[x]

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,

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

To the Silver Moon[To The Silver Moon]
Shining brightly silver moon
From a crescent to full bloom
Up above the Earth so high
Like a lonely seeing eye
There was a dream all men shared
To stand on you and look back here
All through the ages that we dreamt
Till *god took us, so we went
Wars and battles you saw all
Life and death with no recall
But still you shine on with hope
The kind that we do not deserve
All the things from up there
And what we disregard down here
Sea of blue and brown patches
Filled with the mess of progress
Stepping off-world was a dream
Uniting the divided
Scars left by meteorites
Now joined by rubber soled prints
Sky's the limit wasn't true
A portal to the stars
The legacy left on the Earth
Can be continued from afar

Kirsten Z. Jacob

Open EyesI want mountains to tickle my shoulder blades
and make me giggle.
I want to wear sunshine like a scarf;
To spend days hanging onto each of
your words
in turn,
tasting them like clouds taste
lightning

FableMoon cloaks
fallen from
shoulders,

(and you are)

left clad in only
the softest of
shadows.

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

The Riverthe grooves of her old skin
are filled with the forgotten languages
of a thousand lost peoples,
abandoned by gods trapped in their infancy.
she carries the weight of these memories downstream
and carves their stories into the sides of cliffs;
but we have forgotten how to read her words—
braille-spells and earthen-magick
—her belly is full and sick,
and we are illiterate children
basking in the afterthought of our own ruin.

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.

admittance is defeatthey called you beautiful

with porcelain eyes about to crack
and cigarette skin crumbling
away, a knotted spine and
jagged smile:

you were never gracious.

you're slipping underneath, this
virulent smog masks a paper sky that
never allowed a dream and

you're afraid because it's soaking in
your pores again, unattainable and unoriginal;
the meaning of life never meant enough-

you were never hopeful.

there's a getaway map on the underside
of your pillow, and a lifetime of secrets
on the underside of your bones

you're a walking travesty:
your chest ticks, dull
your wrist beats, dying
time is keeping you but

you were never pa

Broken RecordI talk excessively.

And when they reply in a casual sort of manner, I preen and I bask in the acceptance, and I keep talking, about everything and absolutely nothing. They cannot stand the noise, the white noise, the blurring sentences that spur forth with pathetic hope and they cannot be nice.

They are beyond that. They are above it. Aren't they?

And they say, "Can't you ever stop talking?"

And I say, falsely, "Of course I can."

But I do not want to, secretly.

Secretly, I like to talk, in a guilty, shameful sort of way.

And I can't stop the compulsion to be accepted with returned words, with s

TheismThe black widow martyr
drips misery across the scenery
while the sky bleeds acid into unmarked graves
and headstone cracks
[[with worm hole veins]]

Her flesh is tissue paper
creased in four dimensions
but she remembers her prayers
and questions her motives
[[does she still believe?]]

Today, the rope is playing God

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

DreamsWhat wonders the imagination can bring
With opened ear and untamed eye
Dreams that we shall toss and fling
And float about towards the sky

By luminous light of thought
Day and night will awaken newly
And become what you have sought
To find your most distant Thule

Never letting go of that which we cherish
The spirit of innocence and truth
Why without it, what would we but perish?
In the darkness of lost youth

ClichesIgnorance Was Bliss,
Until Curiosity Killed the Cat.
Turns out Reality Hits like a Steamroller.

and love becomes their songthe dark, seething, crimson rose
begged for your touch
upon her twisting, cutting,
luscious vine

"Bleed for me,"
she pleads,
"restore the color to my petals
winter's thieved."

she splays herself
before your palms
"Breathe of me,"
she requisitions,
"house me in your loving lungs
so I can be your song."

so you reach for thorny vine
and she wraps herself around you;
drinking of your vigor-
as you place renewed petals
before your face
and breathe her seed
into your waiting chest

"Water me,"
she sings,
"let me drink of you
in a new way."

and without waiting
for your bated
yes-
she tightens her spiny grip
around your flesh
and tears water the

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More from *SomethingOnceSacred

Three Thousand and OneI'm selfish, you know;
Even if you asked me, I wouldn't
Give any of those happy little lies back, and even
If you told me not to
I'd keep all the bits you left behind
In a shoebox under the bed. Because
To remember something from far,
Far away or the bottom of my skull
Is better than remembering nothing at all.
You're freckled with lovely things-
A splattering of a night's stars and one
Million comets- and I'm
Caught in a sea of forget-me-nots between
Two of your ribs. You're too vast
For a ragdoll like me; I had once
Been a candle that knew naught of burning or
Those fires you spoke about so often. And
Now I hate
Myself for not saving any of my wick
For the comet man.
I'll promise I'm not used up, as
If it would make it true again. And you'd
Tell me I'm not wounded anymore
Because your optimism's an illusion
And you don't want me
To out-grow you and all those
Pretty things we said about the horrible sky
And the spaces between our fingers.
But you won't recognize me one day
And I can f

A Pair of Fool-Hardy Maggots
I met a man several nights
Ago and I cannot yet be bothered
To remember his name. He
Speaks in silky ribbons, without a
Single care in the world, so (un)
Blissfully unaware of how beautiful-
How awkwardly charming he truly is.
We spoke about philosophy, about our
Fears- his worries- far beyond
The hour I stopped watching the clock.
"Show me your city," I said, and he told me
There was nothing for me there, but fog and
Dismal happenstance. I replied that I knew
The fog, that I was in love with it, once
Upon a lifetime ago.
He
Shared his
Dreams with me, and lack
Thereof; I was flummoxed at the time.
Who was I to this broken chrysalis who'd found me?
A simple stranger from across the pond with
Ink in her stomach to be
Regurgitated-
A child, no more or less,
That's afraid of such things as
Not being good enough to remember.
There was talking of sleep, how wretched,
Fickle it was, of suicidal minds, of wandering hearts,
Of the body, what a lovely canvas the flesh is.
I think I'll

Some DayI could learn how to fix you, but you won't let me. You always say it wouldn't be good for me
To grow up too fast. If I could, I'd do so
Just to see you happy again.
But I am a child, of course. So what could I know of such a thing?
I could learn to put you back together again, I will, rather. Just as soon as I can. I promise.
If it was up to me
You would never
Be broken
Again.
Some day
I will be enough.

Only a DreamIf I was not a coward, I might have said something about the knife in my back by now. I might have
Told you what internal bleeding feels like,
But, I have to wait until I
Get my spine back- I don't remember who I've lent it to, or when I gave it to them.
I've thought about painting my words on you, writing all the beautiful things about you across your shoulder blades for everyone to see. It
Would have been in my sloppy, unsteady hand, and it would have been washed away the next
Evening with all the dancing in the rain you do
But somehow, I don't think you would mind so much.
I am a coward, though, so I couldn't do
Any of those things.

Sterling and TarnishedYou're a knight
In shoddy, bruised armor
Made from porcelain and burlap and
All the
Beautiful, melancholy obscenities- those
Three-syllable hammers to
The back of my skull. My
Heart stopped in the middle of the night
And I never ceased to smile.
We spoke of learning and teaching
As I day-dreamed
About your hand in mine, about
Hushed reassurances and I wondered when
This "soon" you spoke of would be,
How many breakers I will be
Swimming by
To reach pretty words
From a lifetime ago;
There is a way to you that
Makes me forget nothing
As perfectly
Pieced together wrong and as
Rain-stained as you
Could possibly last forever.
You intend to prove me wrong, though.
I know it. You hear the doubt under my tongue
And wish to remove it. You could
Out-live a thousand and one supernovas
Just so I might hear you whisper
Your I-told-you-sos in cosmic dust.
I promise, though
Not to crumble
Until I've caught all the stars
In hinge-lid jars for you:
They'll light our way
When I inevitably pull you from t

Two.I know you can take care
Of yourself
(and all the others)
But you can ask for help
When the wind gets too strong;
I know you want to fly
But I'm not ready
For you to break.

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Submitted: November 17, 2012
Submitted with: Sta.sh Writer

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Comatose Rendevous

by *SomethingOnceSacred, Nov 17, 2012, 12:56:53 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

The 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 melodious smoke
Under your tongue
As you
Fill my lungs
With plasma.

Perhaps now,
We can both
Go to sleep.

Comatose Rendevousby *SomethingOnceSacred

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

You are my favorite thing

To dream;

You are my favorite

Story to write.

--

I had a dream of using the ashes of my past to write lovely words over your waiting skin, and you using your spilled blood to mark my flesh with happier endings.

There was never a time before then that I slept so sweetly.

--

-Is there a particular part of this piece that you liked best? Least?

-How effective is the imagery?

-Is the wording too odd?

© *SomethingOnceSacred

=HillsOfMyst Feb 27, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Your fantastic work has been featured here!
I'd really appreciate it if you could give some love to the other features and

the journal!

*SomethingOnceSacred Feb 28, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Oh, my goodness, thank you! Hahah, I'm really honored, and I shall absolutely be sure to go and give the rest of the features a look. ^^

=HillsOfMyst Feb 28, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

My pleasure

Thanks for taking a look!

~PigeonGuy Dec 23, 2012 Professional Writer

Oh this is soft, deep, and amazing.

*SomethingOnceSacred Dec 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Hahah, thank you, dear. I'm glad you enjoyed it. ^^

~PigeonGuy Dec 23, 2012 Professional Writer

indeed!

~ShadowWolfSayaren Dec 6, 2012 Student Traditional Artist

Absolutely fantastic. Like the others have said, you have a fantastic way of describing things that is both vivid and slightly surreal. I don't think the wording is odd, just unique. In a good way. And I love the first stanza, it's such great imagery, you're drawn in right away.

*SomethingOnceSacred Dec 6, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Oh, my gosh ;;

Thank you very much for your lovely comment, first of all! You've really made my day, dear. ^^

And second, I really appreciate you sharing your thoughts and answering my question. So thank you very much for that as well!

I'm so glad you enjoyed it. ^^

~ShadowWolfSayaren Dec 7, 2012 Student Traditional Artist

You're very welcome!

~TheMoorMaiden Nov 19, 2012 Student Writer

I think this is beautiful.

I love the lines:

You would look beautiful
Covered in faerie-tales
Made of soot.

There's some really beautiful imagery throughout, and you should be really proud of it.

I agree with ~schongslipper that a little re-organization will benefit the piece, but that's something which can be easily fixed.

Lovely work, keep writing!

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Comatose Rendevous

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