East West (scraps to later revise)

The house is unbearably hot,
so I find myself sitting
as close as possible
to the vent underneath my desk.

The cold air makes my lids heavy.
I am beyond tired,
yet sleep is feared
and thus my subconscious
does not allow such a thing.

We are not to wake up crying.
We are not to wake up screaming.
We are not to wake up gasping.



The room is hot.
Too hot to sleep.
Sirens sing me lullabies.
Not the kind who steer ships,
but the kind that follow protocol.

Fuck protocol.
You should have left me in my bed.
I would have touched myself
and fallen asleep.

I am bitter.
Like the taste of you on my tongue.
Acrid acidity in your words.
Mine are getting shorter.

The cold air,
the writing,
the lullaby,

they're working.


Now all I need is someone to sing me to sleep,
to the tone of an ambulance on its last emergency call of the shift.

Hey you...

Go here and read what is beginning to be the blog of my life. About my life. Struggles and whatnot. Memoirs of an angsty young adult. (Surprise.)

We both draw lines, dear,

and not with my rapidograph.

We have come to the conclusion

that you draw your lines

at the same time

I draw mine.

You draw your lines

in brilliant white.

I draw mine,

red as rubies.

In brilliant white

there is an appetite for destruction.

In red, the red of rubies,

there is utter mental clarity.

Destruction is drawn in lines.

Lines across albums.

Clarity, too, is drawn in lines.

Lines across hips.

Lines across albums?

Sure, I've touched powder.

Lines across hips?

Sure, you've touched blades.

Powder,

we have come to the conclusion,

is better drawn with blades,

just like I draw mine.

Dear Richard-
not gun-metal grey,

I can see you when I push the curtains away from my window.
You are not flashing me my favorite metal smile, as you lift
a Marlboro, menthol, to your lips. The wrinkles above your eyes
tell me of your concern. There is a dead hummingbird
in your right hand. I can tell from here that its neck is broken.
Its beak is twisted toward your stomach, though its body is not.
It must have been through more, perhaps a stray cat,
because I see the blood that is running down over your wrist
and dripping onto my stoop, to mix with the ashes you've dropped
and the glass and metal scraps from the car that was going too fast
and drove straight into the front of my house.


Suddenly, the grey clears from the sky and the snow
becomes blinding. The sun is assaulting the ice as
I realize it is far better to say things outright.
So I will tell you that I am lying,
and that all I really see is snow.


Love (and it is true),
your pretty song

fodder

FODDERRRRRR

For a moment we are lost
among the shadows of yesterday,
and the hours and seconds past
shimmer forth in memory form.

I have been used to your skin
and my fingers tremble with
anticipation.

Time does not exist here.
The moment between
when you nuzzle my cheek
and when we are suddenly
much closer than I remember
is endless.

Dizzy, since all I am
breathing is you.

And then I can hear it,
the old fashioned silver alarm clock
and the heavy ticking it projects.

Time begins again
and you crash your lips to mine
and I can't help but remember
that you did leave me once,

but not before you touched
the patches of skin
that are tingling now,
knowing and wanting
the feel of your fingertips.
-----------------


Patches of skin
in certain and
specific places
remember the
graze of your fingertips.

The top lip
knows the feeling
of the middle
of your mouth.

The bottom lip
knows the velvet
path of your tongue.



-------------------

Hungry fingers reach, following the natural line that outlines my hip and leads to something more interesting. Velvet lips distract the mind so as not to alarm when nervous attempts are made. "No," she mumbles to fingers that play to close to lines drawn in moments where clarity is lost. Just lose her in your lips.

-----------------

I lost myself in the contours of your chest. You claimed my breath as your own. Patience, immeasurable, measured to recieve reward. It's ok, I'll wait. You've taught me how. Reinforcement is key.

I miss the way you taste.

You always leave so early.


The songs are slow, like the breath you lay across my cheek. The blankets are barely touching us, like fingertips tented and tracing your musculature. The light is soft, like the tiny kiss you introduce to my top lip. This is what it's like to be in a car accident. Shattering glass and metal twisted is sometimes called art. I can see the ice coming, but opening my mouth and swallowing your tongue allows for no warning. So we skid. We spin. We lose control. And we crash.

Musings (at sbux, shoot me)

him: what did you say?

me:
I asked her if I was the only one who spoke to her,
mind you I was whispering,
and then I told her that astronomy
and religion are useless,
because all I want to do is
preserve the mystery of the
world. I told her I didn't believe
that she was just a rock.

him: 'kay, you're right. Well, you're always attractive.
But still. Very attractive moment.

me:
Thank you. With three U's.
It felt good, for some reason,
like I suddenly had faith
in something.

(I need to make this a legitimate poem. mkthxbye.)

WRITING PROMPT - Expect edits. Lots of them.

LAST UPDATE: 2/9/2010
HEY: I realized if you don't have a deviantart account, you won't be able to view some of these. A number of them have mature warnings, which are blocked from non-users.

A 31 step writing prompt. Links are to the completed prose/poetry/bullshit on my deviantart. Completion is a lie. The gist of it: two original characters. One is a little more wise to the world, the other is learning the hard way. Some pieces share the same title as their prompt, others do not. This type of mini flash-fiction moment was inspired by a close friend of mine. He's a very talented writer and I want to attempt to do his methods justice in my own musings. Let's hope for the best.

01. letter.
02. sticks and stones
03. birthday
04. immortal
05. circus
06. abandoned (1/14/2010)
07. nosebleed
08. father (1/13/2010)
09. sunrise (1/11/2010)
10. distraction
11. habit (2/9/2010)
12. fuck (1/12/2010)
13. love (1/12/2010)
14. waste
15. skinny (1/19/2010)
16. eyes
17. white noise
18. impulse (1/13/2010)
19. addiction
20. desecrate (1/14/2010)
21. death (1/17/2010)
22. low
23. heartbeat
24. first kiss (1/12/2010)
25. tomorrow
26. sweet (1/18/2010)
27. fog (or mist)
28. can't
29. village
30. time
31. forget