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~poetic
adieu? - Status: Member
- Hack
- United States
- Offline for 21h 19m 29s
- Deviant since Jan 8, 2003, 2:38 PM
- 18 Deviations
- 15 Deviation Comments
- 6 Deviant Comments
- 6 Forum Posts
- 732 Pageviews
Recent Deviations
642019"I wrote something today," I told the caterpillars on my desk for the six hundred forty-two thousand nine- teenth time, clutching words in my fist like a loose-leaf cocoon, wings beating hard at my fingertips like they want to fly, so I peeled the paper back and watched a brown moth twitch and die in my hands and god damn it, crumpled up and tossed it with the rest of the failed butterflies.642019
in Open on 5/17/08
slept on the floor last nightcouldn't sleep through the storm though; found solace only in five-minute dreams that bottomed out like the rain gutterballing down our windows, lightning wrenching its way through my eyelids, thunder echoed by my joints crunching with every toss and turn on the carpet, every house-shaking wake-up call like a reminder that I am not happy.slept on the floor last night
in Open on 4/21/08
what happens todayyesterday shrinks, tongue-tied like a slender girl, polka-dotted and trembling, head tucked to her chest, collarbones entwined like moss-covered branches swaying in tomorrow's stormy breath.what happens today
he staggers while spearmint whispers belie the drunk thunder bellowing in yesterday's ear, kicking in bleak rhythm at the dirt, uprooting her toes from the soil, fingering a handful of dandelion seeds with a shit-faced grin.
in Open on 3/16/08
accordion heartyou've always said my stories tug on your "heartstrings" but I've always pictured an accordion in your chest, the way it expands and folds when your words float haphazardly, the way I am hypnotized, a capuchin monkey in your street performance, and as I swing, bereft of rhythm, to the pulse you bang out in c minor, you smile regardless and clutch me back to your chest.accordion heart
in Open on 3/11/08
Random Favourites
I heard you were a roseI heard you were a conductor. You stood in front of a hundred and two musicians with your baton in the air and your head held high. The music notes would fly into people’s ears, wafting away the concussive serenade on the radio. At the pivotal moment when the audience wondered if harmony could be sound, your arm would dance and the music would swell into an ocean wave. It might seem overbearing, but a moment before their ears were assaulted, the sweet cadence of woodwind fell down as snow. You’d bow with all the grace of a ballerina in combat boots, but smile enough to assure the croI heard you were a rose
by *Ghost-of-Ink
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Devious Comments
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Suggest a Lit DD today!
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"In the depth of winter, I finally learned that there was within me an invincible summer"- Albert Camus
how's the new website going?
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Death, I think, is no parenthesis.
I tagged you in my journal
And one thing that I like about you...
Your writing leaves me speechless.
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"For three years I had roses."
"I am afraid growing up means dying a little inside"
Why thank you kindly for all of the support
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"For three years I had roses."
"I am afraid growing up means dying a little inside"
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sincerely,
an extraordinary machine.
< PoeticWar > lay your supple hands on my breast-plates, etc
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(i'm hiding in
parenthesis- don't look. this is
what you skip over
because everything important
is around
the borders of here)
--
Joban
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