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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
doppelganger.if you wake up in the morning and feel like your dead, i won't shed a tear and won't be surprised. you see, you've been feeding off your lies and have grown fat on your hate and although you swear you could sing the moon to the ground, i'm not sure even your manipulating tongue could weave a net to save you now. i have watched and i've burned and i've ached and with each passing moment that bullets on your lips have been firing into the air and seeking homage in the flesh of the corpses you surround yourself with.

so sing tonight, baby; sing yourself a lullaby and sing yourself to sleep and watch in the mirror as you shed into ash and the ai
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
i am there.if you put the wind against your ear, you won't hear the ocean.

you might, however, hear the poem of a landlocked girl with wordless noise slipping from her fingertips. you might hear the way that my breath touches the edge of my lips. you might hear the old glories on my shoulder in the way that veterans talk about the old wars. if you listen hard enough, you might hear me talk about the scars and the way that they've faded, but how on cold winter nights, they still twinge. how they're old but the still bite. you won't be able to see me, but if you could, i would wink and tell you that i like the way that they pucker my skin, i like the rem
dissolving language.words on silver strings that hang from cosmic lights, dipping low into oceanic bellies late at night. they are the type of words the breathe lightly upon the back of your neck, scrape gently against the small of your back. they are the type that causes your scalp to tickle and your calves to twitch, the sound of an echo deep within your clavicle that somehow reminds you exactly of home. it's the type of word that causes you to sit quietly on summer fields covered in winter frost because you're worried that if you move, winter will leave you. it is the kind that presses against the back of your eyelids when you're gently waking and tempts you
seaside gifts.this is what i would give to you:

i would give you sea castles during high tide. i would give you an empty beach and a storm rolling in, the sea flagging the danger and the sky rolling in anxiety. the ocean was deepen to sleet gray and i would be waiting in it, the cotton of my dress soaked to my ankles. we could find release in the storm, slipping the silent killers from our bones to wash out with the dregs of the hurricane. the rain would come in with a crack across the sky and we could hold each other through it. our clothes could be sopping wet and flapping in the wind, but we would be rocks. screaming, kissing, unlocking our chests and
we love - i dreamwe are swimming in the ocean and our lungs are turned inside out. we are creating black holes with the tips of our fingers and pushing in our doubts into the center of the void. we know that truth isn't a truth so much as a guess and we are therefore given the liberty to create our own. we are the truth. love is the truth. we can stand in fields and hold the falling sky on our shoulders and call spring our truth. because



love is a spear and it is bracing my spine from yielding. my mouth is stumbling on the words i have always known and i am teaching the phrases to my lips once more. your palms are resting on the skulls of resti
singing of beauty.some sing that there is beauty in the breakdown, but i have learned in the heat of your palms that the true beauty is in the rebuilding after the fall. you found me a city burned to the ground and you exhaustively rebuilt all of my fallen skyscrapers. you did not mind the singing and the stinging eyes. you never faltered at the quakes that ran up the base of my spine to the tip of the city limits. you just moved with meticulous, tenacious, loving grace.  you found me a forest cleared on a whim, an ocean polluted with the lies of the selfish, a sky darkened with the ache of a thousand breaks.

you found me ugly, and still, you found
in these words, i will live.this world spins fast, and still, i wonder at how i spin faster.

i wonder at how i dredge words up recycled from my lungs and unravel them into the air without care for the final product. i wonder at my love for the act of spinning, for the exhilarating, light-headed feeling i get when exposing every hidden flaw and every not-so-secret desire. you see, i am constantly coughing up my heartache and i have to wonder at the addicted high; the need to tell every sting and every warmth. the need to break open my ribcage and spill out these emotions onto canvas and paper, smearing the colors with dirtied fingertips before moving on.

yet, i do not
i really do believe it.Maybe I will write something sweet.

Maybe I will kiss your slumbering mouth, touch tongue to lip and sing of the taste of honey. It would be light as air – cotton sheets and bare feet. It would be nectar to aching tongues and water to the disbelieving. I would spin sugar into words and paint meadows on naked chests. I would dip my fingers into wading pools of hope and wash them over blank canvas, let the dripping acrylic tell stories of tomorrows with eternal sunshine. I would take molds of happiness and press my laughing mouth against the fold of the envelope as I send it onward into the great beyond.

Maybe I will write something bitt
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
wait and write to me then.don't tell me about the best way to capture the ocean in your mouth. don't whisper to me late at night about the salt crescent moons behind the bend of your elbows or the way that the breeze is tangling my hair around your ears until you're deaf from the wind. don't, for you see it's easy to whisper poetry when the starlit sky is a cliche over the slumbering world; it's easy to be a poet when the ground is rising up to cradle your shoulder blades and the earth is whispering love notes to you in your sleep. this is when it's easy.

so don't write to me then.

instead, wait until the world is rejecting you from her breast and leaving you breath
way back when.back then, i thought i knew it all. i thought i could sit on the cliff edge, jump and call it flying. i thought i could kiss sea air with chapped lips and call it love. there was a beautiful pain that i associated with life, an aching burn that i was foolish enough to embrace. my bones would light on fire and i would dance, dance, dance until my feet were dissolving on the shoreline and i was throwing the remnants of my words like breadcrumbs into the wind.

it was fast and dangerous and loud. it was like cracking your bones to know the sound of heartache along with the splintering marrow. it was like touching your tongue to acid just to feel
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
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can't wait forever.because, boy, you know i’m looking for you, but i’m not sure i’ll ever find you.

i’m spending my days watching the different eyes that go by but they all have the wrong angle or the wrong shape or they’re a little too gray instead of the blue that i know you’ll have. there are too many creases where they’ve frowned too many times and are a touch too red from too much alcohol when i know you’ll have at least some idea of moderation. they’re all wrong because they’re not yours.

and i’m spending my nights listening to the different laughs riding the airwaves but they’re all the wrong
it's not what you think.this is just a bruise, don’t you understand? i drank too many diet cokes too quickly, i stood up when i should have been lying down, i stared at the sun for too long. i ran too long with my lungs begging to collapse, i fell down the stairs and swallowed my kidney. i just tripped. it was just a mistake. it’s not what you think it is.

and this, this is just heart burn, don’t worry yourself over it. i swallowed too many peppers without a glass of milk to coat my throat, i let the knife slip when i was cutting up the apple. i bit my tongue when i was running to catch the bus, i stayed under the bathwater too long until i was blue-
paper bridges_cdear jamie,


i’m looking out my window and watching the world come down in icy slivers and it’s making me think of that time when we ran down the road with nothing on but our swimsuits and laughter. we used to share everything. our clothes, our make-up, our books, our stories, our weaknesses, our time. now we just share memories and folded paper. but don’t worry, four years and we’ll be back on the same street and these letters will bridge the gap that distance tried to carve. we’re stronger than that. 



oh, i almost forgot to tell you! this morning i saw a guy that looked just like that ac
stolen lips still cry thief.dear you,

i’d like you to know what it feels like to have my words stripped away:

its like i’m standing in the middle of the street and you’ve peeled off my skin and it’s pouring rain and i’m steaming but i’m still not warm. it’s like you’ve cut my legs off at the knees and i’m hobbled and lurching haphazardly after you but i can’t catch you because you now have your limbs and mine. it feels a little like that.

and it’s like having my soul put on display for everyone to see and having you step all over it. it’s like you’re rubbing your toe down and cracking the spine of my dr
if i'm not living with youmy eyelashes are tied into knots and my lips are stapled together. i’m laying in the middle of the floor and i’m realizing that my hips are disintegrating from lack of use. my knees are knocking together and melting, my shoulder blades are flying towards one another but never touching. and my throat is simply rusting over from all the sea air i’ve been gulping trying to keep my lungs from suicide jumping.

{i cannot live without you, my body can’t stand the abuse of neglect}

my eyes are turning to salt and dissolving down my cheeks, burning the cracks in my chapped lips, leaving white traces along my jaw. my hair is snarl
can't promise what you want.“i think we can make this work.”

“i think we can too.”

“but you have to promise me something.”

“within limits.”

“promise me you’ll never leave the hand soap empty. promise me that when you see the faucet accidently leaking on the counter, you’ll take a towel and mop it up instead of just shrugging and walking away. promise me you won’t leave your jeans rumpled in the hall because they ‘didn’t make it’ all the way into the room.”

“i can’t lie, i can’t promise that. but i will promise to never leave your hands empty. i will promise that when your

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you missed a spot.

:iconcorina90:

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 who am i to deny you that pleasure?) so i oblige. i touch palm to side and it comes away wet. it comes away red. it is hot and sticky and although paid radiates through my side and down my spine, i cannot think past the way the color seeps through the cracks in my hand. my breath grows shallow and still i am mesmerized with the way that it spreads - fast in some parts and slow in others. like a virus, i think. how fitting.

you are laughing at the destruction and i wonder if you can see the beauty at all. i have known beauty and chaos and wonder in madness but this is none of this. this is joy in pain - this is celebration of agony. it is purposeful and deliberate and the sniper aim is sent to send reverberating shocks throughout the canyons of my red-soaked palms. it is the concentration of a sculptor and the reckless abandon of a painter. it is flinging acrylic at canvas, dragging ink across paper, pulling metal through wood.

it is the work of an artist. tragedy.

my shirt is soaked and my cheeks are dry. i cannot help but notice your finger on the trigger and the fact that my feet are no longer still in wonder. i am moving - i am running forward. i am jamming the gunmetal to the bottomside of my chin. screaming. i am screaming for you to shoot again. you missed a spot. hit me again and show me that you mean it.

show me that you have the power and you have the trigger and you can hurt me whenever you want simply because you can. because it amuses you. because you are cold and dark and you hate the glow of warmth that radiates down my back. you hate the sun-soaked world where i get to live. so pull the trigger and watch it explode. you will get to glory in the power that you have created, the reins that you have gotten to control and you will laugh at the colors seeping throughout the cracks. you are an artist, you will proclaim. you are an artist.

but still, you will not see - you never had the power at all.

in the end, it was me that pulled your hateful trigger after all.
(so shoot, baby, shoot: you missed a spot)
:iconcorina90:
{"you can take the money, you can take the ride
you can take it all but never get inside
you can't take my honor and you can't take my soul
you can't take the fact that you'll never have control"
--five finger death punch
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:icontoxic--sunrise:
~toxic--sunrise Oct 9, 2011
(so shoot, baby, shoot: you missed a spot)

that has to be the best ending ever. :heart:
Reply
:iconalterego1629:
*AlterEgo1629 Oct 7, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
The imagery in this is amazing. So powerful, and passionate. Awesome lyrics by the way; perfect band to inspire this mood.
Reply
:iconaieren:
~aieren Sep 22, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
Beautiful writing, as always. I especially like the ending, and the part about painters and sculptors and other artists :love:

I think you mean pain where you have written "and although paid radiates through my side" though.. ;)
Reply
:iconmadis-hartte:
*madis-hartte Sep 20, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
O_O Wow.
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:iconsiebenreapers:
~siebenreapers Sep 17, 2011
absolutely amazing..
Reply
:iconevalyhn:
~Evalyhn Sep 11, 2011
oh god.

i cant even begin to explain how this relates to me
Reply
:iconjessxcore:
~jessxcore Sep 10, 2011
i swear to god, your writing is like balm for my soul.
Reply
:iconiiixii:
~IIIXII Sep 7, 2011
Jesus ..
Reply
:iconmeghamuffin22:
~meghamuffin22 Sep 4, 2011
this is astounding. incredibly emotional. :heart: vivid, somewhat twisted, heart wrenching writing
Reply
:iconvickstahs:
~vickstahs Sep 4, 2011
my heart ached reading this. it's amazing.
Reply
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