90:
=corina90 Apr 26, 2010
i am, love. much, much better.
Reply
:iconhorsewild111:
~Horsewild111 Apr 20, 2010
Mmmm :heart: Sad but gorgeous writing.
Reply
:iconcorina90:
=corina90 Apr 23, 2010
aw, thank you, beautiful!
Reply
:icongroundzero13:
~groundzero13 Apr 10, 2010
my grandmother is like this. she doesn't know who i am. she thinks it's still Valentine's Day, 1943 EVERY DAMN DAY. she thinks my dad is her husband (who died in '07) and she called me 'John' yesterday. the sad thing is, i'm a girl. :P
Reply
:iconcorina90:
=corina90 Apr 10, 2010
yeah, i know what that's like :iconsympathyplz:
Reply
:iconjaydember:
!jaydember Apr 10, 2010
This reminds me of when my grandmother was dying. The room was so...I don't know, but I know I didn't like it. It was night time, so at least there was no unfeeling daylight to shine through the solitary window. She could barely breathe and I could barely talk, and then the morning came and that was that.
Reply
:iconcorina90:
=corina90 Apr 10, 2010
i understand, love. completely.
Reply
:iconnocturnalschizo:
~nocturnalschizo Apr 9, 2010
i started crying while i was reading this. beautiful and heartbreaking. :tears:
Reply
:iconcorina90:
=corina90 Apr 10, 2010
oh, i'm so sorry, i didn't mean to make you cry.
Reply
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