[x]

the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav

we are not a fairytalewe are not a fairytale.

I am not the strong lead with a heart of fire,
bones of steel, and eyes of vapid curiosity;
motivation seeping through
my every last intended action because
I was written this way

(the heroine falls only to rise again:
proverbial phoenix, burning out
because it is the cycle of my
life) and you, you are not

the beautiful travesty, perfectly composed
to strike me where I’m weak and
[almost]human, delicately woven
like the tapestry of my dismantling—
a subtle irony where somewhere, a writer
chuckles softly, understanding

we are blinder than church mice, born
in a makeshift world of darkness where
I&rsquo

Onceyour beauty lies restless behind those
hills, where you fought valiantly. and
the man you once were was brave and kind,
but now you are possessed by a passenger
of darkness, whispering words of your
loneliness.

the man you once were is forgotten, and
the man you are today, is only a ghost, a
shadow, of what you were before.

SurelyIt was raining
when we kissed for the first time,
for the last time.

Thin rivulets
sunk into the shrunken space
between our bodies
and divided us
like nothing could before,
like everything will
from now
until that never again
when we will
see each other once more,
no more.

Your eyes were
that bewitching shade
of dull brown blue
with all of the light darkness
whirling
in a placid pond
around a pupil
overflowing with vacancy,
and me
and my frowning smile.

The winter heat
fell like a rising tide
and,
for our every breath
was another death
so black and full of life --
embracing our boiled ice skin
as we drew apart,
came together and broke free

Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –

survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,

how many graves are we standing on, today?

FossilizedLiving proof of fossils alive,
and no horseshoe-crab am I.

Nor, inhabitable harsh compression of plates,
residing under humid marsh-scapes.

I mold into the walls, as chalky old coal.
But I am no mineral, no era.
I am not, Mesozoic.

Through the ages
Iron
Bronze
silver, gold and heroic.

I remain a still-life; and no Iduna's apples would retain my youth
No magic fountains, or time devices, or wrist watches.
I am the machine of time.
The watcher, omnipotent, the wise.

But

no God am I

Somewhere, sweet tangy sap trolleys down cracked bark.
Somewhere, celestial bodies erupt unseen.
Somewhere, a abrupt breeze blows overturned bi-cycle tire

Prelude       Nocturne;
I conjure the moon
as dusk crests,
       a wave across the sky

       I am lovely and lonely in
       the night, shadow-
       shackled to the mountainside

and the moths
unfurl their hamsa-wings as
mama calls me in.

bookworm“there is no such thing
as reading too much.”
that is what I tell you
when you insist

that there is some danger of
becoming lost in the stuff—
mistaking seriphs for serpents,

swallowing a story so whole
that its hook
sticks in my throat.

“there is no such thing
as reading too much”
I tell you, bold-faced,
surrounded by snakes
with a line through my lip.

VaseA broken heart can be excavated.
Damaged tissue can be scrupulously removed
and the cracks can be sealed
with the molten trails of gold solidified.
The upturned cavity,
once proofed against further damage,
can become a pulsing vase for tulips,
because even though your heart has been broken
it is still valuable beyond comparison.

silver dreams.i won't say a single thing
about what you and i did that night.
it wasn't anything bad, we were
made to do it.
but the way your tears fell down
in the shape of a cloud
and the pounding on the doors
told us the stars were calling.
more like the gates of hell, but
you think stars make the most delicate
corpses.

HorsepowerHorsepower

There’s a knife turnin in my soft parts
And heat burnin my mind on hard starts
The motors runnin but I lost the wheel
Just want it to be numb don’t wanna feel
Take two steps back and put it in park
Before I leave scarred up black marks
I need a u-turn on this highway
But can’t go back on the by-way
So look ahead, the pavement goes on
Break the rear-view mirror it’s gone
Contemplate
Reiterate
Put it in drive
And say goodbye
Let’s see how fast this bitch can fly

-Cygam7

nightmarethe foxes are at your bedside and singing--
feversongs,
songs of boiling thoughts
and broken muscles.
their lullabyes.
they sneak so quiet, and
somehow,
you can't quite
dream
anymore.

Here and There, Now and ThenBurnt umber dawn, swaying electric trees
Thousands of souls chant in the summer wind
Journals of the dead are read by schoolchildren
They awake shaking someone else's dreams from their heads

Static electricity on the nape of your neck
In the television, on your phone, in your dinner
The calling of a murder of crows from the trees
You remember the view from the hospital room window

A smorgasbord of life and limb, death and decay
The antiseptic smell has an undercoating of rot and dirt
Talismans won't work any more than prayers and candles
Soldiers still fight lost wars, glory in the faded night

Tall fences are built to keep the worlds separ

Puppet My tears fall,

like invisible

diamonds.

My heart beats,

like soundless

drums.

Unwanted,

because of the

strings attached.

How To WriteHow to write:

Write a word.
Now write a sentence.
Write a paragraph.
A chapter.
A story.
The end. ♥

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no time for one last chance

by `spunj13, Jun 28, 2002, 7:49:18 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

.

no time for one last chance

bleeding bitter tears
suspend the indecision
grip the blade
just make the incision

       watch

as dark blood flowing
stains your eyes
pulsating in endlessness
this is our last goodbye

       turn away

arterial punctuation
this deadly heartbeat
tears across the flesh
drips upon the judgement seat

       close your eyes

clutch at the moment
silently march on
in this parade of chaos
the end will not be long

       just wait

you made the sacrifice
burning desire fleshless
blood stained secrets
nothing to confess

       eyes visionless

murder weapon held fast
in white knuckled hands
the blade cuts deep
no time for one last chance

       and the moment passes

twist the knife
and bear the screams
agony impartial
reality is not what it seems

       you justify

reduce this life to ashes
destroy substantiation
your lies cannot defend
the result of your reaction

       ignoring past

just turn and walk away
from this counterfeit romance
momentary reminiscence
there was no time for one last chance

june 28, 2002
10:28 am

no time for one last chanceby `spunj13

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

i think it's been at least 6 to 8 months since i wrote my last dark piece of poetry....but here it surfaces again...i think that there may be some more but i'm not sure yet.

unfortunately i missed out on my 200th poem. it sits silently in a folder on my computer at home. it may or may not ever see the light of day. we'll see. so here i give you poem #201.
[note: ok...here is my necessary edit. this is fiction. now you don't have to worry about me. i didn't think that it could be associated with suicide... i wasn't sure how people would take it though...]

//spunj13

~summerdies Jul 17, 2002 Writer

I really like the tight form and the flow it creates. This is truly dark litany of pain awash with disturbingly vivid images. I read your description, but when I read the body of the poem it seemed metaphoric throughout like you related the killing to the murder of emotions that were once so strong.

A very powerful piece!

~justagirl Jul 10, 2002

wow that is truely beautifully written

~syncretism Jul 9, 2002

dark...but then again, dark is a phase of life everyone drifts in and out of...it needs expression just as the glorious moments...
...amazing emotions contained with the words...excellent choices, concise and yet stunningly visual

~harlequin02 Jul 5, 2002

Is #200 as good as this?

This is truly an amazing piece. Such strong imagery and emotion! An instant FAV my friend :) (Smile)

"I want to spawn epiphanies in every generation."
~harlequin02~ Jester

°jsenn Jul 3, 2002

Dadgum! And thank you very much for the description because at your insistence I DID read this withou thinking that the poet was in deep depression and ready to end it all. You did a very good job of giving us two poems for the price of one. Really, this is a "terrible" and powerfully wrought poem.

~geobyte Jul 1, 2002

Wonderful description...the image I got out of this, is that all these words, all this pain, is all directed to a heart-breaker, how one feels when their heart is ripped out of their chest and thrown to the floor, only to be stomped upon and then picked up and put in a blender, and then the wound that is left is still provides pain so agonizing that one wishes they do not care at all, in order to not hurt at all....okay, I'll stop now.

~mariamaria Jun 30, 2002 Writer

Need . . . happy poetry . . . now.

*starves to death*

Maria

~corporatewhore Jun 30, 2002

powerful indeed. I like it, but I've enjoyed other pieces from you more.

hrm. interesting. The ryhming works, but i've never been a large fan of it. The statements between the stanzas was what I really enjoyed. they helped unfold the story and gave an omnious feel of a 2nd person there... perhaps the conscience or the thoughts of a by-stander. It helped give the poem a flow... it also has a definite ryhthm + images.

~jesusbite Jun 29, 2002

What breid said - this is more murder than suicide to me.

Its got a very very dark dark dark dark feel to it thats making me tingle with enjoyment.
I like the rhyme in this. It makes it have a stop-n-go feel to it - like the abcb scheme is the person - on a and c, hes stopping or thinking, yet on b's, maybe hes... I dont know, stabbing. It just gives it this cool feelign when you read it.

~82deg Jun 29, 2002

*reads description*
Phew...it's only fiction ;) (Wink)

Very strong words used here...and nice overall flow...
And excellent use of imagery...makes one envision a person taking his/her life right before you...

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no time for one last chance

no time for one last chanceby `spunj13

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