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One Day His Life Will Be a Classic.There's sorrow
on his lips,
in his eyes.
Each scar on his wrist,
speaks in fatal monologue.
He lives a tragedy
Shakespeare could write.
rain.i still have buckets in my room
from when you poured your heart out.
plastic pails full of pain and love
and lust and tears and names and smiles.
i don't know why i keep them...
maybe i hope one day you'll come back
to claim them.
or when i'm being really dumb
i let myself hope that you'll come back anyway
december.and when they take me
to the morgue,
will you see the difference
between my skin and the sheet?
and when they close my eyes
please be standing over me,
so that your face
will be the last thing they see.
and when those tears fall
down from your face
pour them on my lips,
so i can take you with me.
and when they look away
caress my bloodless face,
give me one last gush of
and when they bring the casket
gently tuck me away to sleep,
read me one last story
from that book atop the shelf.
and when they place me in the ground,
beneath six feet of dirt,
leave your footprints in the snow
and please don't let them melt.
and when I fall to hell
i'll be waiting at the gates,
but darling please take your time
there is no need to rush.
friday night.on our first
you took me to a cemetery
just outside of town.
i guess you wanted to
what you would do to me.
this can't be pain, it hurts too much.i always fall addicted
to dangerous things,
but at least cigarettes
warn me on the label.
your smile read only innocence,
but i guess that's my fault
what's winter?i no longer have a heart,
because i wore it on my sleeve
of the sweater i just happened
to leave lying upon your floor.
Recast.It's not natural
for a corpse to be
and a living soul
to be so cold.
Let's switch places;
allow me to lie in your
while you sleep
in my bed.
NothingI heard someone sarcastically sputter,
"You are what you eat."
But hearing that sole sentence
allowed me to finally understand
why I am
what I am:
TonightBring me to life
With your touch.
Love me now,
Forget me later.
Set me on fire
With your lips,
Into my soul.
At least for tonight,
Let me feel again.
the boy i used to write poems aboutTHIS POEM IS NOT ABOUT LOVE.
you took the posters off the walls for the first time yesterday,
moved the bed back into the corner and stocked up on that tea
you love but i’ve always disliked. opening
the blinds used to be a sin but now they drown the room with sunlight,
causing your hair to turn that ugly dirty-blonde color i absolutely hate.
last night, i heard from a friend you got the job at that fancy newspaper
and you’re finally going vegan - don’t let me forget to tell you your risk
of heart attack will double, maybe triple.
i haven’t gotten an email in twenty-four days. oftentimes,
you don’t realize you're falling apart because you're in the process of falling apart.
my mother came over to help me move into my new studio.
we pushed the bed (mattress, you claimed the frame) into the middle of the room
and put on new sheets. these don’t smell like you, not that
i could even smell-taste-hear-see-feel these days.
you stole my heart and bed frame an
I Loved A GirlI loved a girl – she smelled like August melancholy,
she carried the scent of festival emotions,
tempered by the midnight flames
and fireflies' glow.
I loved a girl – her hair, the gentle hue of embers,
reflected dancing candlelight,
while in her eyes, as brown as mahogany,
I discovered tiny galaxies,
but most importantly – I saw my smile.
I loved a girl – I sensed her heartbeat,
playing to the rhythm of my breath.
Her every word,
imprinted tender cherry blossoms,
onto my soul.
I loved a girl – her lips tasted like morning air
cool against my heavy forehead,
her skin, softer than satin threads,
played games with the waning moonbeams -
its gravity, I could not resist, like the Sun,
cannot escape the zenith, on Summer solstice.
I loved a girl – she made me happy,
and sadly - I love her still.
i didn't hold on tight enoughI held onto you
because I was afraid of
letting you go,
but you slipped out
of my arms
when I wasn't looking.
.twenty three nightmares of being
on the operating table,
my surgeon mumbles something about getting right
to the heart of things, i might feel a little sting not unlike
that one i got on my wrist when i was
younger, but no, that's not working,
would it be okay if he were
to dig a little deeper? -
something crawls up and over the edge of
the bed, yes she did cartwheels
at the crematorium because
sadness was never that much fun anyway
and to be honest it was cold and a little too quiet
inside, there was no need to kiss her
on the forehead again - and if you bump
into the evil, sister, come and let
me know -
about how i wanted to
slip through that crack in the pier and smash through the
stained glass surface of the sea,
shatter and curl up on a pew with the eels below
and simply flounder, watch the world from
underwater, grow some
i'm not really sure why it's that big a deal
if i'm sick -
this is my body and
this is my love
just another adolescent love poemlet’s get this straight right now:
there are people i can only talk to
at four o’clock in the morning, when
the line between decency and secrecy
becomes just as blurred as the one between
night and day.
you’re not one of them.
i’m not ashamed of you.
or scared. and don’t try to tell me that’s not
a miracle because i still check under the bed
for monsters and behind the shower curtain
for serial killers. i know it’s all in my head
but things like that make me terrified;
i mean, i still hold my breath crossing by a cemetery
and someone else is always going to have to kill the spiders.
i’m hoping that someone will be you.
which i’m also hoping i’ll never accidentally tell you
because it’s like i lose all cognitive reasoning
around you, even when we’re fighting.
you split me down the middle, half of me wanting
to tear out your femur and beat some sense into you
and the other half wanting to give anything,
even the foun
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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