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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 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
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
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
the emptiest word in the worldyou're the kind of beautiful that breaks down centuries.

you have the appeal of bloodied smiles and epidemics and time winding down on the cliff edge of your poet's mouth. you're holding together shattered dreams between scarred palms and sobbing with the strain, but refusing to let go. you're picking up birds with broken wings and taping them together, refusing to give up even when they teeter off your flesh to plummet to earth like stone. refusing to stop, refusing to give in, refusingrefusingrefusing--

and you keep repeating: one more time, one more breath, one more and you'll fix them.

you're two shades from a sunrise and four seconds
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
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
tide pools of disbelief.broken words splinter
beneath my feet
and i'm perched
on the faded edge
of what beauty
looked like before you
went and rearranged it.

from here, i can see
the distant salted shore
where you are cradling
the rest of my life amongst
the rest of the vowels
missing from my disjointed,
nonsensical confessions.

leaning against the vacant
air your bones should be filling,
i'm suddenly aware i'm nothing
but empty palms and scattered
sheets of music and if i was to cry
would you close your eyes to pretend
the collapse of my lungs is a poem?

would you write me a promise,
carve me a secret and fold them
in broken glass bo
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
no more sailing_cThe sun is setting and something in the way the light is haloing the horizon makes me think of the forest green rimming the caramel of your eyes. I sit and pluck beach grass as I watch the tips of the sails in the distance flare moments before the darkness claims them. I imagine the same night coming to steal and curl in your lungs. I imagine it bringing restful peace as you breathe in the tiny golden dust particles that swirled around my palms earlier today while at market. I imagine the light that brushed your cheekbones yesterday is slipping under my tongue as I stretch awake. I imagine we're tied together at the spinal cord and expanded o
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
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
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
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
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i dream as a lion.i used to dream about sinking into the ocean. i used to dream about going up in flames and finding redemption in the way that the ash fell from my hands. now, when i dream, i think about the way that passion used to light my veins. i think about the pain that pinched my limbs and the cramps that woke me screaming in the middle of the night. i dream about the agony - the way i would stare at the sun and call it living. the way that i called each bleeding wound  life and each burned palm passion.

i was the girl that swallowed the world and spit up the ocean. i remember the way that the mountains scraped my throat and the slaughter of
winter heart.maybe it's the weather. maybe it's the steam in the morning and the fog in my lungs that brings these words to life. i can feel them stirring under my breath like a second life; i can taste them in the december air that teases nostalgia from the pitter patter of my winter heart.

it's like life is a faded photograph. its like time is a frozen lake. it's like i'm sitting on porches wearing oversized sweaters and holding cups that burn the tips of my numb fingertips. it's like i'm in a forest and it's damp. it's dark. it tastes like a memory and the rain looks the way it did two years ago when i was broken. it's like remembering something perfe
you missed a spot.sometimes i wonder if you like to shoot your gun just because you like the sound of the bullet.

other times, i am left to wonder if it's the heavy metal in your hand or the metallic taste left singeing your tongue. cruelty of a child wrapped in the gilded tongue of a liar, the pettiness of eve's snake, the deceitfulness of an ocean hit by the first storm. you are all smoke and mirrors - dragging the earth down with your fingertips simply because you no longer can feel the sun.

still, even when soaked in my thoughts and rooted in my wonder, i am dragged to surface. i am pulled forcefully back to reality (an artist's work must be enjoyed and
the impossibility of apollo.sometimes, it is like i am silent and i am just trying to find my voice. it's like praying in an empty room and choking on the echoes, like singing underwater and trying to untangle myself in the ripples. most of all - oh, most of all - it is like finding a truth that i just can't understand. a truth that wakes with the first morning light, stretches with the dawn. a truth that is part of the earth and yet not of it - one of stars and constellations. one spit from the heavens and yet lying patiently on my front lawn.

this is the truth that i have found. this is the truth that i have swallowed and felt warm in the pit of my belly. it is the t
the words and the silence_c.words are what brought us together.


it was the sentences and the phrases, the way the vowels sounded when you murmured them over state lines. it was the way i could hear your tongue roll and your teeth click; the sensual sighs between the beginning and the end. it was the way i could hear the ocean in your voice and the way i could feel the typhoon at the base of my spine. there was no friction between your fingertips and my flesh. there was no raised hairs from the tide of your breath. it was the language and the way we forged it between upraised hands and a prayer. it was the promise of tomorrow and the carved stone we left on our p

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show me the meaning.

:iconcorina90:

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 forget what right tasted like and am left with the feeling of wrong tattooed between my molars. let me stumble into tar pits of mistakes. don't stop when my hand draws the blade across her breast, don't blink when i continue to hack, when i'm sobbing between blows. turn your cheek when i'm sobbing, when i'm breaking her down, when each lash across her back is cat-tailed across my own. tell me it's expected. tell me it's okay. tell me not to worry.

continue to drag me down further.

upturn my every thought until i'm questioning my words and staring at my hands and wondering why they look so wrong. watch silently as i slash them off at the wrists, reveling in the pain because it's no less than i deserve. walk away when i'm curled in the gutter, when i'm holding myself tight and leaking out the empty spaces. when i'm dissolving all over the asphalt, wrapping myself in grime and murder-proclamation-papers.

whisper back, tell me not to give up hope. don't bother to tell me that's a lie. don't tell me hope never existed. let me fight for death, let me fight for the poison. watch me beat myself again and again. watch me drag myself and sob and wrack my aching body against the buildings in downtown hell. watch as i pull myself apart, because i convinced myself you like me best when i'm bruised and frayed. watch as i burn, as i blame, as i bite through my leash and throw myself before the oncoming bus.

continue.

because, someday, he's going to find me emaciated and rotting behind the gas station dumpster. someday he's going to push back my grease-streaked hair and cradle me close. someday he'll cry for me over every laceration and every open wound. he'll listen when i tell him the terrible things i've done, horrors i've committed and sins i've never confessed blistering the back of my tongue. he'll bring me close and warm my gritted cells, rub my calloused palms together and stir my blood back into flow with languid, urgent words.

he'll heal every wound, the ones i inflicted and the ones i was too slow to prevent. he'll be patient when i wake up screaming from night terrors and compassionate when i weep on his shoulder. he'll drag my soul back from purgatory and argue for its release until he's hoarse. he'll fight for my freedom and my heart and then he'll let me have it to make my own choice. he'll force my eyes open, he'll draw the toxins from my throat and spit them out. he'll shove me back into life, reassembling my spine, untangling my veins, rebuilding my faith and trust no matter how hard i resist. he'll peel back the cracked, decaying shell you put on love and show me the truth of it. kiss my jaw and whisper my name until i learn how it feels to not hate it. not hate myself. not hate anything. he'll kiss me until i'm drained of anything but him, of light, of salvation pooling in all my cracks and causing me to glow from the inside out.

so, really, please, continue: do your worst.
one day, he'll come along and even you'll have been worth it.
:iconcorina90:
{"not knowing how to think
I scream aloud, begin to sink
my legs and arms are broken down
with envy for the solid ground
I'm reaching for the life within me
how can one man stop his ending
I thought of just your face
relaxed, and floated into space"
--blue october
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:iconaviiceruleanskies:
~AviiCeruleanSkies Apr 2, 2011  Student
wow. this is heart-stopping. seriously, just...wow. amazing
Reply
:iconthe-velvet-moth:
~The-Velvet-Moth Dec 29, 2010
Wow. That was really, truly powerful. Not to mention beautifully worded. You are inspirational.
Reply
:iconsephiroths-soulmate:
~Sephiroths-Soulmate Nov 20, 2010
[link]
Reply
:iconpurple-fearie:
~Purple-Fearie Jul 23, 2010   General Artist
This is absolutely amazing. The word choice throughout the entire thing is just impecable, the imagery fantastic and original....just, wow. I do believe I am at a loss for words.
Reply
:iconwolf-moon14:
~Wolf-Moon14 Jun 27, 2010  Student Writer
Im breathless...
Reply
:icongreatestbunny4ever:
Mood: Joy ~greatestbunny4ever Jun 10, 2010
It's like every time I read your writing I'm dragged into this vortex of emotion and I end up day-dreaming for hours... :heart:

This is one of those moments where I want to cry, but I'm too spell-bound to.
Reply
:iconopheliaweird:
~OpheliaWeird Jun 5, 2010
I am amazed once more.
Reply
:iconphoenix-kisses:
~phoenix-kisses May 29, 2010
I really don't know what to make of it or say.
Its just one of those, surprisingly well written subjects, because they can go so wrong.
Reply
:iconcorina90:
=corina90 May 30, 2010
thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
Reply
:iconmusic-and-words:
~music-and-words May 28, 2010
end lines were perfect. Well actually, the whole thing was... :heart:
Reply
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