spadeyou, into my bonesspade by ~chancerox
dug marrow with a spade.
my house, filled with cats & combs;
only breathless air can fade.
the points of his nails
raging against her patchwork quilt,
ripped off the ends of my cattails
and my celosia began to wilt.
there are many wicked things
and the spade is most impartial.
swords and daggers will slay kings
but the spade buries the marshall.
silver lining sandwichBREADsilver lining sandwich by ~chancerox
I. I am a jealous Go(rfice)d.
II. From my nails & brimstone the Berlin Wall arose.
III. Terror runs down my throat like flower petals in cakes.
IV. You are like washing your hands before sticking them
down your throat - false health.
V. I always have to explain Jacob's ladder to you.
VI. Then you slip on my lungs.
VII. Shiver up chain link fences with me, if you're beautiful.
VIII. My stars can't align.
gingerale today, we soaked in summertime kisses like gingerale --gingerale by ~chancerox
sharp and wonderful
stitches hastily sewn over and over littered our sunburned stomachs
as we caught smiles on the murky breeze
i wish that there was no end to this florescent heart haze
and that when we danced,
the air would caress our shoulders like father's hands and king's cloaks.
I Belong To You I hate rain. Not really, I love it. Just not when the most beautiful, perfect, wonderful, perfect, comfortable, waterproof, perfect coat in existence has been savagely butchered by my so-called friend’s Dalmatian. Every slap of rain on my naked arms is a stinging reminder of the irreparable hole in my wardrobe.I Belong To You by *RadishStick
Some people might try to fill the void with lesser coats but I can’t bring myself to betray Valentino, even after her death. Instead my slippery arms grapple with each other in wet shock as I stumble to the op shop, clinging to one last thread of hope. I know in my deadened heart that I’ll never have another coat like her. Yet here I am, blundering through the elements in my vain search for the acceptance and warmth I found wrapped in Valentino’s woollen sleeves.
Thud. My body slams into the door, making the ‘open’ sign quiver and the bells tinkle in offense. I fight for entry, the door’s assault doubled by the stale funk of
despotismshe is a bird sitting, teetering ondespotism by *A-Lovely-Anxiety
a power line because
one way or another, she figures
the best way to end
is a big bang.
He is a fish swimming, traversing along,
Against the crashing tide because
He figures he can defy the law one or way or another,
And the best way to begin
Is to finish the end
Before he's stuck in her talons.
though she is made of feathers
and bones and she is still weightless enough
to take to the currents of air,
she is powerless
against the waves his actions
make, and she is so easily swept away that
she thinks her body might as well
be made of stones.
He could tell she was astounded by his ocean,
By the place he calls home to.
He welcomed her to the lowest depths of it,
She couldn't resist the deepest blue of the marine,
Nor the glitter of his fishscale,
And the place he called heaven,
Eventually became this bird's hell.
her eyes were always the
size of jupiter when he was around
because she was fascinated with
the way he moved so gracefully from