[x]

Icarus Dreams i am running
with kites on runways;
slipping smiles into the breeze.

throwing paper airplanes
down terminals;
fluttering dreams in turbines.

i could've called anyone
there a liar--
but i only found me
inside my head.

and if i learned
that feathers
leave papercuts,

i might not
be here:
afraid of flying

with the feeling of
melting wax
between my fingers

Sick.life slouches against the door

[i think i can hear it crying]

sickly grins lick my lips;

rub the undersides

of scream-sore throats

stained with the sweetest sort of bruise

every nerve--

a soft

atrium flow;

cutting

capillaries

screams all my own

swallowed in cotton lungs

pressure in my skull

fire in my veins

holding the skin i had

clinging tighter to fragility

and i just can't find

the strength to cry

anymore

the night stretches on for months

red.

red.

black.

i shake like a leaf

RestlessI’ve been living in the same breathy dream
for too many days now; I’m bed-ridden and
stale and I reek of those moments that come
full throttle like a car crash on a winter night

   this is evolution where weak hearts
   are afraid of the shadows and where
   everything changes,
   an apologetic wind births no remorse;
   he will move on—anchored ship
   set sail, I am the sunken wreckage
   that never learned how to swim.
   he will move on, Darwin says
   I never had a chance

I wish I were the textbook sadness,
symptom and solution and endurance
but I’ve spent too long sleeping on the

A Stranger'I would promise you until always ends, but I want to live forever.'

cyanide poems
dripped off his thin lips.
wreathing water-ink.
something like saliva
and coughed-up calligraphy.

up-turned cheekbones:
a smile
dancing to the surface:
a parody of laughter--
pallid and festering.

'you're a stranger, so why should i care.'

albatross hands.
dragged out;
crashing again.

'you'll vanish today,'

fingers chilled
to sticks of flesh and bone.

'not for the first time, i hear--or the last.'

face floating:
a harsh white sky.

spume and spray
spread out
like a too-taunt sheet.

surrender reaching:
frozen
and
languid.
longing

Wildflowers, Imperfect BirdsI breathed your name like wildflowers under vast broken skies, in wide-open spaces. The wind blowing through them spoke of dew and dirt and petrichor, and there was sunlight on the ground like a mosaic patterned by god's own hands.

I said it like a monarch claiming new land: a declaration, a butterfly breath over old earth; like it was coffee on a warm morning with the sun in my eyes, interlacing with my lashes; like it was a dream; like it was a prayer like it was a miracle wrought of air and bone and body: you, in, out, in, out, in and in and in.

I cried it out like an earthquake between lip and lip, continents that don't quite fit: your

Cutter 'what are you scared of?'

she was too pale to be held against the sun: so she leans against it until you can't see her face.

her eyes were chalk-smudges on blackboards, blurred against a backdrop of white-washed walls. her outline was all fade-out and lace, as white as winter could be.

her words were quiet like stains are, clinging to a curtain in the window. just trying to blend into the pattern, or at least not become part of it.

and when she breathes her chest swells with see-through lungs--hoping that if you focus, you'll see right through her glass skin. after all, she's just a smudge of the wrong varnish in your eyes.

she shudders

Chorus Of Confliction"Chorus Of Confliction"

He threw her in a metal chair
Handcuffed wrists; pulled back hair
Stripping her almost completely bare
She wasn't going anywhere
What perfect timing as of now
For their parents had been out of town
What a way for siblings to behave
He had prepared for her an unmarked grave
This time she was going to hear him out
Annoyed by her pleas and pouts
He placed the tape onto her mouth
Her pleas now just muffled shouts
He had told her she had better stop
He warned her like a constant clock
She liked to rain on his parade
Turning nights into darkened shades
He knew he had to do this to her
Still he couldn't b

hyperdontiasometimes it feels as if
I have too many milk teeth,
too many parts of me that belong
to a time when I climbed trees to touch the sky
and I swam in sunflowers
and fireflies -
to a time I have long since
painted in sepia tones,
long since pushed
to the back of my mind
with hands so tired
of being filled with splinters
- too many seeds
and not enough light.

there are too many parts of me
that I have placed underneath pillows,
that I have kept behind closed lashes,
that I have slept upon, waiting
for the morning to arrive and them
to be g o n e ,
replaced with coins that I could place
underneath the tongues of the dreams
that I could not fer

Fire and WoodYou are elemental
Detrimental
Fire eating away at my resistance
You are passion
Without reason
A world without a season

I only ask that you bend for me
Just slightly
Give me a piece of you

You are distant
And dismissive
Yet always with a view
It is distorted
Like dying flies
In the bottom of your bourbon glass
You sass me
And I have nothing to compete
Against action movies and the TV

Look away
Just look at me
Tell me what you see
I am dying
Each and every day
You drain me of emotions
Just as you drain your drink
To the brink
I am past explosions
Your desires are for simplicity
And a bland existence
But when we

The Daily Sentence ProjectShe shifts her thighs to the same angles
where tectonic plates exchange glances.
The infant in her arms coos in haiku,
the phone crouching on her shoulder
barking in blank verse and bank terms;

where has the affection been displaced?

Perhaps the both of them are three full-
time jobs past romance and two cases
of chickenpox past the seven-year-itch

to be able to tell that dishwater softens
and oatmeal baths becalm their hands.

The kitchen tile is a haphazardous haven
for cloven shoes. She prefers slip-ons.

lukewarmshe had the kind of voice
that seemed to be stuck
in the hour of four o'clock
in the morning - soft
and tired and luring,
mumbling her way through
subways and tunnel lights
all pale yellow with noise.

there was tea and long baths
and longer absences,
hiccups of breath
the best
she could do.
long springs and
longer falls,
one equinox to the next
and still the bad
was never that bad
and the good
was never that
good,
and she continues to hum
the birds continue to sing
the apples continue to
grow and
sour and
fall,

and bury themselves
again.

acousticyour soul is an acoustic
black and white picture
movie reel
captive sunlight
never yielding to release
giving shadows a new taste
of elegance, quiescent
the tranquil luminescence
that can trap a heart
in the photographic emulsion
or celluloid undertow
of slow motion
just as flammable
as a subtle combustion
kindling a rustic tongue
to move a languid expulsion
ladened with sorrows
carried like crystal shards
in a humble sun catcher
hung above a familiar window
prizing inconsequential matter
into flecks of golden dust
reminiscent of
beauty and
love~

stop me if you've heard this one beforei.
there is a man on the corner of my street
who gave me a bottle of bleach
and told me if i drank it, i'd finally feel clean.

but i gave it back to him, and went home to take a shower.

because i am almost happy,
and i do not want to mess that up by
chugging bleach or fingering knives or thinking too much
about that man who turned my insides cold
from inside of his car.

because this has to be happy.
this has to be what happy feels like.
it feels like god gave me a vodka bottle
filled with nature and people and oceans and deserts and seas,
cause see, it feels like i'm drunk on life.

ii.
i have this nervous habit of scratching

FeverI like pretending I mean something to the ghosts
who wreak havoc on my bones-
impaling these masochistic butterfly wings
on railroad spikes
between heartbeats and bedsheets,
immortalized.

I got a heart in New Orleans,
palms engraving names like
Juliet, Alexandria, & Christine
on the seats of greyhound buses.

& I'm offering up 102 degrees of skin to a godless moon
as I breathe in her night scent.

Water Bomb"Water Bomb"

Everyday my little boat
Becomes filled with more and more water
My shoes are starting to get soaked
Like lambs unaware in the slaughter
There seems to be some kind of hole
Just big enough for water to get through
The hole isn't big by any means
But I don't know what to do
And everyday my little boat
Sinks deeper and deeper in the sea
I can't rewrite the script I wrote
I can't undo what is to be
The hole now becoming cracks
I tried to plug with paint and clay
With barrels full of whole grain sacks
But even still the boat decayed
And I just can't stop this water
From seeping in little by little
Every damn crack a

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Summers Lost

by ~poetic-headache, Oct 5, 2012, 11:36:48 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

_{_{god died today. or maybe it was tomorrow. i can't remember.

"ask anything."

static skies;
grizzled blue
sketching down
to sewer lines:
like a wish
on a dead star.

the feeling of gritted teeth
and fingers crossed
until they break.

shame tasted
like a scalpel
and a brick wall
against my throat.

and i was
chewing concrete
when i said,
"it's okay."

swallowing cinder blocks;
stuffing steel under skin.

sugar-sweet
on my cheek,
like book pages:

"where have you been?"}}

Summers Lostby ~poetic-headache

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Say hello to all you've left behind.

[link]

love 1 1

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~kodama Jan 2, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Infinite possibility. Nothing not to love!

~wh0rem0ans Jan 2, 2013

brilliant first line

=DailyLitDeviations Jan 2, 2013

Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by =DailyLitDeviations in a news article that can be found here: [link]

Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by

ing the News Article. Keep writing and keep creating.

~IyraEMM Oct 9, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

aww wow, this is great. the first line got me hooked. your imagery is very vivid and unusual. you write really well!

~poetic-headache Oct 9, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you very much! That's simply wonderful to hear.

~IyraEMM Oct 10, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

you're welcome

it was wonderful to read some good writing.

~poetic-headache Oct 10, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

;3 Awh, thanks again.

~ApplauseJunkie Oct 8, 2012

Sogladit'sback.
Can Howl come back soon? I love that one so much.
I love you. :3

~poetic-headache Oct 8, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Really? I love me too! ^^ And I love you, so yes. ;3

~ApplauseJunkie Oct 8, 2012

Yay! :3

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