And above all, she knew nothing can mend her broken heart, not a song nor a tale, not even a sincere hug from a friend, pieces and shards of this glassy pale cracked pumping thing that now is gone, poked her feet wherever she stepped, sounds echoed in her head, she couldn't recognize the song that was playing in the radio, that one song she loved the most, because he did.
he did love that band, and she did love anything he loves; she saw herself through him, with all his finest details, she saw herself filling the spaces between him and everything. she knows him by heart, every single line in his face, every single detail, every single breat
And above all, she knew nothing can mend her broken heart, not a song nor a tale, not even a sincere hug from a friend, pieces and shards of this glassy pale cracked pumping thing that now is gone, poked her feet wherever she stepped, sounds echoed in her head, she couldn't recognize the song that was playing in the radio, that one song she loved the most, because he did.
he did love that band, and she did love anything he loves; she saw herself through him, with all his finest details, she saw herself filling the spaces between him and everything. she knows him by heart, every single line in his face, every single detail, every single breat
i hear my grandfather breaking shore on D-Day,
the muffled black and white German blaring
on the History Channel. the memories etched
in his face fading as the rabid fear, break-neck
hug, anything, to hold on.
and his fear seeps into my clothes, my spine,
lingers there for days.
but i hold my hands out, ad infinitum by chromeantennae, literature
Literature
but i hold my hands out, ad infinitum
polysemous kneels and jaded,
i curl ambiguity against
the collapsing walls of
ambigram.
letters folded into wings
and gone again.
(maybe they're fluttering,
gliding, soaring, drifting (away))
i cannot fly and
nor can you.
and my voice is clawed
into the branch where i was born
and i am not st. vincent;
i cannot birth in reverse.
no matter how much
i try to carve the words
out from my jawed
insides
out.
but this love and sadness
is baroque, climactic
and dramatic.
i look for you
in the attic of my mouth
and the basement of my hands--
i hear you in the corner
of this dystopian (uni)verse
and know better than to reach
for you now,
the room
The Gods Are Fishing by crazynloveless, literature
Literature
The Gods Are Fishing
i.
Stray satellites catch
hearts in nets designed for souls;
the gods are fishing.
ii.
Death
is life's purpose,
She says. We are damned.
What
of the children? I muse,
They giggle - full with purpose.
The children
are most lost of all, toys
of the gods. Toys, She insists.
iii.
children
grow from grins
to smiles constrained
by etiquette
and children
stumble, fickle
with dreams into futures
of lists and week-to-weeks.
teenagers
grope in the dark
for meaning; sustenance
found only in others --
and adults,
adults play pretend:
donning shirts and ties.
They keep the keys.
iv.
Meaning is found in
musings of gods; pro
You tell me that hearts don't work, that the sounds they make are just ghosts passing through. That bodies are pieces of everything everyone's lost slowly coming apart. Burning down childhood homes is a hobby of yours, and it's your plan to die that way, dancing with the flames. But oh, warrior of summers spent kissing too many girls with sharp teeth, put your lighter down. The night is a snow globe, and we are two figurines posed together as stars swirl around us. You can always burn yourself tomorrow. Be with me tonight, instead. Let the broken parts of me fit into the broken parts of you; I could be the piece you need to get your chest to
Current Residence: Egypt Favourite genre of music: rock / metal MP3 player of choice: sony Favourite cartoon character: donald duck Personal Quote: "be the change you want to see in the world. "