If I was allowed to choose my way out, preferably I’d be smitten My last...– Thunderstorm at a Beach House
I die every time I fuck Spoon feeding necrophilia Into the people I care most...– “Penthesilea”
My feet fall hard on the hardwood floors as I pace around the downstairs of my house. I walk from room to room, making beelines to any reflective surface within ten feet of me. My heart is hitting firmer than my steps, and quicker. I can feel oceans in my eardrums and static in my fingertips. I wonder if I’ll be able to speak or if the second I open up my mouth, it’ll just be my own tell-tale...
She asked me if it was possible To love two people at the same time I said, of...– Cheating
1 Write a love poem about how Your skin peels off in the sun About the layer...– How To Fall In Love (via poelar)
(When stars die, they turn into supernovas) I could only ever watch the...– Black Holes (via kiyotes)
I leave my window open in the summer, And I wake up cold, with dew in my hair...– On Being A Landmark
1 I’ve been writing poems like apologies I am an atheist with “Only god can...– I’m Sorry
1 we planted the seeds, over decomposition but the affect was more...– Why Our Garden Failed (via poelar)
So close to creation, I feel like death (Lucidity is evaporation for The sheen on my chest) This procession is possession I can feel your ghost escape in sighs My breath leaving in peace with sin And the holiness between thighs So close to creation, god is obsolete And I am the hedonist that lives Beneath blessed defeat
The Art of Being a Scarecrow 2/19/13
I My bones are hollow and I easily go up in flame I think I’d be a good scarecrow I’ve mastered the art of watching the things I live for Fly away I just wish I wasn’t so standstill when it happened II My bones are hollow and I wish I didn’t Go so easily up in flame, when the sun starts beating down If the crows don’t come, I’ll rot instead While the corn rises up out of what’s found III My bones...
Claremont Ave (Short Story/Final Draft)
hikikoomori: Kristen’s house burned down in 2011, and ever since it’s been a solemn watermark on Claremont Avenue. The once light blue paint was now stained and dirty, the roof caved inward—a soggy membrane draped over the charred wood framework. The windows are decorated with warning papers and government documents that act as welcome signs to the few who knew her. They’re unpleasant...
(Addressing The Subject) 1/29/13 →
poelar: I know I’m melodramatic, you’ve told me before Because I’m fresh meat, and the butcher Keeps pounding on me, tongue and liver (Why does he do it when I’m already so tender?) I’m sorry I yelled at you, and cursed I’m sorry I hurt my throat and that I hurt your pride worse And I’m sorry the shade of your eyes makes my stomach turn The sea just always seemed so unforgiving I know...
How I felt on 1/22/13
kiyotes: Somewhere between loss and gain Is self-indulgence Because I want both, but can’t Quite condone it. And I need to suffer enough, To help me feel alive But then again, I need to strive And I need you to be attainable Because somewhere in the gestures And attractive lies and (Truthful) whispers just below a sigh Of all the things we want to make Each feel- Inside each other And beside...
kiyotes: sometimes in sunlight her eyes are every color blending into me
kiyotes: I am lacking sustenance like diet, off-brand, synthetic To someone who’s already out of rehab I am here, only to fill the spaces in-between a bad habit, a routine
speculation (I/II/III/IIII) →
I I don’t really believe in fate, but circumstance seems to be egging me on quite a bit And I used to believe in a god, now I have theories about truth, and it’s relativity/absoluteness II No, I don’t really believe in true love, like romcoms you can buy on HBO with kisses in the rain, and quirky female leads but I do believe in the rain and kissing you and females...
kiyotes: wanting to sink because the strain is aching wanting to float because my lungs are quaking
kiyotes: the wood is swelled with summer and I can’t open the doors they jam and cling to their frames I as well, have been expanding and meandering in thought giving into other voices and sucking in the heat of their octaves And as I broaden I wonder if at some point I will no longer be as easy to open like oak doors during dog days and what will be locked inside
kiyotes: by the pond, and everyone in our suburban town is speaking spanish I feel as fluent as ever arms streched out and backstroking with all my clothes on while you watched from the grass you said I’m an inch off from what I’m supposed to do you said I’m unexpected I just can’t tell if it’s a compliment or an insult or true
Mornings, I don't leave the street 10/14/12
kiyotes: Straying, animals and people. And the slow crawling of transportation in enclosed neighborhoods Not unlike insects, scurrying for shelter in the daylight With wet pavement from the rain, the night before Remnants of parted memory, still seeping above ground Soon to be both unavailable and sought after As people continue to persist forward in patterns In which I usually partake ...
kiyotes: Empty air is dew and small inclinations With residue of working thoughts While silences drips off your skin It’s a comfort to a brain in knots So while I unwind all that I am Beauty seeps out of pores we cover Don’t feel the need to move from where the still stands Because interest comes in things yet discovered I know those syllables you want to chime All those stories you...
laundry and my mom's boyfriend
kiyotes: we never separated the lights from the darks until he swooped in like a crow, jim crow and our melting pot of laundry habits then came to segregation and his jokes go over everyone’s head the delivery is too serious all I want is to put his whites with my reds and stop that condescending wheeze - but she seems to like how the colors are crisp and she splurges on the...
muscles (free verse)
kiyotes: muscles, not the kind that grow on brine docks but the kind that lay on top of them seen under skin but over bones making roads and indents all along your body moving like how bridges are built to display a physical history of your defense and then in contrast your vulnerability, a feasible kind where my fingers can sink into soft flesh and feel your fine tuning while we lie ...
kiyotes: I’m being bleached out by the lights When I first assumed to be bioluminescent But then by rituals of day and night Outside forces were the only shine present And in the dark I become aware Of who I am And how I’m really there I’m being bleached out by the sun As I go out and leave myself behind And when I get my errands done My individual is hard to find
smothered (free verse)
kiyotes: the option of people is a smoke I’m surrounded with a slow addiction of second hand company and when I get the freedom I consider it to be fresh air but it’s something that still my lungs find hard to adjust to I consider giving in, and starting the habit as well at least then, the tar in my lungs would be my own brand all I know is that I can not keep the way things are now ...
kiyotes: i if he was cutting down a tree severed from a storm he’d expect me to be green, but I’d snap with yellow decay ii Underneath the carbon my insides are made of hollow hay and in the summer, they tend to go up in flames
"Skylines" (a short story, final drafting)
kiyotes: [[MORE]] “A certain darkness is needed to see the stars.” - Osho The tall grass is camouflaging me in a sea of yellow green, and I am so aware of every insect taking grip on my exposed hair and bare legs. Every tick and mosquito latching on to drain me dry, all the ants trying to get by my enormous size, and the ladybugs and fireflies who swarm around me with the best intentions. I’m not...