[x]

railroad crossingshe pulled up and parked.

as she lit a cigarette, she thought about all the hours left in the day, and all the things left undone.

she thought about her neighbor, a strange cat lady, and how her ridiculous amount of cats made the building stink, and how her downstairs neighbor cooked meth in his kitchen, and how sadly ironic it was that a drug-addict was constantly slaving over the stove and always growing thinner.

she thought about the school children, and how some of them would go home to a nice, warm meal and a bedtime story, while others went home to a beating and an empty stomach, while still others went home and killed themselves whi

12poetry
          should only be
in
b  r  o  a  d  s  h  e  e  t  s  -

[where the ink is tangible                     where words have faces
words rush between my     &#

After DickinsonThere is a Queen all clad in silk
Whose cloak is purest white –
She lives atop a tower of green
And outshines Moon by night –

Her crown is of the purest gold,
And golden is her spire –
And when the lowly leave this earth
She visits at the bier –

She mourns without opaque remorse –
But rather, lays her head
Below the corpse's whitewashed face
And shares his final bed –

And when her consort rises up
And leaves her on her own,
She gives up all her worldly grace
And fades into his bone –

drowning mermaidsa body of water lays crumpled on the side of the road,
the ambulance lights gyrate and the shrieks of the seabirds
are drowned out by the wailing siren, saaave meee, saaave meee.
the cops mill around, doodling stick figures and question marks on their pads,
and no one really knows anything about the bodies unaccounted for.

if it looks like a fish, smells like a fish,
it's probably a dead girl wrapped in plastic bags,
that's what the police men are laughing about over coffee at denny's that night.
she looked beautiful, like a mermaid, one of the rookies muttered,
a thin boy with downcast eyes staring into the depths of his mug.
his s

inner space tangothere was one brief moment of
elation;
erotic asphyxiation,
oxygen disappearing into
your favorite
vortex

then the moment was gone and
all the sunshine smothered
beneath your covers; bedsheets
soaked through with
sweat knotted
into a noose just my
style

and there you sit with
selective hearing never
fearing
my particles will one
day drift away down the drainpipes
to somewhere on
the other side of your
radical free matter consumption;
what have you destroyed of mine
that still i cannot see?

and will there ever be a day when
you will cease to captivate me?

the chains around my hearstrings are
as thin as fairy wings

.::.questions.::.i.

you told me you believed in god
when i asked why, you said
            "there've been situations where i should've died, but i didn't."
when i asked if you wanted to die,
you looked at me, then looked away and said,
             "not anymore, i don't."

[i started crying when you said you wanted to die. you not existing anymore is still the most painful thing to think of.]

ii.

you told me i was the reason you were still alive
when i asked why, you said
         &

pull a marilyni am not okay.
i'm trying to tell you that i could -

-

today could be the day i go off the deep end.
it seems like it's harder to breathe,
like maybe i can't keep doing this.
how long could one person go on like this,
living from one breath to the next
and trying to forget what oxygen tastes like?

pull a marilyn.
why the fuck not?
even she'd had more to live for.
the beauty you could murder,
so long as you had the right motive.
and if there was no beauty,
it was just waste and absence.

-

i am not okay.
i'm trying to tell you that i could die,
could roll over and think end and then nothing.

i'm not your wintergirl.you're looking for the
seasons in this silence since
we've gotten too cold.

Chocolate ShoesUnderneath the trees
Deep in Rambley Woods
A little boy named Steven
Was handing out his goods

Kids from all around
Came to see the kid
Who had more sweets
Than their parents ever did

All kinds of lemonades
Pink and green and blue
He even sold a chocolate bar
Shaped much like a shoe

Yet Steven was a stranger
Even though he was a child
He hid a nasty secret
Even though his smile was mild

Every day at twelve o’clock
Stevey showed his true face
He was a hungry bloated troll
Who carried a blue mace

And with his deadly weapon
He crushed a child to goo
The he put them in an oven
To make a chocolate flavoured shoe

get out of bedi could never tell you how much i hate these bones, or how unhospitable my skin feels stretched over my face or across my ribs that are cracking from so many people trying to break in and every half-hearted breath.

i've never tried so hard to save someone like i've tried so hard to save you, even though you never deserved it. maybe i thought that if i could keep you from hating yourself for even a second, i could stop kicking myself when i'm down. maybe if i could press your wrists to your sides, i could stop from clawing at my own face. i've never forgiven myself for what i did, so i could never expect you to do what i could never manage.

drunkit's two am, or maybe it's four or six. i can't tell, there's no clock anywhere, i'm too drunk to know where my phone is or even judge how much time has passed, all i can tell is it's still dark, somehow.

a mike's hard lemonade, two round of beer pong, some jack daniel's and eight shots of brandy, i'm lucky trouble knowing how long i've been here is my biggest problem.
i don't know the boy passed out and snoring loudly next to me, and i wish i had a matress, or at least a fucking pillow, and i wish i wasn't this shit-faced and i wish i wasn't next to this stranger.

i'm trying to remember where all my friends are. i remember maura is asleep

We're not beautiful

The color red reminds me of two summers ago when this whole story finally began.
You would stand outside my house and wait for me to notice you existed.
You made me cry because you took the time to listen when I didn't want you to see.
you wrote my name. You spoke my name.
Those were the days I believed I was magic.

Street lights remind me of times I was scared to death, running away from my house
at 3 am for a boy I wasn't sure was worth the risk.
You were afraid too, but I needed you to be stronger.
I followed behind you down the street as you played your guitar to sleeping houses
and a foolish girl.

Scattered rocks rem

the elephant in my bed.oblivious to the constraints of time,
january snowflakes wooed the wind with their waltz:
one two-three, one two-three.

still naive, our footsteps
were not afraid to disturb
our glittering white universe.

wordlessly, questions were asked and answered
so quickly that we soon became
both the matador and the bull.

my door was painted red,
and we tangoed against Time itself,
a euphoric cacophony of beautiful maybes.

shoes toppled like domino tiles.
neighbors awoke with bleeding hearts.
keys lay abandoned in the door.

ivory tusks:
- i'm leaving in july.

salvation:
- tell me in june.

FrequencyTell me why we keep repeating these useless clichés, like
if a tree falls in a forest and no one's around to hear it,
we want to hope for that tree's sake
as it's dying, at least it's making a noise;
but it's just sound waves,
like the waves of an ocean,
or anything, really, because everything is built on tides.
Even mathematical worlds like chemistry and electricity have this.
It's all come and go and light and energy and color,
and it's all got waves.
Even the science of fingertips is just touch and go.

We live on a planet pushed and pulled by it's own pet rock of a moon,
rolling around the gravitational leash of orbit.
Th

In Reverse13.
Jesus flew over the city today.
He cast a dark shadow upon our bleak and childish faces
and the now dark towers that surround us in the midst of this town.
I usually never notice his presence;
the yearly autumn rush mixed with the lingering summer sun overpowers him, fixing my focus to inhaling as much of those last sweet August scents as possible, knowing that as soon as we let go of them, we'll forget what they feel like
for twelve agonizing months. I know it should never be like that.
Such trivial things overpowering the shadow of God's son,
his breath lost in the smell of honeysuckle, his shadow in the early September sun

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Usual Sundays.Broken pencils
....words
Scattered papers
Empty shelves, a full glass.

Fingers lingering around the dissolved chocolate remains of earlier sips.
"your tea is getting cold.."

Bitter Silence. folded napkins.

Guilt hidden Under coffee tables
"Your blankets over there, near letters never sent."

Averted eyes.

There is a room fallen silent,
lights that barely touch ones complextions truest faults.
there is room enough for both spirits and soft words.

a moment..

Names are begotten, as all else is forgotten
Until all is lost Into the beauty of the day.

Noses are cold, fingers numb

moments pass.

and then he laughs..
and then,

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I forgot to forget you.

by *bohemianpoets, Dec 5, 2008, 6:49:14 AM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

_{_{Once you told me you didn't like the way I curl myself towards you
And that I shouldn't walk with my feet facing the other because it was childlike

I took the long way home that night thinking about what you said, staring at my feet
Forcing them to point forward. Every time they disobeyed I pinched myself till my thighs were anesthetized,
So now I can’t feel my legs.

I’ve always written the words you’ve said  to me and posted them around my room,
I'd bite my lip, as the sun hit the L in useless,
Us-(e)-less. Imaging the way the words rolled off your tongue

That day I found you  sitting on the edge of my bed reading your words,
The sunlight hit your nose as you stared at that L in useless.
Your top lip quivered as your bottom lip cringed

You pulled them down

                                                             and left.

I called you the next day,
You had the voice of last year’s cough

And your phone

                                        suddenly stopped working.

I was exceedingly ashamed.

I've collected your words in a glass jar
Hid them behind the empty bookshelves
My eyelashes pregnant with guilt,

R  o l  l  i  n g off my cheeks.
You would have laughed at the way they fell

                                                               under my chin

I counted them so I could remember how much I missed you

I remembered  the time you said I didn’t look much like a panda at all,
Maybe its my ears’ they are far too small,
I dug my fingers into my stomach, Sat emptied of beauties
and looked away.

Months later, I wrote the words useless across my forehead
As I wished you a happy birthday from my bedroom mirror.

I heard you were breathless

I breathe – less
Wondering why your phone still doesn’t work.}}