[x]

Therapists, I don't like their taste.i.
in 7th grade
i didn’t know depression
until she told me her name,
carving forever scratches
along my limbs like
little love notes on the bark
of a tree.

she stole my rings
and left me hollow.

ii.
i had only ever met anxiety
in passing, until one day
he handed me power and told me
to hurt someone else with it.

iii.
inexperienced,
with an uncontrollable
quivering in my fingers,
he whispered, “ to survive,
you must learn quickly.”
as i shoved the bevel of a needle
into a strangers arm.

iv.
so, if a therapist
could talk away my scars
like iodine disinfects,
guide the ships
through

Please,don’t make me
fall in love with you,
again.

I don’t want to remember you,
those Sunday morning
wake-me-up kisses,
or the way your
lost boy eyes always,
always found a way
to find mine.

There are only so many times
I can allow you to slice
through my scar tissue
before I finally

fall
ap art.

lion boyi knew a boy with
eyes of gold & fire
in his footsteps.

he would roar to the
stars, declaring himself
as fearless as a king
& as regal as a lion.

"ad lucem,"
he would announce
every night when leo
would coax the virgin
from her radiant
castle.

five times around the
sun & loyal fangs bared
to shield his kingdom,
my lion boy
dances with flames.

ExposureThe wind invites itself
from underneath my door,
it reaches under
it pulls open-
the leaves come in.
A bird hops over the
threshold and tilts its
head in quick, informative
motions.

The rains follow in
after the wind and
now I have to reason with
both the animals and the storm.

Those abandoned wooden barns
with one wall collapsed,
overgrown with vines and ferns.
The epitome of giving in.

I close the door
and all the windows,
leave it to the glass
to challenge the rain.

That little bird,
somewhere in here,
is searching for where
the wind has gone.

Thunder knocks
once, then
twice.

I imagine lying
on the hood of a car
beneath the desert su

i shouldn't write when i'm stonedpeople say you're
an asshole. but that's
okay because people say
i'm an asshole, too. maybe
that's one of the reasons
you love me and i love you.

but i think more than that,
i think the biggest reason
we're drawn to each other is
that neither of us fit anywhere.
we are both lonely. and we are sad.
but we don't care, and we love it.

we are good at being
alone. we are good at
being together. if i could,
i would paint a picture
of two souls tethered close
but sitting in separate rooms
and i would point to it. then you
would understand why we will
never come apart.

Translucentand you always see right through
I've called it my masterpiece
but you've disapproved
you told me that you always preferred natural sunlight
to the dim sort of darkness I surround myself with
you've disapproved but I'm scared that it won't matter anyway

ExperimentalistShe always said she was
An experimentalist.
I knew otherwise.
This girl was raised to
Believe that the ability of
Counting the bones in your
Rib cage is beautiful.
Sixteen years old
With sand in her blood
And shoulder blades
As sharp as knives
As long as wings.
That day I knew
Her smiles were painful
And her laughs were just
Recorded in her throat
From so much practice
In a life that was once
So happy.

A little punk rocker with a gift for singing songsGirl with the rock and roll smirk curled behind her teeth
Burning her insides for fun because there wasn’t much else to do
Aside from skipping stones across car parks
And sipping the last dregs of forbidden liquor
Behind broken trees to keep up the act of normality

Late at night when the moon is asleep
She lies on dismantled bed frames
Counting stars because lambs are too often sent to the slaughter
Lucky star heartbeats and posy veins
Hides broken windows behind her pupils

Ceiling lights tracing patterns on her cheekbones
As late night contemplation's lead back to Rome
Atlas limbs curled into her ribs
With a sense of obligation she

String TheoryThis is determination,
existential numbness in which
I drown from the paranoid spittle
of that dreary-eyed girl
lost in the mirror.

Jesus,
what would you do

if you saw me now, all grown in
to my predetermined curves and
the nihilistic fabrications knotted in my skin.

Maybe you still want to be
a brain surgeon. Maybe you still
weep when you’re happy and stop
when you’re lonely, drooping over like
the puppet no one remembered. Maybe
you still smoke like it’s a defiance, and love
like it’s a war; maybe time preserved you
like a corpse in formaldehyde, and maybe

you still think of me,
too.

Pack rats I want to be
that
stale as bread,
peeling
picture of her
that you
stow(ed) away
in the beating
of your breast
pocket

this habiti have this habit of thinking without thinking.

my mind will be walking down a road
between cities

while i am plugging away at the factory,
while i am putting groceries away.

if someone were to ask me what i was thinking,
i wouldn’t know what to say.

i would have to wait hours,
long after they’ve gone,

until my mind comes through the door,
tracking all manner of shit onto the floor,

and explains himself.

Love LettersWith their condescending ink
They wrote patterns of gold
Upon parchment leather paper
Within letters of words foretold

Perhaps with this envelope
And its rose tainted scent
I can find peace in myself
In the summer days spent

Where I took in the musky smell
Of your heart.
As I held it against my chest
I picked up a pen and began to start

Dear love, oh love
How I wish to see your lovely face
These days, these mornings are
What keep me hoping in sovereign grace...

AdultsI envy those people
who leave home
at eighteen
and live like twenty-five year olds,
looking out for themselves
like folks did in the good ol’ days,
drinking whiskey straight,
driving all night with no limits,
loving and fucking without apology,
never having to remind someone
that they’re old enough—
Goddamnit, they’re old enough
and if they’re not cut loose
they’ll suffocate to death

without ever having breathed
on their own.

Sea sonnet for the girl with ocean eyesShe was southern Californian storms
On a good day
When the skies nursed the shoreline like a wound
And the rain tasted like two scoops of mint chip ice cream

She held the nebula in her palms
And poured it out onto the sidewalk
So that the gutters would have something
To talk about at night

She swallowed the ocean
And held it in her eyes
deep pools
Of mountain rock blue straining against the sky
The bluest eyes I’d ever seen
Sparrow girl with the breathless wings

Embellished in vinyl’s and cassette tapes
Gramophone gilded lashes and half-moon wrists made up
Paper tapestries taped together with Shakespeare and Green

Sunday mor

Alaska is hiding behind her eyesA girl caught up in the same game
Where circus tricks and trapeze artists
Are nothing compared to the burning of lungs
Where insomnia stains the people’s smiles
In a pale wash of sea foam angst bottled up and thrown
Into the horizon where the sky meets the earth
In a disjointed seam

She had hurricane rage eyes
And wishbone sleeves pulled tightly across her chest
To suppress her Medusa heart from cracking
The stars open and drinking their flames

Ocean funeral where Chaconne
Is played to sirens and sea urchins
Coiled beneath the oily depths of seascapes
Where her kite string spines push against the thin membrane
Of split grin skie

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Smiling In The Arms of DeathIn my arms
Mourn the passing time
Cry in the dark
Why must we die?

Well?Is the answer no
My head pounds
With the effort of it all
Thrust the knife so far inside
That all eyes weep
At my demise

Be born anew
After the night
Blackest pitch as
The light burns out
The stars illume the sky
Remembrances of things long past

Begin to fill your mind
Once when dusk
Meant day should end
I loved yet hurt you so
My life is yours
As stars collide.

BurningThe song of songs
Comes from your lips
As angels weep
Yet smile from the knowledge
That you and I
Belong so much together
That the flame we have wrought
Burns to highest heaven.

Feeling ThisIn the darkest night
Your kisses stir the fire inside
In my arms you lie in rapture
In your violent need of me

Drunk on you
My heartbeat loud
A rhythm pounding
Strong and proud

Still, so still
The world outside
This moment dwelt in
By you and I

Lay with me
I need you here
I love to
Hear you breathe

Here in my arms
As fireflies take wing
Under the heavy moon
Silence covers our sweet sins.

EnchantmentOn your knees
My pretty one
Most precious love
Before me fall

I shall love you
More each day
Let us become one
Until night turns to day.

BelongingI am your God
Relinquish yourself
Bow down before me
I give you everything
You need to exist
Love and hate
Care and fear
Believe me
When I tell you true
Your heart belongs to me
You shall know my power still
When the sun and moon have ceased
Their dance in the eternal round.

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Realisation

by ~mercurius11, Dec 13, 2006, 12:13:21 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

What will you think of me
If I shed these tears before you
Agonising and wishing
For an escape from all
That brings hate to my days
Take the juvenile option
And go to ground
My duvet ever was for hiding under
Yet what becomes of those
Who opt not to seize at life
For all the anguished cries
Fairness never entered this
No prisoners and no second chances
Once the moment has gone
Awake and rout the sleeping hordes
The time has come to make good
Of words.

Realisationby ~mercurius11

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

A realisation that railing against thin air is pointless - get up and get on with it.

~0-Carrion-0 Jan 5, 2007 Writer

I fell in love with this on the first read, and on the fourth time I read through I realized this is what moved me so:

_{"My duvet ever was for hiding under

Yet what becomes of those

Who opt not to seize at life"}

These that hooked me, allowed for the encumbent power-punch at the end, which you delivered with marksman-like precision.

The entire piece is actually written to perfection; Such a marvelous marriage of words and heart. Even more, I love how the body is continuous. This form you've chosen speaks in equal volumes to the context---and that I find most intriguing.
As with all of your work (which I read from my ~Happytimes-77 account), it's always your emotional intellect that comes creeping through your phrasing, enlisting your voice with a superb amount of persuasive power that is ultimately undeniable. This one is not lacking in that respect. Of course, this piece isn't lacking anywhere.

I'm secretly a huge fan of your work... if you can't tell.
Oh man. I just outed myself.

~mercurius11 Jan 7, 2007 Hobbyist General Artist

I really don't know what to say - thank you so very much for a wonderful comment to this piece. I write from an emotional viewpoint and often from bitter experience in the case of some of my writing. How does the Reef song lyric go? ''I've been down, but i've come back brighter!"

I so appreciate all comments, especially yours as I am a massive fan of your work too

~0-Carrion-0 Jan 8, 2007 Writer

Ohhhh stop. You're by far the more talented artist between us... so I'll hear no more of that.

Stay brilliant.

~mercurius11 Jan 9, 2007 Hobbyist General Artist

I think we should be a mutual appreciation society

~0-Carrion-0 Jan 9, 2007 Writer

Can we form an actual society with only two memb------*suddenly realizes he has like 9,000 personlaities*----never mind.

Good idea! I'd like to nominate you as Director in cheif. All in favor, say Aye!

Aye!!

Hah! Majority rules.

~mercurius11 Jan 11, 2007 Hobbyist General Artist

Hmm - can you imagine the introductions? "Hi, i'm - wait, who am I this morning?". I had a team meeting today at which we all had to be a fruit and go and chat to other people voted the same fruit as you. God only knows how I got to be a pear!

~0-Carrion-0 Jan 11, 2007 Writer

lmfao!

~mercurius11 Jan 12, 2007 Hobbyist General Artist

I know, who on earth thinks up these meeting strategies anyway? I am more than happy to talk to people without having to be a FRUIT to start a conversation. Ugh. At least we didn't have group hugs or pass the orange. I think I would have hidden in the ladies...

(1 Reply)

~samisi Dec 13, 2006

I like this incredibly much. I should probably take the advice too.

~mercurius11 Dec 14, 2006 Hobbyist General Artist

Hehe - I think I should take my own advice too sometimes! I can talk big...!

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