Dont be afraid of the leaves,
Because they fall today
From the promises she kindly keeps
Deep down in her bird limbs
Pulled apart for you
On the night of cries, hot and wet wings
In her lack of arms, metaphisical swings
The part of our hearts that forgot our first breath
In those blowing winter winds
Smile down the path
For there is no truth or doubt
Just got down the weeping Road
Walk and walk, dont shout
And you shall no longer,
With her, be without.
It is such a funny thing
how love drifts back and forth
between tangled limbs;
amongst a mess of sheets;
through bruised kisses,
and; alcohol-riddled breaths.
She rolled over
and nestled herself
in the crook of his arms.
seems to have grown
into the comfort of routine;
that their bodies have created,
quietly speaking the words
that were left unsaid.
"The night is young,
and beautiful;" she murmured.
"As are you," he returned.
"I think this is a poem you wrote on my phone (or it is something I wrote). I can't remember. It is from a time period when we were in the desert and both had working phones." - Sarah
If you thought you had met the love of your life- what would you do? The heat is up our chills up and down, and the faces the old women make in drug-induced ticks, heavy noisome smells mixed with the best greatest sweetest smelling true love you've ever known.
And five times a day now you spend hours and hours entwined and touching and being touched by the greatest and softest skin cells your skin has ever been against
And with perfervid excitednees, a cold chest, but tepid limbs, you avoid blinking to extend the lifespans of us both.
Head and Shoulders, knees and toes
That's the way the story goes
Here is something no one knows
To lepers...it's important
It's the inventory song
You may think that this is wrong
Put me back where I belong
But, lepers need to do this
Count your digits 'fore you leave
It's a fact you must believe
They're not out for to deceive
They need to inventory
If they count and all is there
They face the world without a care
They lose their parts, but not their hair
Their day will be successful
Head and Shoulders, Knees and toes
That's the way the old song goes
I've got four fingers and six toes
I guess I'll put some gloves on
The inventory song is neat
It teaches them, they need two feet
Or they can't walk down the street
It really is important
Gripping things is kind of tough
When digits...you've not enough
You know your fingers' with your stuff
You'll go and find it later
So, if you think that this is wrong
And you do not like this song
Put me back where I belong
I think this song's a service
Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes
I've a friend with half a nose
Now you know what no one knows
Inventory is required.
Sometimes I think
of what a tragedy it is
for us to build towers so tall,
that we couldn’t see.
That it was not a home
but a barrier of walls.
Stacked so high with bricks.
With my weakened state and
I could not crack
Nor chip away
At aggregates and paste
to see even the slightest trace
whenever I meet someone new, I inevitably check their limbs for scars.
they are almost always there, some solitary little wisps, some like a cross-hatching, a pattern, a score...
...and I find that the stories written there are irresistible, and the wounds run deeper than I can kiss.
I always fall for the broken ones, whose scars travel further than I've ever been.
I started with the last line a long time ago, and it's been flitting around in my head, with the rest of the words just out of reach. It finally made sense tonight.
I watched her bleed tears,
watched the red stain her pale face like it wanted to tear away what was under her skin,
as if tears of blood were telling her you're thicker within.
but you see,
this girl she couldn't stop crying,
couldn't get it all out,
what has been done to her,
she can't even speak about.
you told her blood is thicker than water,
but she bleed the thickest red tears,
so large there like ink,
and will over write your name,
from her memory,
from her family,
from everything you have taken from her,
she won't need you gripping at her ankles,
always being the one to pull her down every time she in another fight,
no longer will will you make her feel like she's living a worthless life,
all the good memories have been bleed on,
red ink does not come out with an apology,
and it doesn't even lift the stain lightly,
when it's done to spite her,
and despite her inocents,
and despite her age,
and despite your gene pool relations,
if all the cards alligned in your favor,
you still better feel some shame.
for the way you acted on a little girl,
to touch her in places her father would never dare,
places where that same father your brother,
wouldn't dare to look at you again,
wouldn't talk to you again,
wouldn't let you near any fucking child gender aside,
if he knew the things you had done,
to his little girl,
he'd of knocked you one,
he'd of made you cry till you bleed.
but he would of made sure you wished you were dead,
before you ever really felt sorry.
but you ruined her,
and you think she should grow up about it,
move on about it,
and forgive you,
she kept silent,
every night she cried because of the things you would do,
and now when she crys,
Thick tears to cover up the mess,
to try and fix all the monstrous distresses,
fixing her family to feel something right,
breaking limbs off the family tree,
as if they were yours,
and trying to live,
wants to fight,