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cadencesnothing more than a streak of charm and freckles,
it was your legs that ultimately lured me-
that skirt was an unwise decision.
the listless abyss couldn't reject you although its
effort was valiant,
who could deny?
so you laughed and pleaded as you were twirled and hurled
conceivably there was no end.
arms en bas, not even fully en pointe
i saw your technique and had to intervene.
arriving in time as your interim savior,
i stopped your reluctant dance with a grip of your hips;
a breath and you were terrified,
a touch and you were sated.
with a pretense towards chastity, with wanton glances
you let me pull you in, i let you fall within
the undertow of my affection, your delectable skin
and no way out.
i laced your shoes tighter.
afflictionyou, in your self imposed blindness
accuse me of leaving a scar on the world but
scars are for leaving on myself.
(and you, with any luck)
this is not what i want.
(in the crossfire)
i want the mark
of my creation to remain fresh, a
flesh wound that
with no regard to time still
catches when you breathe
(even with your emphysema)
i want to pull the world's ribs open like a gore-embellished vest and watch
the crimson handkerchief wash over the dangling tendrils and ivory cufflinks
hear the world's last gurgles as my inflictive blade severs
its vocal cords and doesn't stop there
(it's never enough)
you will remember.
it will leave deep marks in your weak aorta
(sorry if it kills you first)
and you'll remember it every hospital visit
and when you give in and buy the medicine.
(no i'm not)
rejoice in my hatred
(you'll thank me later)
survive on my bile
(see me when you suffer)
hate me enough to validate us both.
wallow in your penance, clutch with your ragged fingernails
(agonize over your
Addicted to Messy Kisses (Visual) I want to sit on the
roof top in your boxers and kiss
you while listening to you telling me about
the stars that made the constellations on my
face. I want to kiss you when you photograph me,
because that's what I want to remember: loving you
endlessly and boundlessly. I want to kiss you when you
are too tired and too drunk, and watch you slobbering all
over me, while I laugh in your breath on my lips. I want to
kiss you in libraries, when you'll blush and tell me to sto
organized chaosHis brain's like
reflecting muted light.
His brain is architecturally sound,
with perfect corners
organized into neat sections,
metal cutting the spectrum
into cautious pieces.
He tells me he's nothing.
He tells me that he's grown up
from the cracks in the sidewalk
like a dandelion,
and he's been waiting his whole life
for someone to come along
and blow his fucking head off.
He tells me he comes from a bad place,
and I nod
when all I want to do is shake him
and remind him
that everything beautiful
must grow up out of the dirt.
I wanted to write you a lovesong.i.
Summer rain has nothing
on the sound of your laugh,
little pinpricks of sunshine
lounging across the cobbled
streets of midnight,
cooled grey eyes, shining
tears of nightlights
glowing like stars in your cheeks;
in darkened archways,
hollow stone walls
reverberating through my skull --
back to earth, loving
taking root under the city floor,
breathing across cool hands
in warmer songs, notes
bundled under my sheets
thoughts that last all night
and drift between the rafters
of my chest
wanting at last;
pure, starry sky and
dawn rolls down the mountainside,
turrets and towers
crinkle-eyed smile batters
falling -- falling --
more delicate than down
softly into the clouds.
one life into another
the moon has sunk
into my soul; I am losing
but the bloodl
BloodlustIn our private heaven
We satisfy our bloodlust
By breaking each other's skin
With a shinny blade
And tasting the crimson flow
The flow of life
A life of lust and love
The love we feel
For each other
A bloody and guilty love
Of voluntary wounds
And beautiful scars
Our reason to live
Our dirty secret
A secret we both carry
With great pleasure
The only way
We can feel happiness
Two LilliesI found my soul,
in a white lily atop a hill,
a red wine sunset
splashed against the sky.
My heart felt her before
I could see,
the flower strongly rooted
petals blowing with a battle cry
against the wind.
The gusts overtime,
testing and strengthening
the precious growth
roots sewn deep.
I sat beside,
your petals open wide
nothing left to hide,
shades of white
despite the soil you came from.
Yet alone you sit
a secret scent,
for me to enjoy
as I read a book,
and talk to you about everything and nothing.
Late into the night.
dew like tear drops,
and I couldn't take you home with me
but I would return again,
Until the day I join you.
How the waves tasted your anklesSince you are the only sailor
of the sea that my moon-
child eyes so easily bleed,
I crumble to shoreline pieces
every time I press my lips
to half-neglected sea glass,
haunted by visions of the way
you rolled cherries on your tongue.
Lover, I will try to forget you.The moon is braiding
her sighs into my hair
as I tell her 'I
dislike the thought
of being perfect.
Even more because
I always tried for him.'
There is turbulence
in these bones as he
ghosts past me and
into the skyline.
Perhaps it is time
I stop following.
StarsYou fill me up with bubbles,
dreams and futures floating for me.
Using a line of chalk to draw my life plans on me,
outlining where we can go together.
Stars scribbled across my forehead,
highway across my belly.
Breathing in the cars, making a map of our love.
death of a breathif i document that which tandem existed
(it only ever was when i willed it to be)
does it fulfill my end of Shylock's bargain
with neither pint nor pinprick to go to waste?
mistress of the sleight of hand,
she seeks a remnant to manipulate.
if she wanted, she could take my cataclysms
(gloss over my scrapes with paint opaque)
and make with them something gratifying, satisfying
something else electrifying
marigolds with severed xylems sent in cases to the dying-
if she wanted.
her decision twirls until the lights
she's vacancy and i'm uninviting-
we talk about ugly things.
birthmarks and the uncensored human condition,
the scar on my upper lip and spines of dead foxes.
i tell her those are the reason i write.
she laughs her disdain
and kisses a bruise on my shoulder,
a perfect mimicry of her begonias.
she pauses to caution me
that aging is heinous and angels can fly
but then the stage is set and her eyelashes
i was to beset her- what's the use?
she was nothing but
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More