[x]

Insomnia and Body PartsThere were
Timeless moments spent between us,
In those instants and hours before dawn;

That time when we traversed
So far away from this
Wretched house and into
The most delicious darkness
Of Andromeda-

That time before our tidal waves
Came crashing down on us again.

I would do anything to
Drown with you.

The softness of the flesh
Between your knuckles, the
Exquisite map of
Leigh-lines
On your palms;

They were like a lullaby
To my sleepy fingertips.

You used
The breath of your mouth
To teach me to close my eyes
And fall asleep.

Your contented whispers and
Observations of the sky
Showed me then how to dream.

I had no id

Comatose RendevousThe narrow spaces
Between typewritten letters
Are just large enough
To lay in.
You and I
Are crafters of flesh and bone;
Our skins,
Made of weathered canvas
And stitched together with
Sweet dreams on lonely nights.
Blood falls from your lips,
Staining those folded
Paper butterflies
You make so well;
I like to catch them
When they fall,
And toss them back into the air.
There are
Tiny,
Crimson-colored pieces of you
Splattered about the walls
And the inside
Of my mouth.
(You taste of melancholy,
And masked, uneasy lullabies.)
I would happily
Bear the red smears
Of your steady fingertips
If you run out of
Tattered parchment.
Allow me to
Spread my ashes
Over your ribs and
In the hollow of your throat;
You would look beautiful
Covered in faerie-tales
Made of soot.
I will sing to you as we write
A few more,
Peaceful endings
Across our
Broken bodies-
Beds of coal,
Disguised in silks,
Promise dirty wordsmiths breath
In the wake of
Sleepless morns
And restless eves.
I can see myself
Blowing melo

ApparitionLittle girl,
You have out-grown
Yourself, and these
Childish notions of
Monsters in the closet.

Each morning,
She holds her breath
Until the sun rises,
Because no one taught her
How to sleep
With her eyes closed.

There is this
Delusion about you;
A belief that if
You stay awake,
There will be no darkness.

It is damaging you.

She lays,
Cold and silent,
With her darkened fantasies,

And remembers a time
When she was not-so-
Softly breaking
Into unrecognizable shards.

Careless drifter,
You have found your only
Escape
From all the lifetimes
You were
Too fearful to live.

Rest now,
Frightened child,

Two Cents and Mirror ShardsShe wears her worth around her neck
In the form of
A penny
From ninety-three years ago
And rusty locks,
Strung on an iron chain,
Along with broken
Keys that go to
Nothing
She knows of
Any longer.

She finds them, on
Street corners and in forgotten,
Lonely places,
Treating them like
Precious treasures
And long-lost friends;
She hangs them near her core
To try and remember
Where all the pieces go,
Where they all come from.
Maybe one day.

Her window
Is made of a shattered mirror
In the hopes of
Being able to see
Something that isn't on the outside.
She is not sure
Exactly what that is
Yet.

None

A November Shade of GreyYou've got an Atlantic rainstorm
Churning against the inside of your ribs,
A storm of thought and unvoiced emotion.
It will escape your teeth one day,
Like a sudden hurricane of
Wishes and night terrors.
You are a tornado, encased
In delicate glass;
There is a power you know naught of
Underneath your fingertips.
Thunderheads gather, and lightning
Cracks the blackened sky,
Each time your heart skips a beat.
I pity the fools who cannot see
The majesty
Pressed against the edges of your
Gale-struck eyes.
Awaiting the end of another
Restless night;
You are the blizzard
That rattles my window panes.
A sweet temptation lingers
And I must remind myself
That a tempest is almost more lovely
In passing-glance.
I wonder how much warmer
I would be
Enveloped in snowflakes;
Is it truly calmest
At the eye of the storm?
Clouds of silver and ash
Cast down torrential waters:
Tears for ages gone by,
And those yet to come.
I think them
Too precious to lose-
Each one erodes a
Small piece of me away,
And yet

Lacklustre StardustPaint something with
Words
That hang just at
The tip of your tongue,

And cross the gaps
Between galaxies
With your fingertips,

The way you used to do,

Before the stars fell
And your bones turned to ash.

There used to be solar flares
In your breath, and
An icy vacuum,
Longing to warm,
Behind your eyes,

Before you fell into
That super-
Massive
Blackhole
That stole your light.

You traverse
Across the nothing
And everything
Of the cosmos,
Searching for what
You claimed to have
Never lost,

For the purpose of
Living in your past
(Before your stars fell).
This way,
No one will see
That the stars

FragilityHer bones
Are made of bullet-proof
Glass,
Latticed with cracks
And held together
By the darkening memories
From a thousand lives
Unlived.

Slowly, she
Is splintering.

Slips of paper-
The words she is supposed
To be able to say-
Turn to dust against her teeth
And float harmlessly
Between her ribs.

Blind eye sockets
Drift across her form
In the mirror,
Searching for something
That is less
Hollow
And transparent.

Each evening,
Her vertebrae fall apart,
Scattering,
One by one,
Across the floor

And she follows soon after.

Maybe
Tomorrow,
She will
Be able to stomach
Picking them up again.

And,

Phantasmal ExistenceHe bides his time between
Teaching little girls to smile and
Showing the sleepless
What nightmares are.

When he was a boy,
He was under the impression
That he had wings;

His naivete led him to believe
He could fly.

Spending the eternities before sunsets
Gathering imaginary feathers
And weightless syllables
Seems to mend the ageless wounds.

He is like a crescendo, the
Very crest of a wave as
The ocean swallows it up.

Writing pretty messages
On the inside of his mouth-
I try to tell him that he can't sing
With his tongue in his cheek.

There is a music box in his pocket,
To remind him of all the
Nonsense daydreams and
Meaningless lullabies he had once endured,
Over
And over again.

My arms and legs are scraped raw
From diving to catch his words
That just needed a push in the
Proper direction
In order to float.

I don't mind the aches;
A little blood
Never hurt anyone.

He has a way of
Leaving pieces behind,
Mindlessly lodging the

The Caged Bird's LullabySit and stay a spell,
Before life takes you
Away.
I am going to write a love story
Across your lungs
So you can exhale
Sweet things
When you can't
Find the words.

Sing to me
That pretty,
Tragic little song.
The one about how
She broke your name
And took your bones.
I will find each fragmented piece
And clean out
All the maggots.

My dearest,
Your windows are broken,
Cracked and tear-streaked.
Allow me to mend you;
Stained glass
Is far more beautiful
That just a pair of
Empty eyes.

Come outside
And we will dance
In the freezing rain.
We can help each other
Wash off all the poisons
Left cl

AbsurdityTo ponder upon pretty insignificancies
In the stead of heartfelt thunderstorms and
The castaways between tired brain cells
Seems to somehow
Make this ocean a little less daunting.
I've discovered that
The chemical nature of
Willow tree kisses in the wintertime
Is identical to that of
Cloud-watching in spring. It's silly to think
That there is such a thing as inspiration
Located in the spaces between his fingers
Or in the dance steps the wind must take
Over the hills and far away.
I've got
An ache behind my sternum, like
Some horrible, nameless disease, just as the mourners
Who walk the rows of gravestones
After twilight. Though, I cannot
Fill the stagnant air with the scent of rose petals
And corpses as they can. They sometimes
Appear to me as angels
Who have been caught in nooses
Made from petty,
Worldly desires. While they choke
Under the weight of their own bodies, I
Forget how to make his lungs work
And then my heart stops beating.
I think that the
Expanse between the back of my mi

Left UnsungHe has a pretty tune in his heart
With the lyrics plastered
On strips of delicate, ashen paper
That crumble at the slightest touch.

They hang against the
Edges of his lips,
Trying to pour out,
But ever uncertain
Of whether the wind will carry their weight.

Facing the Edge Unasked For"Kill me gently,"
You said.
And handed me the blade
Made out of all the things
We said we would do
Some day.

Some day was soon,
And then,
It was yesterday.

We have wasted
All of our "tomorrow"s;
I fear that, now,
As we face the edge
Of this universe,
We do not have the strength
To reach the next.

"You'll come with me,
Right?"

Staring at the bottomless pit,

I need to stay here
And day-dream a little longer
About each one of
Our
"What if"s
And
"We will"s.

I can pretend,
Just for a moment,
That we have happy memories,
Instead of
Simply swallowing my heartache.

Your assisted suicide
Will have

DistancesThere's a little girl made of glass with
Purgatory eyes. She
Can't seem to remember where
She's misplaced all those lovely words.
The mockingbirds and stellar jays, they
Cry out, "Little one,
You can't even recall the color of your
Chrysanthemums.
You've sharks' teeth in your blood and
Sewing pins in between your collarbones-
What do you know of
This world, anyhow?
Perhaps you are simply
Always asleep."
They watch her; she trades butterflies and
Midnight love letters for the
Ability to look without seeing anything.
She gives them one of her ribs
Every afternoon; they can
Use them much better
Than she ever will.

TerminalSometimes I feel as though I could drown staring up at the sky.
The rain would fill me up, and maybe the words that pour from my mouth
Could be meaningful.
I used to think I was a caged bird,
Before I realized that I was just stupid enough to be collecting feathers.
My wings are gone: I gave them away to someone who can fly much better than me.
(He's still trying to figure out how to get off the ground.
He'll get it one day.)
I traded this pulsing thing in my chest (I'm not sure what it's for, exactly) away to a boy who promised he'd love me in the wintertime; I
Await the snowfall with baited breath.
Laying in the bathtub, I wonder
What it's like at the center of a nebula, to watch stardust beget stardust,
Until the water is too cold.
He's got
A shipwreck smile and thunderclap heartbeats
(I break a little bit each time).
Nobody ever told me it was like a disease.

Spontaneous CombustionIt's silly to make masks out of porcelain, I know
But it has become like a filthy habit. (Where's the broom?)
I keep
Turning to dust in the middle of the night, and I always
End up with a broken mask and a dirty, fake smile to show for all the hard work I did
Picking myself up.
My soul feels empty, and my lungs feel full of ash, I'm smouldering inside-
I await the day my rib cage
Finally catches fire.
If it turn to smoke, I hope that I at least get to travel a little, maybe drift high enough into the sky that I could chase a comet or two.
I have always fancied that they see the most lovely parts of this universe.

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V.S.D. - 1 I hit the ground hard; simultaneously, I smelled my textbooks topple out of my bag and onto the dirty, linoleum of the high school hallway. Final period bell was always a bitch to me.
I am a senior! Am I not supposed to have perks?
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I made a mental note to rig my clunky headphones slightly louder when I got home, and scooped my belongings and myself up off the floor.
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Submitted: October 20, 2012
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Between Two States of Being

by *SomethingOnceSacred, Oct 20, 2012, 1:39:42 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

"Look," you said.

And I saw
The gap between the worlds,
One above, and one
Below the clouds.

The separation is slender,
But untouchable,
Uncrossable,
And even when I stand
At my highest point,
I can only ever hope
To receive
The slightest brush of water vapor.

Those below
Make the rain acidic
And then wonder why it burns them.

I have found a place higher
Than the tainted rain,
And yet,
I cannot reach the sun.

When you stood at
That peak beside me,
I watched
As you closed your eyes
And jumped
With such grace and faith;
I was almost startled
To see the ground rush up to meet you.

"Join me,"
You begged.
"The Earth is so beautiful from here."

For a moment,
I sought to be
As courageous as you were.
But, then,
I realized,
While I backed away from the edge,
That you were a misguided fool
To think you knew anything
Of the sky.

Between Two States of Beingby *SomethingOnceSacred

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

This was written perhaps a week ago now during the ebbing of a rather large thunderstorm.

I have a wonderful view of the clouds most times, and it was set just right so that it appeared as if the clouds were a separate world from our own. And I day-dreamed about trying to reach it, but not quite being able to.

It then occurred to me that it was such a shame that everyone located below the cloud cover did not have the chance to see such a thing.

It saddened me a great deal, to be honest.

--

-What do you think of while reading this piece?

-Is there a point in your life that you can relate to it?

-Do you have a favorite part?

-Least favorite part?

© *SomethingOnceSacred

love 2 2

joy 1 1

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~little-bird-bones Oct 22, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

^{i like this piece a lot (:
the imagery is quite beautiful. structurally speaking, i think that's my favorite part.

When you stood at
That peak beside me,
I watched
As you closed your eyes
And jumped
With such grace and faith;
I was almost startled
To see the ground rush up to meet you.

this is my favorite stanza bcos the wording is brilliant. i can almost see it happening as i read it through. this stanza offers a lovely image (:

what i found in this piece, however, was a hint of superiority complex...or even slight condescension, maybe. i'm not sure if it's the tone of the piece as a whole, or if it's coming from a few lines scattered throughout. it's not a strong tone, but--at least to me--is something that i couldn't shake until the very last stanza. i might just be reading this incorrectly, though ;;

i have to say that i like the flow of this piece. the final stanza, the stepping away from the unknown, was unexpected. it was the perfect ending (:}

*SomethingOnceSacred Oct 22, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Oh, gosh. XD; Thank you so much, dear! I'm so glad you did. That makes me so happy I can even tell you.

And I always appreciate it when you share your thoughts like this. ^^ Absolutely makes my day. There is no better feeling in the world that for me.

No, no, it's entirely possible for it to be read that way. While that isn't exactly the way I had written it, there is no wrong way for someone to read it, I think. I love hearing the differences between perspectives like that.

And I can definitely see where you might take those 'condescending' figures and tones from it.

Thanks so much, love!

it really means a lot to be that you put so much thought into it XD

~TheMoorMaiden Oct 21, 2012 Student Writer

I really liked the imagery in this, and I loved this stanza in particular:

Those below
Make the rain acidic
And then wonder why it burns them.

The first line acts as a great hook, and I like your narrative voice very much.

Great work!

*SomethingOnceSacred Oct 22, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you very much, dear! I'm so glad you liked it. ^^

To be truthful with you, I was really sort of indecisive over the voice of this one, whether it'd be written in the third or first person, and I tried it both ways, and, shockingly, thought this one flowed better.

I normally don't do things that narrate in such a way, so I'm glad it seems to have gone over well!

~TheMoorMaiden Oct 22, 2012 Student Writer

You're very welcome.

*sentienttree Oct 21, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Absolutely lovely. Favorite part is 4th, 6th, and last two stanza, sorry I can't be more specific, but really the whole thing is very well done.

*SomethingOnceSacred Oct 22, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Oh, gosh XD;

Thank you, deary! I'm so glad you enjoyed it so much!

~cerealnovels Oct 21, 2012

Wow, very powerful!!!

*SomethingOnceSacred Oct 22, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks so much, dear! I'm glad you enjoyed it! ^^

~TheFS Oct 21, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I really enjoyed this. In my view, although it's a poem about clouds and thunderstorms, it can actually relate to many different aspects of life. I mean,
Those below
Make the rain acidic
And then wonder why it burns them.
is actually very true for a lot of things. Doing something that you know will hurt you, but you do it anyway.

At first reading it, I didn't think it was that good, but it really is. It's beautiful. Thank you.

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