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SUBJECT #300 (Part 2) Andi fell to the ground. Hard. She whined and curled into herself. Her back and shoulder felt as if they had been jammed into each other and she could already feel a bruise forming on the side of her chest.
She draped an arm over her face to block the harsh sunlight. But it also blocked air flow and she immediately inhaled a large amount of dirt and dust. Sputtering, she sat up; decidedly the only safe way to position herself. The harsh movements racked her sore spots and her eyes zapped open, on the brink of tears, from pain.
Andi tugged uncomfortably at the clothes she was wearing, her blouse was a grey long sleeved t-shirt, covered by a black hooded vest; they were both durable, ready for wear and tear. Her pants were a light brown color, the material was thick, heavy duty with many pockets. The shoes she wore
The EarthI love the snow, capping you like a hat
I love the rain, like a shower I wish it would wash the grime away
I love the ocean, like a small puppy it licks your face
The trees are your hair
The Antarctic is your feet
The cities are your teeth
The ground is my gold, so rich
The sun is my God, life endearing
The rivers are my wells, sweet water
The planets are my Aunts and Uncles
The Sun is my Father
You are my Mother
The Broken PenThis broken pen will write the words
All by itself
Inking through all the pages
Dripping down my thumb
The strokes so beautiful
Will turn this page alight
Drifting over the lines
Sinking into the crease
Pages torn madly away
Mend back with black stitch
Years of notes, of friend's names
And finally done
So I close the black notebook
And begin again
In white chalk
stupid love poems for stupid boys.he was the
smoke in my
saved for when
i'm so lonely
that i cannot
but the problem
with giving your
heart to a boy
with a pack of
for ribs is that
he will want your
well– and after
all that blood and
blue lip kisses,
he will leave you
with a coughing
lighter and a
burnt tongue (but
it's really a great
Soles (Forest Girl)Soles (Forest Girl)
i didn’t believe in carving initials into trees.
i always told you that was corny to me.
i told you i was a city boy,
comfortable in car drafts
and gleaming lights
that dilute natural shine.
to the sight of airplanes,
police cars and helicopters
than anything else.
but you dreamed of wings
so much bigger than aspect ratio,
so much wider.
you were higher.
so that day you took me there,
i knew i was out of my element.
your forest stories teased me;
sitting on the edge of your shoe soles.
and that riverbank that you tiptoed on.
little smirk always flashing your white pearls
when you were whisking through this place.
holding my hand in a tight grip
as you gave me a tour of your hidden burrow.
i had never been so in--
and out of place before.
the atmosphere was brisk
glancing the hairs on my neck,
goosebumps rising on my skin
as i swore feathers fell from your shoulders.
purple streaks nuzzle orange bands
that hold together golden twines
homesick for childhoodshe was a carefree little girl
with smiles hidden deep down
in her pockets, and she'd only
give them out to the most deserving.
when the quarter hour of her life
struck, however, things changed.
her world was painted black
on accident, millions of shades
turned ashy due to a sickness
that breeds on those empty
spaces between words.
she was dropped into summer
covered in homemade scars,
and with summer, her innocence
was eaten away.
pinned to a bed
like prey, she watched herself
consumed into another
(this world is the 7 a.m. frost
left on winter windows.
and it scares me)
The Cracks Of RealityI traced the tips of my fingers over her porcelain
Felt the skin raise in bumps of sensation.
My mouth fit so well into the crook of her neck
And as her her eyes closed, her breathing shaky,
I found myself swallowing and my heart beating twice as fast.
As her hips rolled into me, as her nails clenched into the sheets,
She told me once more that she loved me, and I assured her I felt the same.
But then reality came, settling into the cracks of my fantasies.
And she slipped from my fingers.
And I was alone.
the days spent on the front stepsevery time you rip the lid off
the shell of styrofoam
questions your motives.
every secret you whisper into her naphthalene
stays there. it dies a little
as protein is scrambled. home is not a place.
her curve is ejected
as unidentified. it is bile
rolling back, the sheet of ebbing tide.
you always speak of horses
armoured, whisky clattering on their breath,
kingdoms burning and knights
riding off into the valley of deep sleep
you always speak of ships
leaving, pearly cord
as a farewell extending from coast
to hull forming an image of crying Mary
it shines in front of you
it calls out your name
The woman from ParisI took much pleasure in losing my way in Paris' morbid and dangerous streets,
Where sole the high arrogant walls whispered me words I was able to understand,
These stretches of granite trapped me like the grave I've always dreamt of.
The Ladies' ice-cold and distant beauty inebriated me with all the bitterness of temptation;
Under a dirty, driving rain, I gazed at them and suffered
While the parisian mist permeated on my heart its burning frostbites,
And hearses of madness couldn't stop from parading through my mind.
"Veux-tu voir la face cachée de Paris ?" - A slender voice dragged me out of darkness
The Seine flowed, flowed, flowed...And stopped.
Her voice, like a carillon, announced Summer's return,
The breeze blew the rain, the sun revived these leaves dead for centuries,
As if she saved me from a waking nightmare.
"Je t'en prie, ne me regarde pas comme ça..." - An embarrassed smiled was being painted on her magenta cheeks
That was her, th
but he loves meshe says, "sweets, pay attention:
just because he kisses the bruises on your skin,
don't make up for the fact he gives 'em to you."
when the day is done i'll be goneIn my fingertips is the devil
Daring me to touch what is not to be touched
And I care not, reaching through my own open ribcage
To touch what lies between inflating balloons that are my lungs-
In my ears echo your voice,
Begging me not to reverse the corruption in my heart
And I care not, reaching between my lungs to grasp my heart with my inked fingers
To release the sigil stitched deep into the veins of my heart.
Neutron StarPoetry alights on my heart like dew.
I wake up on a cloud
and the silver lining is my sun
shooting insight into my star-crossed eyes.
I swallow it with a dose of daydreams:
take as often as needed,
which is often as much as the Milky Way wants,
The cosmic doctor comes to visit
laughs at my insecurities
and cries at my confidence
and spins me around on my axis
until my cloud settles on my skin
where I'm fallen and nestled in bleary morning wildflowers
And the supergiant gone critical
and the moisture sapped from oceans of hope
in my verdant blanket.
I burrow deeper
into waking aether
pluck a quill from a dazzle-bird drifting by,
and sticking a spile into the skyflowers,
I pour my lifeblood ink
onto papyrus laced with whimsy.
The SleepShe meandered into the bitter room, bushed as typical by an extensive day’s drudgery.
The latest of the fall’s cicadas twittered from the lively oak in her yard.
She fastened the window, red hangings relaxing to a stationary posture.
She transferred into her night attire, slack, silky.
Turned out the light.
And plunged into the crisp white.
Embraced by the pristine coverlets.
Enfolded into the feathery bedspreads.
Immersed by a downy pillow.
Drown from the tired imaginings of obsolete.
All in zeal to begin over tomorrow.
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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