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My BabySerene in your slumber
your eyes like twin commas
on a face that tells me
your heart is happy.
And I glow inside.
Be My PoemI live my life in poetry
for you are my muse--
your eyes are my couplets,
your heart an immaculate sonnet,
your lips like redolent lyrics
of a song only your voice can sing,
your hands are jingles
that tickles my laugh niches,
your kisses are a million haikus
succinct and sweet
always an unexpected twist
in every final line,
your love is a verse sublime
a ballad on an infinite loop
eternally enduring the ravages of time
with your metres and rhymes,
our life together an ode
to everything lush and beautiful
rapturous and blissful.
Every stanza I now compose
will be a paean to our lyricism
for I long abandoned prose
when I met you--
the most fulfilling poem I never did write.
A Quiet Marriageliving on the brink of ecstasy
every day a heady dose of bliss
the writing comes in fits
because the heart is bursting
so full of everything
i never could conceive
hence never did believe
i now live my days in withdrawal
from the rote and the mundane
my disdain for things that take me away
from the flickering flames
of our incandescent futures
fuels my quest to heal my sutures
i love how you join me
as we tear down wishful dreams
choosing to freely live
in the reality of our frailties
surging cresting crashing
against cliffs that smoothen
the knife edge of our possibilities
and you reach for me
as we melt into the spaces
of our innermost being
your voice a sweet rendition
of a union serenely cushioned
in our sublimity
LEAP WITH MECome with me where summers never end,
come where the skies are eternally blue,
where my love is stronger than the beacon bending the night sky with its light;
Come away with me where no one needs to know us--
who we are who we were
what we had and whom we knew,
come with me where the night is as lucid as morning
where our calling is our togetherness
and our togetherness is our strength.
I want to climb mountains with you
and to hell with where the roads lead us,
I want to take you to the edges of time
and let the world below know you are mine
as I scream your name through the cornerstones of our universe.
Take my hand and let me carry you with my imagination
to a land where kangaroos roam with the fishes
and there is joy to be had among our predators.
Don't be afraid because we are nothing if not already dead
to this world that gives us no life.
You will never know if you don't let go,
you will never know if you don't take this leap of faith with me--
take this plunge into the darkest
Letting Goi cannot sleep
because i could not weep
when i let you go
and you will never know
how deep the pain
into my soul
as i shed no tears
for the years
that were wiped away
in one evening's new year glow
and my sorries won't matter
when your life unfettered
by our differences
as i see you now
unshorn of me
and i lose myself
in your wretchedness
for there is no sleep to be had tonight
not next week
as i quietly weep
for the tears you cannot shed
on your side of our empty bed
O2 JamminA metallic staccato rhythm
punctuates my morning with electronic beats
and robs me of precious sleep,
as I peek
into his den of 02 Jams.
Intense brown eyes stare down
a waterfall of coloured tiles--
visual symbols of a sound
only he can hear in his head;
his face the steely gaze of a thoroughbred
about to breach the finish line,
his arms twin pistons
pumping tunes by tinkling keys
that keep time to tapping fingertips
and I watch his gaze fluctuate
from note to note,
his focus honed and remote.
With mouth slightly open,
lips slightly moistened
by sweat glistening
on the brow of his upper lip--
transparent beads of effort suspended on the precipice
of a place where kisses emanate
irradiating my face.
Watching him moves me
for he is my musician
and I, his music.
He plays me with the fervour of a Rachmaninoff
and strokes my keys like a tuneful caress
with dexterous fingers so nimble
they transmit a pitch so perfect
that I am a willing victim of its spell.
Forever imbued with the chords of
This ChristmasI shall reside in music;
let the carols move me
and make me
want to live through this day
even when I am dying inside
About drawing...After 4 hours of dreaming and drawing, I finally crystallized some of my thoughts about the impact that this practice has in my life:
is like a moment in time that you can stretch out like a ball of twine with a never-ending line of rope that never hangs you out to dry,
is taking a moment to feel the quite spaces of observation take hold of your soul and live there in plenitude,
is knowing your hand rules your head and your eyes are your brain,
is the knowledge that beauty resides in the most unexpected of places and things,
is seeing things amplified and magnified,
is enjoying the smallest particle of truth in the largest particle of sand as you make it grow larger than your imagination allows,
is seeing what's not there with powers of perception that transcend space and time,
is realizing that reality and fiction can mesh in that wonderful recess called your mind,
is bringing together very disparate ideas into a picture that speaks less of your abilities and more of your fe
Fallen.I wonder how many tears
Lucifer has shed,
when he sees the scars on his back
and remembers he once possessed wings.
Probably still less than me
when I look at your memories
and see the hollow space
from where you cut me out.
Arachnophobia.You caught me
in your web
spun oh so carefully,
in such a pretty
When you lured me,
all tangled up
you whispered your venom
in my ears
and injected your poison
into my heart.
I never hated spiders,
until I met
Endorsed By The Surgeon General.She was like cigarettes.
She took his breath
and filled his lungs with promises
that evaporated like
Empty Pages.You are the perfect story,
A plot unfurling from your touch,
And poetry in your eyes.
You speak with golden glory,
Into sentences of hate,
And promises of lies.
You are the book
I never had the words to write.
Galaxies in CoffeeI swear that there were galaxies swirling
in the cup of coffee I drank this morning
(The milky way was mixed
with milk and sugar)
And I swear that stars dot
your face like freckles
when you smile,
and that stardust is tangled in your hair
and is in your glittering eyes
But sh, darling,
don't say that isn't true.
Don't say a word and
as long as you're silent,
I'll paint it in for you
And you'll become my sun
and I will become a planet that
revolves around the you who
has become my creation
until I get sick of the taste
But SometimesSometimes I am not trying
to help you keep on
Sometimes I am tired,
my legs are heavy, and
I just want to wrap my arms
around your neck
and drag you down
(Down, down, down
onto the tangled bed sheets,
so you can drown
But I always
swallow my selfishness
along with my tears,
force my spine
and run no matter
how heavy my legs
Sometimes I pretend
that I am not human
because I love the way
your eyes shine like stars
when you smile
The Way We Are NowPlants grew out of
the dirt in our bruised lungs and
up through our fractured rib cages -
their unfurling leaves
peered out into the sunlight
And those thick roots sucked up all
the nutrients that were left,
leaving only soot
that ran through our fingers
at the first sign of
(That's why we've become
the way we are now,
But sometimes I
like to think that
our rib cages are made of weeds-
dandelions entangled together, or
tendrils wrapped around bones
and resilient when crushed,
they'll scream, "Don't you
dare give up now.
We will protect
the first poem about recoverymy depression is
a thousand days spent quietly breaking.
is hours drowning under bedsheets like boulders
in the poisonous sterility of hospital air
is skipped meals and skipped classes
the hollowness in my stomach and the blankness in my eyes but
i am more
than the sum total of my chemicals.
more than the razor-blade signatures
creeping across my shoulders,
the latticework of fine white scars traced over my forearms.
more than endless nights counting car crash promises
on the twisting back roads of this matchstick town.
the heavy green pills that stick in my throat like strangled poetry
fading scars and healing bruises.
blood and clay and splattered ink
shaking, scared, but never empty.
fragile, frantic, but never broken-
my smiles are s
For Two BoysI have imagined
how your hands would feel
playing my piano key spine
and my cello-curved hips,
and how your lips would feel
between the plateau of my shoulder
and the slope of my neck—
I hate myself for it.
I can mouth all of his stories,
read all of his expressions,
and tell you all of his favorites,
as if he is the language
I have spent years studying.
I don’t even know
your father’s name
or your favorite season,
and some girl could have
the lines in your hands,
freckles on your face,
and baritone of your voice
memorized and playing
on repeat in her mind.
Even though our class swears
that we’re madly in love,
I have not once wondered
what flavor his lips carry
or how his body would feel
pressed firmly against mine.
I don’t even deserve you
in my wildest fantasies
if she knows you like I know
and Plath’s poetry.
Sometimes I’m afraid
that when he catches my eye
from across the crowded class,
it’s because he wan
EpiphanyUnaware of the stares
your lips take mine in a dance
that gently caresses my tongue--
twirling pink tips tango,
gliding on sensations
that slide in between syllables of sweet endearment.
In that moment of headiness
I shut out the clink of cups and spoons
as your eyelashes blink a typhoon against my cheek;
I hear not the steam shooting froth into latte mugs
but revel in the softness of your kiss,
my breath emptied by your inhalation
as you suck my life into your own.
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More