[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

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

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

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,

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

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.

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.

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

Never AfterWhen they buried you,
It was face-down,
With your
Arms over your head.

I want to make-believe
I'm just hiding
Under the covers.

Don't worry-
I'll make them all
Go away.

You and I
Stood on the roof
During thunderstorms,
With mason jars,
Telling the heavens how sorry we were.

We have to make the angels
Stop crying.

I have fifty-four jars
Of dirty rainwater.

Every night,
Complaints of monsters
In the closet.

Each time I shut the door,
You stared into the mirror.

I can still see them.

That evening,
I walked you to the dock
And helped you
Find sea glass and
Pretty stones

To fill your pockets.
We ti

Whimsy and SuicideFor ages, we were
Trapped between the pages of
A tattered, paperback book- simply
Gathering the dusts
Of all the lifetimes we never
Dared to dream for.
I can see their reflections
In the galaxies escaping our mouths:
You were right about the light.
It is so much prettier from far away.
Last night, I dreamt of darkness
And suffocating. You
Took my hand and told me thickly
That everything was going to be alright
And I didn't have to remember
How to breathe anymore.

Things of FaerietaleThere is a boundless ocean
Located
Just under her sternum.

There is every universe,
Known and unknown,
Within her pupils;

Don't blink, dearest,
Lest they should fade.

DisintegratingI was never one of the birds,
Just silly enough to look into the sky
And pretend.
There's a man I know; he's forgotten a piece of himself, I think.
He says he can't fold the butterflies anymore.
He's lying, I promise
And I love him anyway.
I never understood him when he said I was made of soot.
The hurricane boy's at my window again. He
Comes to me late at night and taps on the glass.
"The weather is so lovely this evening," he tells me.
I go outside and he trades me his rainwater tears
For all the beats my heart has skipped.
He keeps them in manilla envelopes and hides them
Under his bed.
I've become addicted to the dreaming, to make-believing I'm blind and deaf for a little while.
It's starting to be too difficult for me to tell which is waking
And which is sleeping any longer.
My chronic day-dreaming
Is getting worse. I can't even remember them, and I'm losing track
Of the days.
Maybe if I close me eyes
For just a few minutes more.

Water SolubleThere's little pieces of him lodged in my lungs. I'm not sure how they got there, but I can't get them out now.
I'm not sure if they're supposed to come out.
Surely, he'll need them back sometime. I fear that I will fall apart when at last he takes them away.
At some point, I was so stupefied, that I believed I could outrun the sky, out-run the storm and manage to dance between the raindrops.
I was struck in the back of the head
By a snowflake that weighed ten thousand pounds.
I've got his fingerprints on the roof of my mouth, a complete set of filthy reminders to let me know just how
Dusty and decayed I've become in the past months.
They taste of a different time, one far more
Sick and sugary than this.
I wonder how much acid will come
When I
Can vomit again.

Nine Times Nine Times NinePretty boy,
With golden eyes,
Keeps fallen stars
And beautiful words
Inside of glass bottles.
He hangs these
Lost eternities,
Unmade wishes,
From the ceiling, on
Ropes
Twisted into nooses.
A menagerie
Of tears
Made from silver and gold,
Joy and sorrow,
Crowd littered corners in their jars,
Gathering merciful dusts.
Black cat takes a photograph
Of another life to live,
Crossing the paths of
Mortals,
Adding their years to his collection.
Pretty boy,
With golden eyes,
Sleeps near his treasures
In shadowed,
High places,
Protecting his stolen ages.
Decades pass
In his ninety-nine
Generations;
He grows younger
And wiser
To the greedy games of men.
He ties birdsong and
Decaying leaves
In between his fingers
And pins snowflakes along
With sweet, warm breezes
To his palms.
Black cat
Takes ninety-nine
Snapshots
Of smothered weeping,
Bliss gone unsung,
And captures moments
(infinities)
Between the points of
Sewing needles
And the creaks in floorboards.
Pretty boy,
With empty eyes,
Leads th

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

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Submitted: October 13, 2012
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Left Unsung

by *SomethingOnceSacred, Oct 13, 2012, 9:23:22 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

He 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.

Left Unsungby *SomethingOnceSacred

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

©2012-2013 *SomethingOnceSacred

He has a pretty tune in his heart

That,

Some day,

Will help him find his way

Back home.

--

-Do you feel something when you read this piece? If so, what?

-Do you have a favorite part? A least favorite?

-What do you think this piece means?

I love hearing from you, dears!

© *Cugra

~TechWarrior911 Oct 15, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

The second stanza makes me think of revealing your true feelings to someone. And that part in the description reminds me of the trip I am planning.

I have a question for you now, did you have a specific person in mind when you wrote this?

Reply

*SomethingOnceSacred Oct 15, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I'm glad you enjoyed it, but even more so that you could see a bit of yourself in my work. ^^ That makes me so happy, I couldn't even tell you~

As a matter of fact, I did. I wrote the first few lines without really meaning anything by them, but then realized that they reminded me of someone I hold very dear to me, so I altered what I had previously written, and then added the second stanza.

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~anonymous-yet-again Oct 14, 2012 Writer

I like it; it's like it could be a songwriter who's just afraid if people will like his song, or someone who has his own views and his own way of seeing things but who doesn't know if his views are supported by other people, or just the world in general.
just my own strange ideas about it. yeah.

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*SomethingOnceSacred Oct 15, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

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

And thank you, again, for sharing your thoughts with me. X3

Truthfully, I wrote it about one, specific person I know, but I rather like your perspective, hahah. I suppose it could pertain exactly to those things.

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*Amanda-Graham Oct 13, 2012 Professional Writer

a lovely work filled with angst .. thank you for submitting to Love-Literature

Reply

*SomethingOnceSacred Oct 13, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you, very much ^^ I'm glad you enjoyed it!

And believe me, it was entirely my pleasure. XD

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