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april 23rdwe are so far away
from the center of the universe.
yet there is music aloud in my head, and my strands of unconscious and conscious thoughts weave a web of sound and noise.
my heart is in my throat as I watch them trip all around me, and my words of warning can only be silence to them. I feel their wounds reciprocated here, in my chest. I, too, trip over guilt and irrevocable circumstances.
I repeat words of reassurance to myself, but don’t really believe them. of all people, I know the weakness of words. a house of words can still be burned down, a strongly woven shield of them can still be battened away
and I wonder how much words matter if there is no one who will hear them.
take me down to the river again and throw me in*
i want to write to you,
i want to write about you
the way i used to
when your body was my anchor and
my head was underwater -
before my life became defined within the space that
there was something then in the way you'd make me laugh
spitting up blood -
it felt like death from a ruptured lung.
and how sweet it tasted from all the sugar-binges of self loathing
i had to swallow back down with it.
(i never despised myself with more enthusiasm than
when you held my hand)
and remember the day you tied me up in the darkroom
and spilled photographic developer on my back
to watch your image appear and superimpose -
well, i haven't lifted my shirt in public since.
and to the people i share rooms with, and beds with,
and morning coffee,
i swear that it's really just skin deep
and that i keep it there out of guilt,
and how i only sleep in the sheets you died in
to remind myself that you're gone.
2014 January 28th 11:27pmher joy is in the susurrus of swaying grass,
lithely dancing to impress the warm wind.
the sun is her lover, he breathes and she exhales.
her sorrow is as faithful as he,
his resentful death spins her into a frost ridden cradle.
she paints without color, a bitter white to hide his love.
he awakens again
and her misery is undressed as her last snowflake melts,
the first kiss of the season.
i tried to tell you that Marley was a ghost,
but you wanted to walk with wings
across gleaming midnight.
How marvelous, this stone stands
sturdy and musty; this glorious church holding up a ticking sun
that slowly cracks the trippy stained glass.
you drilled way below the church stone,
and found dried palm leaves and old joints
like clues to the map of an exceptional life.
I love this torrential literature,
I love a racing heart.
i cannot sleep, i keep dreaming,
ezekiel's visions leave me breathless.
Take it up with the Big Man.
Surely the cannabis creator
must exude a presence that lingers on synapses.
i've lost my ability to fly.
a tender sky with reddening clouds,
the sights of death give birth to no life.
Well, I'm l
2013 December 15th 2:10amshe tied threads around her fingers,
hoping to remember.
she cut her fingers off,
hoping to forget.
AbortionI warned you not to count your eggs
before they hatched
but you were too hyperactive,
and you had ADHD and you wanted to bake cookies.
You wouldn't shut up
about how grossly sweet they would taste
and how pretty and glossy the stretched white yolk would be.
You just wouldn't listen
and now our baskets are empty
and those cookies just sit on the counter, untouched,
like that voicemail that your mother left on the phone
begging us not to get that abortion.
Are we murderers?
C-can I show you something?
She asked so tentatively; her words grasping my heart with sheer anticipation.
My answer was uncertain. Confusion struck my mind when she conjured a knife from no where.
It's a Scottish knife. My uncle gave it to me.
The swirls on the handle coincided with my stomach's churns.
we were both so young
when we first met;
I adored you - but didn't know this yet.
who knew that I'd commit such a sin...
...or that really you wanted to wear my skin?
Hey, can we meet up soon?
I loved her. Seeing her brightened my life... like the metallic blade of her knife.
Sure. How about Saturday, in the park, in a place where no one will see?
we were both still young
when we met at the park;
by the time you arrived, it was ever-so dark.
We were down by the lake; no one could see,
yet I noticed you staring intensely at me...
Are you a lesbian?!
School was hell. Amelia and I
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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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