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We were laying in bed, I think.
one thousand needles
crippling agony; sybolised voice
or, art for arts sake.
Pierce into my skin and release these butterflies
I've been living for this day, ironic how I have to die
Gripped deep down, I am now frantic with this fear
Of everything that is surfacing and I see what you hold dear
The cast has been broken and now the words fall out dead
but at least we can see them, we no longer have to smile
for I see the venom leaking out of every loving word you've said
and it has cracked my cold body, I am being demolished like tile
Miss me when the mess is clear and you have swept away my song
When the dust has settled around yourself understand my fear is gone
I was weak when fear came to consume, all that's left is love i had
living through the black butterflies who are always looking sad
I wrote for this, it is "Poetry1" in the main forum.
---
she wore Guess jeans and her lips slightly snug,
pursed, like the pucker of a babydolls mouth;
which could not afford silence, but questions,
yes.
her style was to mark every conversation
like a bitch in heat. heavy for answer,
always hooking jewels, sinking semi precious
metal into skin-- as if spiking flesh
with silver would draw admirers;
and she might extract beads
from their efforts at knowledge
and imparting
it, she called Freedom, it
Acceptance, it.
and she cemented herself to it, and its
consequences-- like polish on a fingernail.
(she was)Taken with Advice, the same way one
would approach the makeup counter in department,
stores
of gossip and opinion--cliffnotes of understanding
swarm her mind like a net of dots, unconnected.
a community of Angry, Unconventional and Needy,
wove accessories-- weighty bangles of prose
and solid fabrics of critique,
that were stolen from a dumpster;
on a street where that one flower growing
from cracked concrete is worshiped...
where lonely, scared, teens are expected to be hard.
not pale, totems of childhood
not unread, ill socialized writers,
trying to gain It.
intelligence bows to emotion
like reputation encompasses slander--she guesses
at general concepts.
"what is expression?"
so that pearls
laid out on her collar might symbolize,
a conquered stream of conscience;
or maybe that the dip in throat has more depth
than it dare resonate.
ornate musings, she draws them in English
sometimes with illustrations
butterflys and quivering hands
poised to diss-member
for Acceptance.