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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.
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
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
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
She PlaysShe plays the piano
Just like an angel
Taking strides of her own

With folded wings
Clasped about her skin
As fingers intertwine
And hands do not rest,
But instead move

Across the keys
Unlocking the doors
Of a child's heart
As she sways
Into the Movements
Of a woman

The intensity of
Eyes permeates the air
Even as they are
Lowered

To the stepping stones
Where raindrops wept
A million tears
Creating Oceans
That spanned across
The sands
And forever flow

No matter how torrent
Or impalpable
She eases into that
Steady Motion

As her vessel
Gently rocks
The sunsets

Until the door is closed
And the song has
Ended, and
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
One.I don't have all of me, I'm
Scattered
Between the farthest edge of the sky
And a trio of angels
Who wear me
Under sooty halos.
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.
Promises, PromisesWe were bleeding out, into wine glasses for each other to consume last night. I've still got
Bodily fluids pouring from my mouth. It was given unto us, this strange
Almost wicked ability of infecting one another's dreams.
I see you walk on clouds where I only fall through.
"Come and join me." It pains me deep
In the pit of my stomach to say that I can't.
One day, you're going to discover that those wings of yours are good for one thing, and that's flying;
The anchors tied to my ankles are only good
For sinking.
By the time you reach the sun, once you have learned
To enter the skies for something
Much more beautiful than I, I will have
Reached the bottom of the ocean. I could
Drown forever in the darkest confides of the Mariana
Trench if I knew
You were coming back for me.
I beg of you, please,
Don't forget.
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.
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.
Lullaby for theScorned AmnesiacI can't remember
If he said I was between the sea and sky
Or between the ocean and the Earth.

When I think about it, I realize that I can't even remember his name.

All of the
Candy wrapper roses and,
Broken guitar strings clutter a box on the top shelf.

I was raised on cross-your-hearts and
Promises thrown together to make a little girl smile.

I never got any of those
Hope-to-dies.

The tide swallows up my
Bottles of ink and dirty rainwater, carrying them all
To the castaway in the back of my mind.

It feels like I've been sleeping a decade and
That November evening roused me;
He always gave
The gentlest good-morning
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.
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.
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More from *SomethingOnceSacred

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
Grin and Bear ItSkeleton hands
Reach out of empty air
To silence me,
To hold me back.

Lipless mouths,
Jaws dust-filled,
Whisper through yellowed teeth,

Don't.

It isn't worth it.

And I put on
My falsest smile,
Allowing boney fingers
To twist my arm,

Again.

Is it not worth it?
Or, am I too cowardly
To fight the phantoms off?
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 Day Yet to Come"What is this?" The child moved to step forward, across the soggy soil, but the man stopped him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Somewhere very special," he said quietly, carefully sliding himself into the space between the gravesites, unwilling to tread on either one of the women beneath them. He urged the small boy to follow.

He got down on his hands and knees, dirtying the legs of his slacks, and crawled into the little opening that had formed in the base of the tree.

If one looked closely, it was actually two trees that had merged together as saplings, both now one enormous oak.

Slowly turning over onto his back, he helped the c
The ThreeAt one time, there was nothingness. Everything was nothing at all. Just a blank canvas of black that held endless possibilities. The Old One looked upon this canvas and felt his need to create.

He threw color across the vastness, forming the universe and all of its majesty.

The Old One made a realm larger and larger, unable to stop himself, and realized, soon enough, that he could not govern this realm on his own. So, he made himself three students, whom he taught to create, just as he did, but with their own, special tools. One held the power over a brush and color, another over pen and words, and the last over voices and song.

The first,

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October 31, 2012
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Never After

:iconsomethingoncesacred:

When 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 tied and anchor to your feet.

I'll send you a post card
When I get to where I'm going.

The angels must have
Been so sad
That night,
Because it rained
For weeks.
:iconsomethingoncesacred:
Hush,

Little baby,

Don't

Say a word.

--

It was either madness, or genius.

--

-What do you think this piece is about?

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

-Do you have any favorite or least favorite parts?









© *SomethingOnceSacred
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:iconanonymous-yet-again:
~anonymous-yet-again Nov 28, 2012   Writer
i think the line break are good because it sounds stilted, like someone crying or having trouble talking. just saying. maybe it's personal opinion.
it sounds like someone committed suicide, at least from the beginning, but yeah. as i always write, i find weird thing in poems.
it's beautiful though.
Reply
:iconsomethingoncesacred:
*SomethingOnceSacred Nov 28, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
First of all, thanks for sharing your thoughts with me! I really appreciate that. ^^

And second lol you always write the most lovely comments, dear. They really make my day.

That's actually sort of what I was going for, in fact. XD It's not often that someone reads a very similar thing in my work that I had written in it, so this is a bit shocking to me.
Reply
:iconanonymous-yet-again:
~anonymous-yet-again Nov 28, 2012   Writer
you're welcome. i think. as long as the shock was a good one. (i'm slightly stunned as well, that i made sense for once. but in a good way.)
Reply
:iconsomethingoncesacred:
*SomethingOnceSacred Nov 28, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
It was a good shock lol I assure you.
Reply
:icondoublethefun:
~doublethefun Nov 5, 2012
OMG. Great work!
Reply
:iconsomethingoncesacred:
*SomethingOnceSacred Nov 5, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Hahah, thank you, dear!
Reply
:iconwinterkate:
~winterkate Nov 4, 2012  Student Writer
This is actually really good. I think that your line breaks could use some work, but overall, there was excellent diction to this piece, and great examples of 'show, don't tell'.
Reply
:iconsomethingoncesacred:
*SomethingOnceSacred Nov 4, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Hahah, thank you!

I'm glad you enjoyed it, dear. ^^ And I really appreciate you sharing your thoughts on the piece with me.
Reply
:iconwinterkate:
~winterkate Nov 12, 2012  Student Writer
Hey, no issue! Thanks for writing :)
Reply
:icona-la-douce-memoire:
~a-la-douce-memoire Nov 1, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Fucking. Love. The. Shit. Out. Of. This.

All caps, seven sentences.
Reply
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