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sleep, or lack thereofSleep is elusive.
It hides behind 10:45 screams
And 'I forgot' showers.
But to say the Grand Canyon's faultless,
Would be to say the same of me.
There is no excuse for 3:14 wanderings,
More confusing and stress-induced to me
Than the same number in geometry.
Yet they serve the same purpose:
Sending me off in circles, which are only useful
I Imagine that sweet pure bliss which tires above all else
And still it helps none.
I yearn for summer days
When my head never hit the pillow
(To my limited frosh knowledge).
The shadows cast by 26 lettered keys
You could say keep me company,
If I ever bothered to glance down.
This problem, if I may call it that without some diagnosis,
Haunts me just as I now do the halls.
There is some desperate hope in my padded tread
Of discovery, because once known,
The process of finding a cure can begin.
Of course I'll never voice it on my own;
Sometimes it's takes the attention and care
To piece together broken fragments,
Which, right now,
babysitter there art thouMy babysitter's back.
To be my mentor, my role model.
[for my confirmation]
But doesn't babysitter realize that she's more useful hiding in the back of my mind?
I know she's swimming in that milky fluid that surrounds my brain, popping out and skirting along the neurons only when babysitter feels the need. Doesn't she feel the awkwardness in her gills, in the knowledge that babysitter's been resurfaced for too long?
I wonder if she remembers.
Babysitter's trading frozen pepperoni pizzas for pot roast in our dining room. Instead of receiving a, "you know what to do!" over a dressed-up shoulder, she gets a four hour long conversation about her. And life after college, babysitter's job, babysitter's boyfriend.
I don't mind.
I just wonder if babysitter feels cheated.
Babysitter's traded an eight-year old unknowingly asking racist and stereotypical and far too sexual questions for her age for a fourteen-year old who eats cookie after cookie [calorie after calorie] for something to do while
words trump actionWhen I'm wheelchair bound,
you can bet you'll be around
'Cause I don't have to shout
to drown out my actions
I never need to use my touch,
just a still whispering hush
Echoes in our connected eyes
although we're frozen in time.
Motion to typed text in haste,
those heavy footsteps have a space.
Our library's always cramped,
but there's no house for the mimes.
Words open your mouth in awe.
Fights dislocate your jaw.
But you know words can break
what a punch never could.
Further respect laden silence,
than epitomes of violence.
Bloody misunderstandings what we're left with
when we refused to end the quiet.
So when I'm wheelchair bound,
you can be you'll be around
'Cause I don't have to shout
to drown out my actions.
Secret Santa 'shh'moon's the spectator for an ethereal world
brings frigid gusts
adds vampiric cloak of midnight
almost as a suggestion
the sun chases the shadow
blinding it with fiery passion
scorching the frost the litters its sky
and outshining the twinkiling smoldering stars
flaring brightly, it seeks to diminish all the moon's
yet there is that split second
both trying to outdistance the other
that the sky becomes a home for two
dear my wishesdear you,
i didnt wish for you at 11:11
but i was thinking of you
does that count?
im watching snow float haphazardly
holding my breath until it safely meets the ground
feeling like ive intruded upon its dance
the streetlamps' reflecitve glow its stage
no earthly mortal seated in the audience
am i watching you right now?
the frozen water's so pure
i can feel you, see you, taste you
imagining it's you divided into
these destinationless flurries
because it could only be you
i want to draw you into my hands
and protectively, singuarly listen to the silent lullaby
your decent is making
your observer, admirer, friend, constant
love from me
the snow's hidingi can only snag glimpses
of reclusive snow
in the glare
of flourescent streetlamps
the best show residing outside
my blotched line of 15/20 vision
isn't just words 'scoff'love isnt just words, they say
its the way you say them
the way im changing the pitch of my voice
moving it up and down like a pencil on paper
drawing a hand cradling your cheek or
capturing the runoffs trailing out from your palm
when you talk it's jumbled erotic nothing
every word excited splatter painted breathlessness woven with
spontaneous blotches racing to escape
but i'm content in this finger painted masterpiece of a maze
that's love in words
a carved beating musclethere's something so primitive about the jagged bumps
the way it ran off course and was reconnected later
around the time you fended off my onslaught of tickles
im oddly possessive of this assymetrical thing
bending down to reverently kiss the flaking wood
it took you moments to doodle, (others would say vandalize, youd say screw them)
but i can still feel you in the map you drew of my inner metronome
simply because it came from whatever you once were
whatever we once were
dont take your fights seriousanother's fighting with me
hoping to change me
draw out a reaction
it's not the conflict that impacts me
it's who with
youre just flattering yourself
trying to imitate her method
to make me care about what you think
and a year, a year and a half, two years later
hers are still carried by me in personally-signed anniversary cards
to me, from me
i'm still snap-shotting, freeze-framing my failures in
your awkward pauses
full of things you wouldve, shoudlve, could have said
before i cracked us
so i'm copying my failures
presenting one to you with resigned flourish
everytime i spill the milk
and we still dont know what i'm trying to prove
.just try not to
that memory, that one
wolf that calls
for the rest
of the pack;
you'll spend all
with them inside
gossamer loveyou will love a woman
who uses the word
too often. she will
diagnose dead artists' descents
into madness and laugh
too loudly at jokes
no one understands.
she will braid crowns of
flowers, she will write poems
in constellations, she will
try to walk like a dancer so
no one can hear her
leave. she will be
an ice sculpture, and when
she cries, you'll convince yourself
she's melting, she loves you, you've
changed her, you've
changed; she will wear you
like a comma, like
an incomplete thought,
in her story, and
she will leave you wondering
crooked kissesAn old man sits at a bus stop,
his ragged clothes soaked
through to his creaky bones.
He grips his beggars cup
tightly, but instead of coins it
overflows with rain water.
Passersby pass by without
giving a second glance, brief
cases clenched in swinging
hands, Bluetooth plugged into
their ears. A little girl dressed
in pink polka dots prances
to his side. Her mouth moves
quickly and his takes time to
form words. She giggles,
drops coins into his cup, and
gives him a kiss on the cheek.
He laughs a crooked grin.
CatatoniaShe scrawls life line tallies on her wrists in scars
to mark each year passed
and haunts bars looking for the love of strangers.
she finds malt whiskey and vermouth; strange mouths to kiss
she tips them back the way a lover might tip her chinny chin
She whispers slurs and looks into the abyss of gin.
He inhales death with the smoky kisses of cigarettes
injects life paraphrasing echoes of love with hypodermics to keep
the hypothermia of loneliness back
but it creeps and creeps
a slow paralysis
under the windowsill, rain falling bleak on the pane to drip
into her veins
soft dark over the threshold of the doorway to her soul
writing ink into her shadow, there -
melting behind the lidded stupor stare of dreamless minds
it stirs and wakes,
invisible monsters sleeping in her chest
they bare their teeth and bleed
pain naked in the light of morning
ugly and beautiful in the honesty of strangers unable to turn
from a car crash in the dusk.
walking in darkness
searching for touch.
To the one I forget to loveSunshine girl,
your feet are itchy for the miles
between your sighs
and hunger scratches
at your throat
but you have a smile
that swallows oceans
and your heart
into the Marinia Trench.
this heaviness in you
is a dandelion
coming home to rest
Cigarrete Smokesometimes you want to
kill the world inside you,
but you can't
because you're too worried
because you can't see the consequences
because you don't like modifications
because you can't make up
well you're excused,
excused from giving a damn,
for the cigarette lighter
(I'm too tired to stomp out the ashes
and blow the smoke away).
A Daughter Now BegottenIf reason could challenge the knowledge of infinity,
the blindness of justice;
should we not call ourselves Gods...
And Gods are we not, for if justice were truly blind,
it would hold the same fate for rich and poor alike...
Under the celestial heaven that shines above,
the beggar's crying face and the rich man's arrogant gaze...
So of The Creation we are, living in throngs of solitudes....
Each solitude made torturous by the lust for more money,
yet eased by the kindness of strangers and the love of God...
Which power of change is made,
unto glory from a prisoner down trod,
to a man of faith, who helped a dying woman in need till loving eclipse.
A daughter now begotten, of starry eyes and golden sun ray locks...
Cherished by God and adored by both parents,
though mother soon to be with the Creator Almighty,
this daughter grows up knowing the brittleness of mortality...
...As her lips of red rose blossoms,
her heart aches as the mourning moon that hides behind the bosom of clouds...
please PLEASE pleaseplease, please
i care and i cant hide
screaming sounds tortured
maybe i am
cant you see?
im tired of being
just please realize
i WANT to be here
like crows, black ghosts of nightmares
fly on wings of dreams, of fears
the dreams arent theirs
the dreams yield to no master
the crows own nothing
thier cries are still the inspiration
for our own.
we command, we control
now if only the same could be said
for my life
if i could see where it led
i dont want to burn
feel the flame, lick, crack, taunt
your face appears
laughs, walks away
as everything peels away
the layers vanishing
i become nothing
just the same as i always have been
gates close, golden chimes receede
the flames claim ownership
i burn, you watch, and do nothing
my screams take the form of the crow
nightmares of mazes
screams, crows, mine, yours, intermingle
i run, but get farther away
not running away, but not running backwards
just deeper into re
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More