[x]

i am not in loveyour skin is dripping with black ink and i know this is wrong because you always write in blue.

high heels and hemp.charlie,

i smiled at your father and i was thinking, "i had a lot of fun having sex with your daughter" and his eyes were flitting like blinds and i was thinking of your lips tugging on mine and i walked away after he said "hello." i am tired of hearing that home has a heartbeat and if it does then i guess yours is a cigarette cough and a sinew snap. everything about you was replaced when you left. last time i saw you, your hair looked tired and your eyes were flat. i think you've lost your mind and i know how you can get it back.

-victoria

i don't know what you're saying anymore, tori.
i mean sometimes i wish i could tell you that i mis

failure fetishI wanna blow out your brains
And shower in the arterial spray
I wanna cause you pain
Then convince you to stay
I wanna break you into basic pieces
That children can choke on
I want you, to look at me
And find me revolting
I want you to find my love insulting
I wanna throw up every bit of you
Then I wanna starve of self absorption
Then wonder what im turning into
Nothing but pain and distortion
Crush me ill enjoy the pressure
Baby this is a little more than pleasure
Smash my bones into dust
Ill laugh as my mechanic heart turns to rust
I could go insane, and orgasm on the vibrations
I enjoy pain, and crushing e

red lips turn quickevery sixteen-year-old boy with electric feather hair i meet is you. i know this because they play guitars outside of coffee shops and sing like they might cry or a t least break their strings, and that is you exactly, or maybe me. the Mexican boy i see tuesday thursday friday is also you because his skin is cinnamon and yours is ivory, so really you match just right, don't you?
she is my mirror-dazed red-lipped goddammit what colour are her eyes again girl and all i hear are offers for coffee and 'let's run away' and it skips through my brain like thump-thump,thump-thump and all i want is to say yes.
we are skinny and young and falling for

orchestrali want you to shut up and go home but you have spider legs and my words are gossamer in your ear. you stick to me like you do everything but i guess maybe it's good that you are still here. i never told you this but i always wondered if you'd be happier with him counting your shaking bones, like you were free or something. maybe that's not you but maybe you'd think it was a pretty thought. january is breaking my heart and you don't say it out loud but you always wish i was someone else. in summer you told me my skin shone like scales and it made my knees stop working so i grabbed you by the strings of your pretty new dress and fucked you in y

a is to z as dead is to gonethread through needle sews stars to her eyes
but her world is crumbling and she tries to stand strong
her knees are shaking
but no one is there for her to lean on

and her red shoes kick holes in the ground
and she wears eau de graveyeard on her wrists and on her neck
and no one is looking for her
why aren't they looking for her

mascara stains her freckles
and the silver kisses her veins
and she's dying
and no one notices

and her head hit the bead
and the pillow ignited from the rage in her head
and she saw red
then orange
then yellow
then green
then blue
then indigo
then violet

and then she closed her eyes
and saw
bla

abc
ambien plagues our actions as we hit the streets
no sense of aquiescence we run off adreneline
accusations falling on deaf ears, assembly lines
running on anesthetized fingers, so apathetic

benzo slowing down our heartbeats, bohemian
rebellion breaking butterfly wings how bromide
we can't control our behaviour but we're standing
in for biships, crawling over black and white checkers

we are corpses in classy cuture.
we are cretins tripping off concerta.
cataracts cloud our hundred carat eyes,
and a cresent moon creeps across the crepsecule.

pause. repeat. play.
i can write these pretty words on just about anything
i can write you into a storybook, into a fancy land and
i can write you into a new now, write you a new then
(again)

april showers bring may flowers and we'll swim in the
shallow pool of oil and gasoline that's flooding all our
streets, and we'll turn dust i

love is breathshivermelt

you looked me in my eyes and
                                          onceagain
i am reminded that we are all
                                   beetlescrawling
on the sand, scuttling towards

god i need itand you know sometimes i'm just drivin along
the main highway out of this godforsaken city and all and every once in awhile the
sun shines in my eyes right so that whether i can see it or not i know
they are burning and shining and i think

goddamn

it is good to be alive. it is good to be strong and bittersweet and a forever
burning flaming
person. it is moments like those that i realize that i am a person

a whole entire person you know,
there is no other i.
and maybe i cry an awful lot and

take up too much

tapdances on our brittle bonesif it's fifth hour and there's a cadaver in the classroom,
it's because i'm carving your initials in my right carpus;
or perhaps it's because we're investigating human skulls,
but yours is the only one i'd like to play detective with

(i'd donate my skeleton to you
had you not already owned it)

(i'll use parentheses
as if they're oxygen)
but not punctuation
or lowercase letters
or irony because i've
watched too much tv
without you or sense
or an attention span,

and i will write poetry in the form of
sliced wrists and broken wishes, of
hacked kneecaps and
hackneyed caps lock:

I WILL SCREAM AT THE STARS
AS IF I DISCOVERED THE

chicagoin chicago, i dug my teeth into my knees and prayed for the backs of your eyelids to stay dark and empty, prayed for the fresh scabs on your thighs.

so i kissed a girl with teeth like indian arrows, and whose knuckles stuck
out like weapons, a girl with a body like a war, trenches between her
shoulder blades and the scars of teenage sorrow scattered over her chest.

in illinois, my chest sunk down and the songs i sung into your telephone box get
heavier until it broke. naked on the bathtub floor, i wondered how your sister is
doing.

a tenuous reverie-
one: before i met you i believed in a greater place.
-

i can't help but ponder about the life that's been lived underneath my skin. my brittle bones tell stories of their own, and my lungs passage ways are closing up with too many words breathed into them.

i can't help but wonder if there are beanstalks or creatures living under my bed. maybe there's a world that's better than this one. maybe those incoherent reveries pounding in my membrane and pouring into the mist from my eyes, can come true.

and then i see you
standing there with your back turned to the shore, looking at me instead.

-
two: first dates and first impressions only

ringing earstwo nights ago, i burned my hand.

i burned it badly, badly. at first, it was only red and shiny and it throbbed. i stuck it in the freezer and it didn't hurt so bad. but later, when i was trying to sleep, it was agonizing, it was keeping me up. i was screaming, i had been screaming for the past four hours.
i was screaming but i wasn't crying.
it was killing me but i wasn't dead.

my hand is slick and blistered but that's all new. the burn didn't really show until later. like everything else. you couldn't see how painful until later, always later.

-

my ears are ringing. they ring sometimes, hollowly, like a telephone heard from down a hal

Cocaineshe was drop dead gorgeous
in that dilatedpupil-grindingteeth-skeletal kind of way
the way she moved
like her time was running out
which was all too close to the truth...
she had the narcotic first aid kit
cd case, razor blade, and a straw too short to drink anything out of
even the air she breathed felt surreal
the ever rapid pulsation of a frantic heartbeat
the parties, the life, the friends that were never there
she was a walking corpse
following the white road
to an empty life.

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PLEASEyou will go to school to pursue higher education. you will pursue higher education to get a job to support the family. you will get married and put your higher education to use,

right ontook a piece of fuckin
salami and a swipe of stolen nutella
and daddy's bottle of rum and hid in the basement.

the goddamn salami stood for
bitterness and the nutella meant
revenge and the rum
well the rum was hate

for the man who bought it.
mad at dad mad at dad
look daddy i'm a fuckin poet!

people will buy my poems and buy my soul
and i'll live forever! watch me live
for fuckin forever
daddy

skydear mama
you're gone, I love you.
even the birds are mourning you. the sky's all funny and full of them. I guess the sky's full of you too, if you're not breathing anymore. you know mother when I first left home (shit, that was only six months ago) and I used to miss you so much it hurt I'd think to myself, we are under the same sky. I share the sky with my mother. but now I am under this sky and you are inside of it, you let it swallow you up! why?
went home when I got the news, cleaned up the place and refused to look at your body. I will not remember you as dead and cold. I will remember you laughing, you in the garden, you prayi

i present to you a liethis is not right
but you are

well let me just tell youmy ugliest ghost is returning:
creeping up my spine and
shaking time into sevens and nines
little golden atrocities find me constantly

and here you are:
finding your way into my lungs
constantly prodding and peeling
i am not safe here

and i will say it:
i am afraid

glass half emptythe leaves are prying at me
but i have no secrets
at least none of interest

i feel lacking, less significant
i was once full of imagination,
never ending visions of the ocean
and pecan pies

but now i am an improper version of myself
and we are an unfit version of
what we have had for years and months and

there is no realization that so
heavily knocks on the door of one's brain
as the realization of

an empty friendship

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[x]

hemp and high heels

by ~Reverberations, Jan 2, 2010, 7:16:38 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives

charlie,

i smiled at your father and i was thinking, "i had a lot of fun having sex with your daughter" and his eyes were flitting like blinds and i was thinking of your lips tugging on mine and i walked away after he said "hello." i am tired of hearing that home has a heartbeat and if it does then i guess yours is a cigarette cough and a sinew snap. everything about you was replaced when you left. last time i saw you, your hair looked tired and your eyes were flat. i think you've lost your mind and i know how you can get it back.

-victoria

i don't know what you're saying anymore, tori.
i mean sometimes i wish i could tell you that i miss you but i don't. you should see the people here. they're all brass strings and fluttery fingers and they don't mind if you stay awhile to pick them apart. you are pretty and all but their bones (don't) taste like bullets. fucking you in the dugout was just a way to pass my summer. i'm learning, victoria, i'm learning to tell the difference between what's beautiful and what is broken.
my mind is just fine please and thanks.

-charlotte
(i'm sorry that i fell in love with your spine instead of you)

charlie,

brass strings break and fluttery fingers fall apart. i'm sorry you forgot that you are made of bones and skin and blood just like all the rest of us. people aren't gold and your eyes aren't either. i'm so sorry that they used to be, and i don't know how to tell you what i think of you. everytime i try my tongue feels really big in my mouth, like if i talk i'll choke on it. last night when i got stoned the ceiling was shedding it's summer clothing in reds and blues and vanilla bean hues and i know that doesn't make sense but i wish you would have seen it. and maybe you'd believe me when i tell you that people aren't gold and bones aren't either. you are smoke in the rain and fog on my windowpane. i wish i knew how to tell you. (what's beautiful and what's broken are always the same.)

-tori

victoria,

didn't we both used to dream about this?
maybe they aren't golden, tori, but at least they have henna-stained fingers and green eyes. that's more than i can say for you.
i know exactly what you mean by vanilla ceilings and reds and blues, and tori, around here i don't even need to be high for that. your eyes don't shatter anymore, and your feet are worn. i had to leave, don't you understand? broken and beautiful aren't the same, and you're much too broken to be beautiful.

charlie
(my eyes are blue)

charlie,

your eyes are blue and green but they're not anything like the ocean because they don't rage or steam they are flat and (E)motionless. you lie with them. and you're lying to me now because it's so much easier to make love or death on paper and you don't know it but you're making both. you can't see vanilla ceilings if you're seeing with sober eyes but i guess i can't think for you anymore. i met a girl who drinks beer like boys do but wears heels like our mothers used to do. you're much too beautiful to be broken, which makes you ugly after all.

i am beautiful and i don't need to hear it from you.

-tori

oh tori

don't you see? i only make love on paper because they are telling me too.
victoria, i miss you.
i lied, i fucking lied.
i'm getting too skinny but i've turned brown all over, and when i curve my body just right the lack of flesh over my hip turns into the tent where we made love for the first time. don't tell me my eyes don't feel anything because we both ask too many questions and that is what tore us apart.
do you remember the day i told you your spine was the most beautiful thing i've seen? i lied, tori. (i really meant the bony bit between your breasts.) i'm a fucking liar and i made you promise to never trust someone who fits my criminal description. tori, you have to keep that promise.
i've met girls who fight the world with nothing but a ragged fingernail and girls who can paint for real cheap because all they need is their words. none of them came close to you so please don't write back.

love,
charlotte

hemp and high heelsby ~Reverberations

Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives

^{collab with the wonderful ~khaosxcaos

she wrote the part of victoria and i wrote charlotte.
this was really fun!}

~nellie379 Feb 13, 2010

_{i wish i could explain how this makes me feel.
it makes me realize i am broken and i cannot breathe and that i am missing part of myself.
it's painful but i love it all the same.}

~Reverberations Feb 13, 2010

why are you so broken?

thank you

~nellie379 Feb 13, 2010

_{love. this piece just reminded me of it. trying to convince myself that i'm not in it anymore. because she chose a guy, not me.}

~Reverberations Feb 13, 2010

i know how you feel.
i got over it.
it took me a year and you can do it too

~nellie379 Feb 13, 2010

_{:] thanks,
i think i'm mostly there,
except for random days that are bad.
:]}

~Reverberations Feb 13, 2010

yeah me too
i'm usually over her but once in awhile i remember how pretty she is in the morning and i forget i'm over her but
it never lasts long

~nellie379 Feb 14, 2010

_{exactly.

so many things set me off.
the worst is the smell of her shampoo, i have memorized what that smells like.
[and i always go over to the Pantene shampoo aisle at the store, because maybe i'm a masochist.]}

~Reverberations Feb 14, 2010

oh godddddddd
the shampoo is bad for me too

(1 Reply)

!StillsAndPhotographs Jan 3, 2010 Writer

This is really pretty and heartbreaking. (Proof that things can be beautiful and broken at the same time?) I loved it. Really great.

~Reverberations Jan 3, 2010

thank you so much

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