[x]

last chance to lose your keys.I don't care if you realize or not how many girls
would kill to be you 'cause I've got the shotgun
ready in my garage and by seven thirty tomorrow
morning he'll have one less emergency contact
and ten less reasons to need one.

I'll wipe the blood with the clothes he bought
you that I've never seen you wear and cook him
breakfast after throwing out stale boxes of cereal
he picked up one midnight at the convenience store
down the street.

Wipe and chew, wipe and chew.

--

I will be disgusted when some walking dead boy
falls in love with you at the funeral -

he'll go home with a girl who showed up to
confirm your death.

--

He tri

faith collapsing1.
the past is more persistent than you'd guess, love, and I don't think I can forget your little star-shaped hands or your tiny constellation fingers splayed against the glass ceilings.

2.
I'm afraid sunrises hold nothing for me now, and you'll find my faerietale sensibilities gravitating inexorably towards the starfall.

3.
lightning is in the blood, dear, filtering down like sunlight through your family tree until it's so pure it burns your eyes and throat and fingertips.

4.
darling, you smell like 6 a.m. rain & the kind of red wine I never drink.

5.
she looks too much like me.
you always did have the sickest sense of humour.

ColdTrace curls and flourishes
of hoar-frost over my skin.

Unzip me with icicle fingers and

Fragilei.
i wrote this for you.
i wanted you to know
that i am always
(changing)
the same

ii.
i burned my mouth on my coffee
and remembered the scorch of your lips
burning, stinging, lingering.

and i finally lost those ten pounds
that you told me i didn't need to lose
but i felt the need to be underweight

and at night, i curled my little self up in a ball
and thought of every part of me that
you could never love.

i guess a part of me always wanted
to be fragile.

iii.
you will never know how many times i saw you
in the backs of other men,
and i ran to them, calling your name
and they'd turn, confused.
they'd say, "Can I

with love.my throat thickens
to echo the songs of sparrows
the shape of your lips
whispered through mine.

when i lift your shirt,
i see the mountains
traipsing over your heart,
i see the valleys
as i trace your stomach.

i am an adventurer,
crossing the fragile east indies,
the spartan deserts of upper africa,
looking for exploration.

my hands are my ships, your skin my ocean.

your waist breaks into your hip,
the shore of foreign lands,
cresting wave and falling tide.

drinking cups of stars,
we are thin nylon skin,
abashed teenage heat
erupting from our cores
and every orifice
as we proclaim our love
for the moon,
from o

it's been 6 months without youdon't you hate dreaming
of a former crush or love
whom you have not seen
since last june?

especially if in your dream,
your nine-month obsession
still won't acknowledge you
or your petty feelings. even
though you have unfinished
business.

don't you hate when nightmares
remind you of someone who you
thought you were over? why do
i subconsciously remember you?
why can't i forget you? i thought
i had closure. i guess not.

i guess i never will.

Crickedi.

i keep my bulbs bare
cos i like knowing where these burns come from.

i lie to sleep red-handed,
and have a hard time remembering if the highest fell or the lowest
rose
in response to your half-mooned request,
namely that i dream with this [your] ultimate synapse
.behind.my.back.

it's your sense of touch that holds me

ii.

and i don't want to see your face forever

i know those eyes are the keys to mine but
you know i never lock up at night

i don't want to see this face forever

iii.

these and those cliffs have faces to recall the fallen
so why don't i,
why don't i

inhale on purpose

iv.

it's your sense of touch that ho

Blue"You're not blue enough." His voice echoed through the small room.

"I'm not blue enough for you?" It came out as barely a whisper he looked at her not saying a word. He didn't listen, he never listened

"I'M NOT BLUE ENOUGH FOR YOU?"

this unexpected scream bounced off the walls filling his ears, he looked at her stunned.

"No, you're not blue enough for me" he said simply.

"You don't see me do you?"

"Of course I see you...you're standing right in front of me" she scoffed, looking annoyed.

"You don't really see me...if you did you would know how blue you make me" he looked at her questioning, why would he make her blue? It didn't seem pos

PromisesTwo amethyst-hearted kids stand under a purple summer sky,
hands joined, their hair, swept about by a gentle breeze,
forming intricate weavings of golden threads.
An old oaktree bends over them like a lime green chapel.
The square is made of grass and mud. The place is sacred,
sanctified by the melting of those ancient souls.
Three cherry kisses, charm bracelets and a pinky promise
sealed the pact. Until the end of days, that's what it said.
They cross their hearts, smiling at each other.

Life gives, life takes.

Two onyx-hearted teens stand in a crowded hallway,
their eyes straining to ignore the boundless void
ripping t

Autumn Love Now Sees WinterTonight the stars will reflect off your eyes.
This sunrise the morning dew will caress your face.
But today hold me.

When I am in a despair so dark that could blind the night sky,
when I open my eyes and behold a world littered with fear and unanswered prayers,
the soft visions of your most tender smile awakens my sleeping faith,
and as the fairest angel on winter snow
I will clothe myself in hope,
and stop looking at the problems of the world,
stop looking at the problems of me,
and start looking at you.

When I saw you in autumn weather,
I couldn't erase the serenity.
Did my face blush?
Did my heart melt?
Did my eyes stare?

disappointment isnt a papercutit's eleven numberfucking eleven,
and i'm listening to Fever, and all
i wish is i could smother the stars
with bandages and predictability.

and Vanilla Twilight just came on,
and you just texted me, and all i
can do is cry and hate myself.

Tortured HeartsEyes exchange across the room
like gunfire
waiting to catch each other
in the cross hairs
of angry accusatory glares.

Among the ruins
of broken dishes
plates hit the wall like bombs
all this time
you were someone I thought
I knew,
but catching your
reflection
in fragmented broken glass
I see the stranger you always were.

Voices hit the ceiling
as words can be slung
like grenades
hoping to hit the mark
I see painted red
a target upon your chest
just over your heart.

The dirty little secrets
lies which sprung like
a fountain from your lips
I foolishly believed.

But the truth called
me up upon the phone
a vo

not to beshe briefly contemplates the former,
but swallows anyway.

BurnedAnd you burned your heart on my hands, I can feel the beat
Still pulsing through my veins

(You didn't even try.)

Day Eight: 3 Turn-Onsi. Live

When you're happy and free and vulnerable [but okay with that], that's when you'll slowly become part of my heart. With childlike wonder at life's beauty and irrational hope in the future; that's what'll make me wonder about you. Because not many can be like that, not many are able to let go.

When you prove you're not like everybody else, that'll be the day I'll fall for you

ii. Talk

Talk about yourself, about the world, about the sky. Talk about everything and anything, put your own spin on opinions and rules and lines. Talk to me; but especially, talk about you. Describe the room you lived in as a little kid, tell me stories abo

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Love happened

by ~kisotchka, Dec 20, 2010, 4:45:40 PM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Haiku & Eastern

Love happened in the
first hours of the morning.
Our white hours.

The old sycamore
was whispering to the wind,
sharing night secrets

like dark oracles
passed down through the mystic words
of a primal song.

The first golden beams
lingered on his face, casting
lights and shadows on

the serene surface,
making him a damaged god
fit to love and kill

in a single kiss.
Black lashes fluttered open
like crazy feathers

grazing my reason
and allowing lust to flow
like a hundred tides.

Love happened in the
first hours of the morning,
when the wind became

white noise as his hands
went along drawing a soft
new tune on my back,

when the promises
of my life became white lies
compared with his Truth.

Love happened in the
first hours of the morning.
Our white hours.

Love happenedby ~kisotchka

Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Haiku & Eastern

I kind of tricked my own mind to write this one. So, because I don't want it to be upset, we're going to say this is not a poem (even if it is) but a series of haikus (which it is, after all. You can count).

Some parts are real memories, some others are pure fiction. Let's say I never sared my bed with a damaged god but I do think the wind and the trees share some dark secrets.

I don't like white and barely ever notice it at all.