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The WordsIt started softly at first. Little words and instances, and small betrayals that left questions sticking in her mind like needles. Words that hit her skin like stones, leaving bruises that spread and scarred and left fear in their wake, words that kept her up at night.
Who I am? What am I doing here? And who are you?
The words start tumbling faster now, and come with twisted expressions of anger, bitterness, resentment and blame. It's taking her back to her childhood; the memories of disquiet and fear and always, always the blame. It's taking her back to the fear of speaking, the fear of being touched, ever. The fear of meeting someone's eyes. There is only anger around her. An atmosphere weighed down by secrets and the blush of blood rising into skin. And inside, nothing but emptiness and the echoes of something deeper, something that will never be undone.
There is a stranger asleep beside me. Someone I no longer understand, who no longer understands me. I am afraid of their
Mermaid Bones - a beat poemTRIGGER WARNING: Sexual assault and eating disorders
Mermaid Bones - a beat poem.
I'm hiding an ocean of teeth under my scales
it's in the forbidden taste of salt on my tongue
the weight of the measuring tape,
of those numbers pushing bubbles through my blood and through my gums.
It's written on the circumference of my waist.
In the words cursing the ghost ship of my shape being plundered against my will.
It's spoken by the fish telling me that I have no right to fill my gills with oxygen
underneath a sea bed of regret laid heavy with the shape of a tail.
You are a whale they said
and they made me push my bones out to see the fish bones that they could wish on
to beach myself on the sand reaching for a reason to say "no"
I will not make sandcastles out of sandwiches, and pick at the entrails of the jellyfish noodles on my plate on the first date with puberty that said
"you will now be endowed with an oyster set with strings of pearls that hang heavy round your throat like a
Suicides Learning To SpeakIt’s 6 a.m. A girl is beginning the journey back from Oz, anchored to life by the whirr and beep of machines and tubes. Above her emaciated body, nurses pace, write on clipboards, click their heels and purse their lips. She is oblivious. Her mind drifts in freefall, stuck in an eggshell skull wrapped in nasal gastric tubing and an oxygen pipe forced down her throat like a synthetic umbilical cord. Somewhere, neurotransmitters are sewing themselves back into conscious awareness. There is a person lost somewhere in that body. There is a mind overboard in a black sea, sending up a flare. The nurses are afraid that she will stay in there forever. A family jostles at the side of the bed in the cramped, generic hospital room. All the King’s horses and all the King’s men… I don’t need ruby shoes to find my way home. My name is Ruby, the nurses click their heels and my family makes the wish.
I’m finding my way back to consciousness through the sound
The Doppelganger DeathIf I am dead, throw me to the sea
and let me sink.
My bones are soft where you have dug up the remains of drugs
waking in the marrow
and I don't know which part of my brain
is me anymore,
amongst all of those dying ships
and side effects.
those ill-begotten attempts at flying
and the sadness of swallowing
pills for photosynthesis.
I wish I was a tree
and you were the square root solution
anchoring me to the earth
in the tumult.
There are unclean words resting there,
gritty and pregnant with the promise of rain.
I fill my pockets with your gasps
and there are oceans of regret between us.
You like to see yourself in the words I speak
and the empty scripts waiting for a signature.
But when we run and hurl ourselves into the sea
and drink malt whiskey in an August downpour
telling each other our hearts are sunken
I notice nothing.
You're not me anymore.
I'm burying you underwater with three spades
and a red ace of hearts.
My sermon is a renegade of I-promise-I'll-forget-you.
VisitsHollow black-hole eyes and arms filled
to the brim with primitive home-job tattoos.
a tear inscribed under his eye
tells of time behind
and time spent inside seedy taverns killing brain cells
forgetting the days
behind the darker bars,
the other cells
littered with tally marks on walls.
'HATE' is inked into the fists that led him to
other hardened fists met incarcerated.
hate breeding hate breeding regret
leading to bleeding out onto cement.
hard time brewing
moonshine under beds
slept with one eye open.
he flicks his cigarette onto the dirt under the house
tally-ho is the only tally he wants in his hands now.
It creeps under his fingernails and stains them yellow
instead of red.
Jamie scrubs at his dust-covered feet,
rail thin with the sweet smell of
marijuana that hangs
heavy over them -
His eyes run brazenly over my body
as he tells me of the guns he owned before police raids on his home,
his run-ins with the law.
"I'm on parole. Been in
Love Letters On the TrainDear Stranger,
I'm leaving this post-it tucked in the side of the train-seat. If you're reading this, you've seen it. I've seen you sit here every few Monday mornings, sometimes tapping a bent, unlit cigarette against your thigh, sipping from your tea (who brings a tea cup onto a train anyway?); sometimes staring at the rain outside, or reading your well-worn, beaten copy of Jane Eyre (I hate that you fold the corners down - it's bibliophilic abuse. I wish the book would papercut you to defend itself a little, but I digress).
You seemed so sad this Monday morning past. Please smile again. I love it when your eyes catch the light of something I'm unaware of, something silently and intimately your own; a secret from the world that makes everything all the more meaningful to you.
- The Passenger
I'm not in the habit of reading post-its from strangers. I found a love-letter hidden in a newspaper once, that the author forgot or was too afraid to send. It made me sad to think
Stories From the Psych Ward (1 of 3)It's 2a.m. and I can hear the nurses' footsteps down the corridors,
with pools of light streaming out of their torches like car headlights in the rain.
Tonight is long and lonely, and voices wash over me in the dark.
Night checks, and rays of light pour over the sleepy shadowed forms of us,
into our eyes. Each black silhouette,
the shape of a patient in the middle of a dream.
I can feel insects crawling under my hands
but I can never dig them out.
Early morning cups of sweet black tea bring
a sense of comfort and normality to being an
involuntary psychiatric patient locked up in solitary.
Sleepless nights lying with outward eyes
at the disembodied hands pushing through the ceiling.
I curl around myself and wish I could disappear.
My hands are red and raw from trying to scratch
out the bugs that crawl underneath. I try to show
the insects to the staff, but none of the nurses believe.
One of the humanless spirits holds my spine
while the disembodied voices whisper "stay as low as you can
AlienRuby lives in my mind.
she is the voice between
that chemicals try to silence
the voices the run in streams
"kill the noise
get a gun a gun
kill them all
the government whispers alien
kill the noise
there's an alien in your head, lover killer
duck for cover
mother mary comes for me magdalene
green sleeves all my joy..."
lift my sleeves and you'll find
vertical and deep.
deep lines etched in
that pierce my soul.
Running parallel between
in the hemispheres
instead of heart lines
lines of longitude.
I tried to silence the white noise in my mind
with overdoses of
and emotional crusades
and maelstroms of not wanting stay
of not being sane
of not being able to
hold my crushed body to my chest.
instead I hold crushed pills in my palm
and swallow myself
I did it then to lay claim to a patch of earth
And I do it now to f
If you drink enough vodka it tastes like loveHe’d whisper sweet nothings to trees
Hoping the roots would remember his name
I watched him drop pieces of himself like bread crumbs
His lantern limbs quivering
I don’t think he ever really knew how lovely he was
And on a sunny day when the pavement was sweating
Out onto the roadside
Everyone else found out too
I don’t think I’ll ever forget him because he was like a dream catcher
So quiet and magical in the way his eyes turned green in the dark
And blue in the winter
Like he stored the world’s secrets behind his cuckoo spit heart
Daddy, you've drunk enoughDaddy, you've drunk enough
Daddy, people will laugh
Daddy, one question I ask:
Daddy... will our car crash?
I think you're too heavy, or am I too weak?
Because your weight on my arms, it's pushing down on me
And people look at us when you fall down on the street
I am ashamed, but I am still here
Daddy, why do you drink?
Daddy, is it because of me?
Daddy, did I hurt you somehow?
Answer me! I need to find out!
I feel so guilty, maybe it's my fault that I couldn't help you
Maybe if you had another child you would find a way to stop
I have dissapointed you, 'cause I'm not perfect
And it's killing me inside
Daddy, I know I'm a trash
But please, daddy, please, leave this glass!
Daddy, you're breaking my heart!
I'm so torn apart
Composed Upon an Abandoned SofaWe refuse to wake; trapped in pharma-sleep.
This place is as worn as the clothes we wear -
Look at the beauty of it all laid bare.
Our flesh and limbs lay still, knotted in heaps
Of spit and blood. Our narco-coma lies -
We have nothing but red eyes, skin ice-fair,
Our thoughts are stifled by the blackened air.
We are helpless - scarred at the mouth and eyes.
Here we crash, together. In smog we steep
Our secret, buried away from the sky
Amongst the ash, the phlegm and comrade flies
We'll sleep 'til one of us, from the gloom, cries
That these beautiful things, their scent and glare,
Are too scarce to sate our thirst for the deep.
his hands are not like yoursii.
i cannot remember
what i should not forget
you are nothing, now,
peeling back layers
of bone. your hands--
and steel-edged gilding--
pry me apart
& i break
I want you. You have me. I want you...
But.. Can I have you...?
You already have me..
I don't like to promise.. But yeah, I'm here.
I'm here and I'm staying. You have me.
made me this wayFor too long
You lied to me
For too long
You made me
Im walking away
When you ask others
Ask about how
I have changed
It was you
Who made me this way
Telling someone I am going to
Would you forgive me?
Tell someone what?
About who I am
What I am
Who are you?
Who you are
Tell me, and I'll forgive you.
Why Don't You Understand?Do you understand what it's like to be dead among the living?
When your heart keeps beating against its will?
The feeling is surreal, standing in the crowd of those who claim to be living.
Where everyone around me has a fear of the end; of death.
That's not me.
I see a beauty in the decay of life, a peace even.
Unlike the living, I understand death is a release from the world of pain we live in.
An understanding I wish to convey.
The fear I see in the eyes of others; I don't understand like I used to.
All fear is based on the same thing; a fear of loss.
Fear of pain?
Only a fear of losing comfort.
Fear of failure?
Only a fear in losing what you hope to achieve.
Fear in death?
Only a fear in losing this world.
But when you have nothing to lose, what is there to fear?
A dead among the living, oh the things I wish I could teach you.
Make you understand.
But the words w
The Layers of SkinShe laughs out loud.
Talking to herself.
She doesn't care though.
This girl is surrounded with her friends.
Happy with her life.
She can't cope with the stress.
Stress of work.
Stress of life.
Then the feeling that all of these other feelings simmer to eventually.
She wants to scream.
She wants to shout.
She wants to let it all out.
But her anger she must bury.
Otherwise a rampage of spilling out swear words and other vile.
Out of control, reckless and stupid.
Not thinking of consequences.
So look emotionless.
Or 'in a mood' as they call it.
She hates her anger.
She hates her thoughts and feelings.
She hates her looks.
She hates herself.
That's what guilt whispers in her ears.
She tries not to infront of people.
She sobs herself to sleep.
She can't help.
She has no hope.
Confusion eats away at her brain.
How It Began"God, your two o'clock is here."
"I have a two o'clock?"
"He's been here since 7:45. I figured it's only polite to... sir."
God sighed. "Fine, send him in."
While He waited God cleared His desk of papers and blueprints; no need for outsiders to see His plans. Soon enough the door to His office opened and God stood, smiled, held out a hand towards one of the two visitor's chairs.
"God! Great stuff you're doing in sector 2-7-0! Great stuff!"
The man's hands were clammy, his handshake limp. Rumpled suit, porkpie hat, briefcase... oh Jes-- oh dear, a salesman. God's smile slipped a little but He soldiered on gamely. With luck He could shoo the poor guy away in a few minutes.
"So, what can I do for you?"
The man sat, briefcase across his knees. "Sector 2-7-0! Everyone's talking about it! What do you call it? Man and merman?"
"Man and woman, actually. And thanks. But we're pretty busy around here, and..."
"Oh! Right! No time for the wicked, eh?" The salesman winked and popped his briefcase,
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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