|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
your perfume tastes like shitit was love
that made me pull
the poison rose,
but no longer will
i allow myself to lie
in the shallow coffin
of your body,
no longer will my veins
stretch to compensate
for your insatiable need.
you are fresh cancer
in my cross-infected heart,
but honey i'll pull you out
with my own damn fingers
if it means saving myself.
even in death, i will not find peacei lost my faith the way
i lost my virginity -
clinging to a girl like she
was all i'd ever have,
bathed in darkness and shame.
it's been years since then,
but i want to lose my life
the same way.
no motion could raise me
from my coffin of sod and sorrow,
to pull me from my bed
of dirt and disgrace -
but i would wake up with
blood on my hands,
i would wake up with death
curled up like a dog at my feet,
resting with nothing
but the waning hope that
you ache for me with a fire
burning in your bones that
never ebbs, never relents.
a goddess slept on my bedroom floormy blankets still smell
like you, and they stretch
to hold me -
me, who curls into the mattress like a child,
me, medicated and so unsure.
you left two weeks ago,
and i lay tucked against
the window where you
once were, but now thinking
ridiculous thoughts riding
on an unstoppable current:
i would take your last name,
even if it weren't mine to have.
there are certain things
only my memory can touch now;
the way you slept in my bed
like you belonged there,
breathing as if you weren't
counting what you had left.
and if i could have it my way,
i would spend every night i'll ever
have with you, throat burning
and a mouth full of smoke,
but only love dashing from my
lips and floating endlessly into
the star patterned sky.
a youth without flowerswake up, dress in your sunday best - that white church dress with the ribbon collar wound tight like a noose around your neck. don't wince when mamma pulls your hair back into twin tails, even though your scalp feels like it'll split open.
get in the back seat. wonder why your uncle is driving the family car down wheezy roads, but only wonder silently. from the back seat you see his fat old stomach wobble as the ford jostles down a gravel road toward church. apologize to mamma when your head smacks into the window - it's your fault, anyway.
smile like your daddy is the preacher, but don't seem too happy. mamma told you that today is a sad day. this thought rattles around in your tiny head; it doesn't make sense. how can the sky be as blue as a bird's belly on a sad day? there aren't many clouds in the sky.
don't fuss when mamma pulls you away from the kids playing ball underneath the big oak tree. she's only doing that to help you - you wouldn't want those pretty black shoes to get scu
unwritten9:14 pm: you're still here. you never really left.
9:14 pm: there are curls of your hair on the floor. your toothbrush rests on the curve of the sink in my shitty little bathroom.
9:15 pm: and your towel is still damp from this morning.
9:26 pm: you were the sun on my wall this afternoon, coaxing me to sleep as you panned a diagonal path through my room.
9:34 pm: you are the wrinkles in my bed sheets, like stretchmarks worn into a mattress.
9:38 pm: you are still in the bark of the trees outside. you are every child that will trapeze from that swing-set in the park, and every howling toddler scared of bees.
9:42 pm: you are the secret in my second dresser drawer, and if i step outside, you'll be sitting on the edge of the porch downstairs with a lighter between your fingers.
10:02 pm: you are still here. you are the songs in my head, the tremor in my hands. i can still smell you on my skin.
12:53 am: you are not in my bed, but you are still here, somehow.
2:22 am: you are not here. you
a love poemlike a dictionary ripe
with salted, sun spotted
words that emanate power
and splendor, i am unable
to describe you.
flyover state, flyover heartthere's almost nothing
left of august, or me -
just fat, humid yawns that
cling to the asphalt and
vinyl sidings of houses
prettier than any autumn day.
chlorined kids rise from the
tanned wake of public pools,
clothed in school uniforms,
counting the new freckles
they've earned like war badges.
the nights i can lay in my
underwear beneath spider web
blankets while my wheezy fan
oscillates and whispers dusty
stories are numbered.
but i'll hold the moon
as it crests over summer's
dying vigil, my arms high
around it's wondrous girth.
i'll ride the heat into the
ashes of three months spent
dreaming in fevered euphoria.
i'll lead the impassioned
thousands down margins tucked
into a waning, wailing cry.
and i won't rest, even after
august is buried between blue
lined composition pages in a
coffin of lead - a memory with no
scent becoming one without a heartbeat.
dead from the neck upto the thousands of souls who have
died beneath my skin, picked pink,
and those i would not be able to
sleep without, for they are the static
voices in my seashell ears - i am
sorry, but not sorry enough to stop.
should i scrape my illness from
beneath my nails, there would be no
one to wrap my feeble body in the
flesh of freckled stars and bark
warnings so softly. this is all i have.
there are people who haven't seen
the war here at home, the blood
lapping the shores of our pride.
and their eyes don't shine like mine,
but their hands leave bruises against
my temples, peeling the skin from my
back like poorly held wallpaper.
hope has fled and left me with an
empty nest. god trembles when i
wake to see another day. no one
hopes that sometime i'll be able to
laugh with my heart on my tongue,
and they sure as hell don't wipe the
sadness that drips down my chin
and hallowed neck.
for now, my ribs are shut tight like
venetian blinds, my mind is held
together with safety pins, and my
sixty reasons why i can't wear shorts this weeki'm miles from
the open breast of
your bed -
still, i press
my ear to your voice
like a child hoping
to hear the ocean
in a seashell.
no one sells forgiveness
in bottles anymore;
i cannot end this
chapter by myself.
your name is bitter, like
here's to hoping he tastes
like what we'll never have.
Hey YouHey you.
With the perfect smile,
Even if it hasn't been seen
In a little (or long) while.
I hope you're feeling okay.
And I think you're
Doing really great today;
You are one less day away
From your perfect tomorrow.
To The HeroesJustice?
I'm not sure you know what that means.
To you the very word of "justice" suggests that:
Those who do not comply are simply targets to be broken.
Those who do not agree with you, must always be denied.
Those who have the greatest freedom are chained and made to kneel.
And those who choose to fight are labeled 'incarnates of evil'.
Doesn't it all sound a little familiar?
I think it does...
So tell me, oh great hero,
Having fought monsters like me for so many years...
How does it feel to have finally become one?
Stormy nightPouring rain
Just another night
In this sad existence
The rain feels refreshing
The darkness is comforting
And they bring a smile
To my melancholic face
I am one with the night
One with the storm
Standing under the streetlight
Waiting for life to happen
Capturing CreativityBe still.
A timid bird, poetry lurks
beneath your freckled skin,
the rustle of ruffled feathers
hidden in the poundings
of your predator heart.
In quiet moments,
you can hear the chirrups
of her breathing,
stone-heavy words tumbling
between the cliffs of your ribs.
Coax her gently
with ink stained fingertips
and rhyme-tangled tongue.
The Last GiftGod traces the letters on tombstones, fondly
remembering the deceased’s first steps
into His house. When He closed
the gates of Eden, the whole world
became a cemetery: the untouched garden
a hospital waiting room, overflowing
with flowers to be arranged
upon funeral wreaths, waiting for Him
to bestow His last gift.
time quantum egresswe bury our hearts
in the heavy glow of the horizon,
the electric hum of the New Moon
digging through the skull
we wander stateless, eyes blankly set
in dispassion. lost souls of a lost time
dragging wire-shells and pale furnaces
and we have outlived our selves.
basic human anatomywe're composed of half a cage
which holds the organ that
was intended for pumping blood,
but really dictates our feelings,
and a three pound glob
pushes words out so fast
it's a wonder our whole
existence depends on it.
then there's the necklace of
vertebrae, held together with
the most sacred thread
in the world; one snip, and
the beads fall off and shatter.
the space between your legs
is the real cradle of humanity.
of course, there's the prepackaged
set of guts you receive
with one easy payment of a life.
you don't hear many poems about
the kidneys or pancreas, but
they deserve as much credit
as the romanticized heart and lungs.
Self-ExplanatoryPenciling in eyebrows is hard enough
since I’ve started over-plucking
but now I’ve got something
stuck inside of my ribs
no it’s not my heart, I mean
really in my ribs, in the marrow
of it all, they’re flower petals
I could say, to make it less disgusting
when really what’s stuck is
that stupid A+ because I know I won’t
get it and someone else will, as if
the + matters more now than it did
in Kindergarten; I live my life
in degrees of neutrality and
yet my future hinges on electrons
and protons and what about
that inconsolable grey area in between
which was good enough before now but not now
i’ve asked myself why it matters so much
and I guess I say because A equals
success, and I ask why success matters
and all I get are dollar signs and I wonder
if all we are is economy - for twenty-years
at the least we learn dollar signs
and if you think that’s not qui
eighteen.I AM NOT THE PRINCE YOU THINK I AM
the sky screeches through
my winter window as
i rush to slap my skin back
onto my bones and string
my teeth through my gums.
he promises i will miss the bus.
the weather has never failed
to swallow the house whole,
rattling the blinds,
biting into door frames.
my acne caked face
Keep in Touch!
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