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Voraginous Wounds.What I want is not anything
offered here. What I want
is jeweled red horses, chains
connecting all my organs,
a mangled music box heart.
Reality is destroying me
and something great
is seeping out
through my veins.
I inhale the smoke
and accept things as they are.
It is officially dissolved.
What I want is a nostalgia
like acid burning holes in me.
What I want is angels reaching down
from their delicate ether palace,
touching me underneath my clothes.
What I want is a mosquito net
to choke you with
and a pond to toss you in after.
What I want is to watch
a river of mucus float by
filled with fish that dance
and light up like
little balls of hope.
I want to the air to smell like
candy and animal flesh and coffee.
I want to see rainbows every day.
What I want is every president's
head on a platter. What I want is
to eat and drink and have sex
like everyone but I can't.
What I want is to live in crystal castles
and her death; I imagine it soundin
Television Diamonds.Falling so deep into myself I find
other worlds and get lost in them.
Finding human head sized diamonds
in caves in my heart and brain;
holding them in multi-colored awe,
up to the bright grey sun.
This means never having to see
anything but light again.
This means television does not exist.
This means freedom is chirping
in the palms of my hands.
Your ears are misshapen
so I could never love you.
Your hands couldn't break my face
so I could never love you.
Stages of Suicide.Tonight I'd like to tear myself apart,
cut one huge slice, reach in there
and take all of it out. It's all dead and dirty,
all useless and poisonous anyway.
All I want is to have you
in my grasp again. Hold your hand
through one more drunk drive, one more
oh no at a red light. Just one more
abduction or sexual assault
in the belly of the night.
One more pile of tears & clothes,
one more person telling you
that you are worthless.
When I was a little girl I had vivid
dreams of you dying and I would
wake up crying but I never told
anyone about them. I wonder if
my Native American subconscious
realized at a young age that you
were already in early stages of suicide.
Forgive me, if I never call your name again;
I have only spoken in my dreams to the dead,
atop mountains of TVs, and while watching
nightmares unfold in grocery stores,
like giant pieces of origami. Forgive me
for falling into this lightless day.
I hope this re
Forget Everything.Everyone I have ever loved has been as toxic as lead
or liquid in the lungs. It is hard for me to say what
will make the monsters go away. Maybe a night light
to help me see; maybe large elaborate traps that
would devour me like the sky devours the moonlight.
Maybe I could hire someone I could pay who is a
better hunter than me. If only I could run away,
truly, not just state to state, not just grave to grave.
If only I could seize the day, maybe these monsters
would fade away. The girls - all pale skinned and
on hard drugs. All as self-destructive as atomic bombs.
All selfish, self-centered moms. The men - all boys.
All hiding behind quietude or insult. All dead or dying.
When I have the chance, I will leave everything, leave
everyone, and run. And run and run and run. I will
forget everything, I will forget everything, every stupid
memory, every drunk drive in the city, everything you
You.Grow your hair out long. Read more books.
Make love happily like dolphins in the sea.
Stop hating and banging everything. Don't
drink milk or eat cookies and walk around
more. Find yourself in a tree randomly.
Treasure things and people. Fast. Before
they break or die. Pretend that you never
loved Hitler. Pretend that you never loved me.
Gross yourself out with your own body parts
and your own waste. Take a deep breath and
look in the mirror at your face. Grow your hair out.
Stop playing video games. Don't resort to TV.
Try to forget that you were struck by moonlight
and try to forget whatever you felt that
black coffee night when the sky fell down
in front of you. Get a job. Get a life.
Let go of your narcissistic pride. Become
a drummer or a butterfly or the President
for all I care; I'll be the surgeon that
Say Hello.One day you will die too, and I know it's
starting to scare you, when you phone me
to tell me which bank your money is in,
when I saw those rare expressions on your
face when you walked into that hospital room
for the last time and you grimaced at that
empty bed. You married a woman once, God
knows why. She was dangerously beautiful
and you could never get inside her head.
You hit her and one day her amorous presence
became fragmented and dead. I hope it was
worth it, getting mad at whatever sweet Buddhist
things she could have said. I remember the police
at our house on too many nights. I remember the men
and women you both brought into your beds, so soon
after we left.
One day you will die too. Like your sweet mother
and father before you. And I swear that I
will be by your side. I will hold your hands
while we cry. I will start to die, knowing
everything is about to change again, knowi
American Ataxia.I'm so sick of it here. I'm sick of
the fighting, the hallucinations,
the drugs, the cowbells on the door.
I'm sick of the loneliness & heartache.
I'm sick of men only wanting sex, &
weak women whose lives become diapers
breastfeeding & asswiping. I'm sick of
this country - the smells, the sports,
the obsessions, the little fucking boxes,
just big rat traps with big stinky pieces
of plastic cheese. I'm sick of all the
horrible, unreliable people around me,
unable to comprehend the concepts of
love & peace. I'm sick of this young
country, all of its naivete & aggression.
I'm sick of war and television and money,
sick with death. I'm sick of myself,
in all this sickness. Sometimes I want
to flee the country, fuck everyone I know,
and never ever come back.
Painkiller Recall.The guilt is starting to sink in, green and hideous.
On the plane they scrape off the ice and I think
about you the next time you fall down the stairs
perhaps no one will be there. Perhaps your husband
will be asleep all throughout the daylight
because you've drugged him, or perhaps
your husband will be outside in his underwear
in the snow, climbing into the neighbor's house
thinking that it is his own. Perhaps your husband
in his daydream is having army adventures and
engineering fake heart valves. Perhaps your husband
will walk down that raspberry mountain, and place
one wooden, velvet-covered chair at the end of the
cul-de-sac. Perhaps no one will be there
to dial 911 because you have driven all away
as hard as heavy hammers into nails into wood
or bone. Perhaps no one will be there for you
and you will fall down the stairs only to die
of another drug overdose, of another drug overdose
on the same red floor, on the same r
Out Of My Mind.Am I as alone as I feel?
I try to believe bone-deep
wounds can heal but the past
creeps up on me now the past
is right in front of me
and so I close my eyes
yeah, I'm hypnotized
but it still obliterates me
I thought I had more guts
more guts to open us up
to tear my heart open again
and take out all the knives
that you put in
so go on hold onto me
I wanna see how long
you can hold on to me
while I'm flailing insanely
reliving every bad childhood
Sometimes it's like you've disappeared
and my father's the one who's standing here
and he won't stop yelling, he won't stop yelling
he won't stop yelling at me
now that she's underground
it can be all about me
now that she's underground
I'm free to sing aloud
my ego's safe and sound
my ego's safe and sound
from your jealousy
your jealousy made me feel
Am I as alone as I feel?
A few people told me that
you weren't real, but your
ghost creeps up on me
now your ghost is right in front of me
and it's that ghastly sight
yeah, it's t
you can pretend it's...she speaks
that once-in-a-while way
familiar to earthquakes
and the end
when she's alone
shake (alone with her)
she's buried in the bottle
you can bury me in boston
wide-eyed and wondering
this same sky comes crashing
won't claim I wasn't warned
about hanging stars from expectations
second nature embarrassment and
first nature proceed anyhow
I'm still reaching
but she's on the other side
i'm so tired..she wishes to tear cities down, exquisite bones
igniting the ocean, an ethereal holocaust, and she
speaks grasshopper dreams of nights spent spilling
secrets to strangers on crowded dance floors and
fucking without the love or condescending respect.
she paints whispers on mannequin fingers, breathing
blood into fitful heart monitor frequencies and teaching
abstract eyes to feel the space left between bedsheets
after one night stands with men from paris and milan,
foreign rejects writing misunderstood on pale skin.
she remembers nights on warm mattresses with sisters
curled up under crocheted blankets, nights filled with
warnings of angry men and their inebriated affection,
newfound fear of the boy living next door and symphonies
of ohgodgoodgodpleaseno drifting from open windows.
she is a mess of broken mirrors and to many pills, ankles
aching to feel beautiful again and a close-minded view of
terrorists and the brittle bones of african babies but she lies
next to him
she...you're painting pretty lies, alabaster
secrets, forgotten covenants saved for
bad luck days and sinking-ship smiles,
and there are fireflies in your veins,
impassioned promises in your eyes.
i am tired of the monosyllabic angry words
emanating from the room downstairs, crystalline
lungs exhaling choleric clouds of some long
extinct virus, contaminating this empty house,
slipping under closed doors and poisoning
the last ray of sunshine we had left.
she said: looking and seeing are two
very different things
we created a universe between sunset
irises and milkweed butterfly queens,
turning rainy days into a cathartic fix
and i am afraid of heights but i still sit
on the garden shed roof because there is
magic ten feet off the ground,
and i am learning to find beauty in flickering
streetlights and abandoned skyscraper ruins
but you are running off with dreams of
nuclear warfare and exploding suns,
you set fire to the ozone and forgot
all about our rebellious cry.
she said: i a
Almost-There was a boy with two middle names
and he lived almost-alone.
He had scars that weren't accidents and not his fault.
On his seventeenth birthday a girl moved in next door
and he found out that cheap bottles shatter
and embed into your skin,
then his almost-father fell asleep
and he left so he could be really-alone.
There was a boy with eyes as pale as the sun
and he was almost-beautiful.
He knew all the constellations by heart
and loved to be outside when the leaves fell.
Once the girl-next-door found him sleeping
under the trees and when he woke up she was gone;
later he realized she'd stolen his heart
in the form of spiral notebooks.
There was a boy with a shy smile
and he was almost-happy.
He was always sure it could be worse,
but his heart was too soft to harden to all of life's breaks,
and his skin was too bruised to soften the blows.
He had calloused hands and broken ribs;
one day he let her see the scars.
There is a girl with bright eyes
and she is almost-relieved.
She has th
insomnia...she knows a girl who killed herself simply
because she was alive and a thousand
more who wished they had the courage to
stop her but has never met anyone else
who smiles in their sleep or dances with
blood sucking angels but has never once
been bitten by their parasitic beauty.
and today she whispered to the dandelions
and wore a lost rosary to remind herself
that at least she used to believe in something.
today she kissed another girl's fingertips and
promised the world that the sun would always
stay warm. today she hid from the sunset
among thorns and tangled tree limbs and
decided that maybe it was time to
learn to breathe again.
Untitled.I sat upon a mountain top and held an empty jar. I waited til the sun came up, the trees burning like fire. I stood on my tip toes and held the jar up to the sky, I shut my eyes and trapped the rays inside. I drove slow the whole way home, holding the sun close to my heart. My whole car was glowing, the horizon in a jar. I brought the sky home to you and placed it in your hands, but you could only see the grayness, you said the world had no beauty left to give. That night you held the sunshine tightly while you slept. You can always lighten darkness, don't you dare forget.
if i only had no nerveslike dorothy emerging from oz, i am grasping the hands of friends at my bedside, gasping out feverish descriptors of my visions: "i've just had the strangest dream. you were dead. and you were dead, and you were dead, and you were dead." i am staring at the ceiling without blinking. i am creating excuses for idle conversation. i am discovering ways to put my fingers on pulse points and slipping mirrors in front of mouths when i am the last one awake.
i am finding myself in molly weasley. like dorothy emerging from oz, i am touching my caretakers' palms with my knuckles and mumbling over their soothing noises: "i've just had the strangest dream, and the strangest thing of all is that it's no longer strange to me." there is an empty tv cabinet in the corner of the living room and i envision a boggart sliding out of it and mimicking corpse after corpse.
souvenirs are piling up. every surface is full of tangible reminders of things that can die, just in case they do. i am attempting to pla
Other Feathered Things little bird.
Little fragile feathery
I have been
waiting for you
for all of my life. I have been
buying birdseed and letting the bread
go stale. I caught all the crickets,
I gave away the cats.
i have been waiting
in this dark
room with my hands cupped
like a supplicant to dust.
I try not to
that you will
because you will have many friends and
you will never
your small talons will scratch
my fingers, when you come, and i
if I keep you in a cage
if i leave you a
bipolar hearts.we use to watch Fight Club together, because she said that it made her feel a little less alone, and i could never reply so i held her in my lap.
and she told me she was kalea's dizzy mind.
and in real life, you would think nothing of anything really, because she watches the birds fly just like you do. the morning rises on the same side of her window, and she can watch the clock tick away hours, just like you.
and she told me she was kalea's spinal cord.
i watched her pick at her fingernails for too long, and always decided i would leave as soon as they started bleeding. her arms are full of scars where she thought she felt something crawling up her skin, only to find she was still alone. i told her i was here, but she turned over(and i can still hear her uneven breathing)
and she told me she was <i>
Generational Drug Killer.She leaves poisoned needles in the air
all quietly waiting for someone to come
and disturb them, like a black widow
in a web. There are bottles of wine
and brandy hidden in her closets and
under the table in her room. She
clings to things, a shiny red backpack
with Chinese symbols she can't decipher,
a pink and purple pillow in the shape
of a heart. There are bottles of diazepam
and lorazepam and things it takes me
several seconds to pronounce. You make
me potions in the night, toss an extra
wool blanket on me, crawl on the floor,
cry on the white leather couch,
fall down the dead red stairs. There
is something evil inside you but no one
would ever guess, covered by your Christian gas mask.
A made-up face and a pretty red suit.
I dug through your underwear drawer and stole
the change out of it. I ate one of your
cherry cough drops. I looked at the beautiful
colorful faces my mother left behin
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
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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