emily-grace
American
I am not going to try.....to make this sound poetic and artistic! Currently, I am living in Vermont. I am mostly boring and perpetually a curmudgeon, like an old man, really. Take my god complex with a grain of salt! I'm more into songwriting, but love poetry still. Poetry is a lonely, gorgeous, fragile, art. She is forever standing with one foot in the grave.
Every letter is red when I've written it for you
Red like my lips and my nails and the stains on my sheets
I feel like carnage and I need to tumble through it
Clawing at you as your eyes register the scene
But I only smile ingratiatingly at you
And push the pen harder to the paper
Where I will quietly slice your soul into hair fine threads
Wielding the most potent gift I have been given
It is the gift you gave me when you looked through my eyes
I have held it close and nursed it like a child
So that now I can plunge it into your chest like a dagger
And you will finally appreciate the horror of being a muse
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 6:12 PM UTC
She floated around her little city in the clouds all day, alone
Here were so many things to be touched, to be observed, such a very long time to languish
This was a paradise inside, this weightless world of whites, and deep resonant blues
Where the sky was always a surprise
It was her salvation from the long empty days of fear
Alone and broken amongst the ***** blankets of her makeshift bed
He came home at the end of every the day, expecting to find her waiting for him
Wreathed in ecstatic smiles because she could finally hold him in her arms after a long day of solitude
But even love cannot negate the slow disintegration of a soul left too long in isolation
Or of a cowardly heart that can no longer create for fear that it is not creative enough
He often knelt beside the pile of bedcovers in which she was entombed
Her eyes, gazing far beyond him to a place he could never even see
Slowly, he coaxed her to come back to him, hands gentling her soft and empty head
Even as he drew her back, his guts clenched with melancholy for she would not thank him for it
She gazed at him as her doe eyes began to fill and spill over
She gripped his hand with surprising strength as all her chaotic rage sprang out from behind her eyes
Spouting out of her mouth as rivers of lava
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 5:59 PM UTC
I am a joke
A fantastic sparkly joke
Up on a billboard in the city
Waiting for a fairy godmother to come
To turn me into a pumpkin
So I can hide from all the laughter
Up above the world I see
All the things that I have never been
And I am just a glorified sign nobody touches
When I cry my tears mingle with the raindrops
No one ever knows that I have cried
Wearing a picture of someone else pretending to be something else
Everything and person rushes to stay young
But I never move as I weather and I fade
Hoping they will leave me be
Just as I hope against hope to be restored
Hatefully craving every face I scorn
Cursed to constant vigilance
The towers grow like weeds to choke me
The people don’t see it
That it’s the buildings that rule the world
When it should be the sky and the air
But the tiny people raise mighty cities to hide from it
No more barbarian blood sacrifice
They offer up little pieces of their brains
Wrapped beautifully in shiny bits of soul
As I smile and sell them things to fill in the holes
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 5:33 PM UTC
She opens up her arms as if she is gathering the stars
The universe ain't big enought to cover up her scars
She doesn't give a ****
She doesn't think she can
She dreams in eulogies
Won't you be her father?
Won't you be her son?
Won't you be her lover?
Make her the only one
Once upon a time she was the girl you think you know
But a soul like that is deeper than what could ever show
She throws everything at the wall
She isn't happy at all
The world is all she needs
But she thinks too small to see
She dreams in eulogies
Its hard to be her neighbor
Harder to be her friend
Her muted desperation
Will make you want to run
Won't you be her savior?
Won't you take her hand?
Tell her that she's good enough
Make her understand
She dreams in eulogies
She dreams in eulogies
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 5:29 PM UTC
Sweet sun beams that grace the morning gently
Turn sick with age as the afternoon floats eerily in
All the promises of the day; made in its hasty youth
Fade into the ****** orange of death at sunset
When the cool and regal night is born
Every move is measured by a clock that’s on the wall
By the way the ocean moves; how the stars align
Or by all the days that waste and die in vain for me
When I do not love the light enough to live in it
And the grey pours in on suffocating clouds
The rain tumbles down, drenching earth with acid judgment
Proving that all god’s are indeed jealous god’s
Even the soft and tender deities we have created
The goddesses of the earth; the gentle and convenient god’s
Still empty out the buckets of their wrath upon us
But the ticks keeping ticking to answer the tocks
No day is ever safe from that inevitable cloak that is night
Day after day is easy to ignore until it has stretched and become years
Quietly, passively trudging into the sparkling horizon
Wandering away unnoticed; hidden by the brilliance of the setting sun
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 5:08 PM UTC