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Jul 2017 · 1.7k
Transgenders Not Welcome
Corvus Jul 2017
You're willing to die for a country
That will exclude you from being able to serve.
You're willing to **** for a country
That still thinks a Bible is a valid argument.
You're willing to contribute to a conflict
That isn't as big a threat to your life
As the people you've vowed to protect the liberty of.
And you do it again and again
With a fraction of the respect patriots demand veterans are entitled to.
Because you've decided to put the needs of the complacent
Above your own human rights.
And you'll get no thanks from them,
Because they can't sleep easily at night
Unless they can rip off your clothing and see what's in your pants.
And if it doesn't add up to their image?
You can sacrifice your life for theirs and they'll still call you a freak.
I don't know why people are still so willing to die for a country that hates them so much, but the idea that the land of the 'free' wants to ban people from doing so and use such moronic excuses to do it has made me angry.
Jun 2017 · 821
Si Vis Pacem...
Corvus Jun 2017
The old man's teeth was stained with
Whiskey that had saturated his raspy breath.
Sunlight rested on the wisps of his hair,
Showing me an abundance of silver wealth.
In his company, I gave into morbid curiosity,
Listening to him slur hi(s)-stories to me.
He was hard to understand,
But his words left me in a trance;
So numb that all else faded to black,
As his words painted glorious pictures of red to me.
Death, destruction, war, chaos.
Bloodshed to the highest degree.
The kind of violence you only see in war, real war.
The kind of violence that no mere movie can depict,
Because it lacks the foul stench of authenticity.
He told me his breath stays tainted,
Painted with memories so horrific that demons of PTSD ran from them.
He mentioned that we're all at war with ourselves,
And the demons can be found lurking at the bottom of the glass.
With that caveat, he drained his drink,
Patted me on the shoulder,
And left me like a soldier in the battlefield of life,
With no weapons nor protection,
Just a lesson to save yourself from the inevitable.
Jun 2017 · 480
The Human Condition
Corvus Jun 2017
It was hard to not be a solipsist before I met you;
Every scar on my body self-inflicted and disease-made,
With a mind just as self-sabotaging and damaged.
Now I don't care if even I don't exist,
If you're the simulation-brain and I'm along for the ride.
Take me to oblivion, and as long as you're right next to me,
I'll pay the fare for this fantasy taxi.
There's no sense in this journey and the roads are all lost.
I don't know how it fits, but I hear they call it love.
And behind this mess of bone, blood and tissue,
I've always been a slave to the cruelest,
That most human of traditions.
May 2017 · 681
Paroxysms of Hunger
Corvus May 2017
I'm the monster clawing at the walls.
You gave me the taste for your blood and then locked me in here.
Your scent stains every surface in the room;
Tantalising but with no flesh to sink my fangs into.
Rabid dog-type wildness becomes me,
Transforms me into a thing driven by madness and instinct.
You are the prey with footprints but no body.
I am the predator never knowing satiety.
Pacing replaces hunting, I'm starving,
And your constant, elusive presence has me frenzied.
Viscera begin to litter the room.
Yours or mine? I don't know. I'm starving.
Suffering from writer's block, so this is a repost.
Apr 2017 · 855
Crossover [NaPoWriMo #23]
Corvus Apr 2017
It's tempting.
Hidden in hearts
That hold onto memories.

It's reluctant.
The mind fails
But it always continues.
A double elevenie, which was incredibly difficult to write.
Apr 2017 · 1.9k
Viking Vibes
Corvus Apr 2017
I want to be one of those cool, modern Vikings,
But I'm too short, beardless and fat.
I guess I'd make a good Hobbit,
But it's not really the same thing.
Anyway, sometimes things are just unreachable.
Apr 2017 · 10.1k
Nocturne [NaPoWriMo #17]
Corvus Apr 2017
Stars sprinkle the inky night sky
Like crumbs of diamonds on a still, midnight ocean.
I am not afraid to be here, alone,
In the vastness of twilight.
For these few moments, time is as long
As the space between those stars,
And as empty, too.
The uncertainty that sunrise will follow.
As sure as the sun is destined to rise everyday,
When there's only darkness surrounding you,
Pierced slightly by the silvery glow of moonlight...
You're all alone and helpless.
You only have the vague hope that the sun will return.
And as I sit here now, star-gazer,
Faceless nomad on the damp grass;
I feel immortal, and I am afraid
That I will always be alone with the stars.
Apr 2017 · 867
Painting Over Death
Corvus Apr 2017
Flowers on headstones.
Vivid colours amongst grey
To brighten the grief.
PS: The website seems slower today than it was yesterday. Please give it a dose of the hair of the hare.
Apr 2017 · 942
Corvus Apr 2017
When I started getting sick,
My school attendance dropped week by week.
It was a painfully slow process;
A day here and there turned into a few days,
Turned into a week, until I spent weeks off school.
My friends dropped even slower, even more painfully.
The ones I'd made at that school disappeared
Like the world's greatest magician collective.
And the ones who I'd known for years...
Well, they were too busy living their own lives.
They saw me here and there, and it made me happy when they did,
In the same way that rare glimpses of gold make a poor man smile.
But eventually the darkness of loneliness devoured me entirely,
And I receded away from everyone while blaming them.
In those days, I was a zombie in all aspects of life,
And the Internet was the only time I had a reprieve.
I was a hollow shell, grunting one-word answers to parents,
While discussing my favourite shows with online friends.
And without that online presence, I know I'd have ended it
With the shadowy hand of depression passing me the knife.
I never would've made it this far,
Where eight years have passed and I'm still close to those friends,
Where I've met up with some of them
And overcome my anxiety in ways I never thought possible.
To many, the Internet is for shallow, brainless people,
But for many, it's a lifeline, and every #selfie smile I see
Is a person thriving instead of wilting.
This is less about my favourite thing about the Internet, and more a story involving the Internet, but even so, I think the message is the same.
Corvus Apr 2017
Recipe for codependency.

- Cripplingly low self-esteem.
- A mind that over-analyses everything.
- Clinginess.
- Empty, hollow feelings in the chest.

Optional for decoration and added tastiness:
- Chronic illness.
- Love.

Take all ingredients and pour them into a bowl unceremoniously;
The more carelessly, the better the batter.
Measurements aren't required, feel free to experiment
And tweak the quantities to suit your own preferences.
Take your fists and punch down, hard, repeatedly,
Until the emptiness in the chest feels full.
If you have a bigger appetite,
You might prefer to throw in some more punches.
Stop when extensive bruising appears on the chest
And you feel an immense swelling in the heart area.
The throbbing feels like a heartbeat,
And that's when you know you're on the right track.
Bake in an oven fueled with the fiery arguments
Or the passionate distractions from reality; whichever is hottest.
Day two of NaPoWriMo, which is to write poem inspired by or in the form of a recipe.
Corvus Apr 2017
He watches; quiet, reflective.
No doubt he detected
The weight of my
Body-shaped shame.
My name similar to his,
Who now rots under sunlight,
Unabashed in his righteousness
To which I was blind.
I find myself here,
In a garden once perfect,
Now tainted with ******.
I heard the scratching,
Faint at first,
So I turned and saw him.
The raven watches;
Quiet, perceptive,
His gaze so effective.
His foot scratches the ground,
Making a sound that feels
Almost peaceful.
He unearths the freedom
That I need him to show me.
Just below me,
The earth is opening up.
I grab my brother's limp arm,
Drag him away
From the evidence of his harm.
Further away
From the judgment of God.
The raven approves;
He quietly nods.
Decided to take part in NaPoWriMo.
Mar 2017 · 575
Corvus Mar 2017
I didn't know what an aching heart felt like
Until you told me you were in love with me.
That sudden jolt of my heart made me feel like I was about to die,
Because how could I be happy that I'd stolen half your heart?
Yet I was happy anyway.
Doomed as our love was, I took every moment available to us
And I devoured it like it was the last crumb of food left on a dead planet.
When you spoke to me about her, I was as happy for your happiness
As I was sad at our hopeless arrangements.
Hopeless, but we forced sunlight out of our tired bodies
To make the love grow greener and more beautiful
Than it ever should have been.
Until it reached too high, and she noticed it,
And you took the shears to it to ease her mind.
Then three hours later we were trying to make it grow again.
I could never force myself to let it wither away and die,
So there we were, and here we are.
I am your accomplice, I'm the affair.
I am the electrical impulses of your heart,
And I'm the lungs and the breath that makes them function.
I am every word you gave to me between kisses,
Between gazes that linger too long
And touches held too intentionally.
Yet she asks you who I am, and you tear down the words,
And you rename me, "Nothing."
Old, but I'm too sick to write anything new, so.
Mar 2017 · 473
Estrogenic Betrayals
Corvus Mar 2017
It's hard to describe just how conflicting it is;
To hate more than half of yourself.
How, as much as I hate my entirety with such ferocity,
There's also a palpable hatred towards an actual presence.
And it's hard not to think of myself as jigsaw pieces,
Not carefully pieced together, but instead forcefully jammed
Into wherever impatience let them fit,
Leaving me with gaps, disconnect and feeling mutilated.
It's getting less and less vague as the days go on,
And sometimes that's a good thing.
It feels good to know what parts of yourself you want to burn,
And what parts your disgust decides to leave alone.
But sometimes it hurts to hate things that are so specific.
To hate things that are firmly attached to me, that I can't just tear off.
How can I love myself when I can't throw pieces away,
But my brain is telling me that those pieces stuck to me so permanently,
Are actually...lethal?
Mar 2017 · 487
Nightly Fears
Corvus Mar 2017
There are times when I'm overcome by this feeling,
That I want to die before I turn 30.
I don't know why I've become so fixated by the number,
Maybe because it's just over five years away,
And five years flies by in an instant
Without me making any progress with getting better.
My life stopped existing at 16,
So I still have this childish, biased view of age,
Where anything anywhere close to the halfway point
Of the average life expectancy feels 'old'.
I'm just so afraid of blinking and realising
I've missed out on my only chance of youthful enjoyment.
And there are people in their 30s who climb Everest,
Who jump out of planes for fun and who travel the world,
So I know it's stupid.
But it feels like five years from now
I'll be wrinkled, with cracking bones and a stomach
Too weak to swallow adventure.
Apologies to anyone 30+ who are offended. It's not old, but sleeping through your late teens/early twenties and then realising you're not too far off from your 30s is a ****** feeling.
Mar 2017 · 1.2k
Freshly Forged Imprints
Corvus Mar 2017
"Time heals all wounds."
How often do people say that?
Sometimes they believe it,
Other times it's the only thing they can offer you.
If time heals wounds, why are there still marks on me,
Like the crime scene dusted for fingerprints?
Perhaps they healed over long ago,
And I'm just looking at scar tissue
That runs so deep that it interferes with pain receptors,
Making me believe I'm not done healing.
I just know that I'm still hurting,
And I've tried so hard to pretend those marks aren't there.
When I could no longer pretend, I forced denial upon myself,
Bathing in paint to make them disappear.
I've flayed myself to the bone, just to make sure
That the old, wounded skin is no longer attached to me.
So when I look at those new marks,
I know that's new, freshly-made scar tissue.
But it never lasts, and sooner or later I can feel it;
That same poison coursing through my veins,
Reminding me that old wounds never heal.
They seep into your cells and regrow at will.
Mar 2017 · 1.0k
Prepare the Catafalque
Corvus Mar 2017
I love the idea of healing,
But I'm not just suffering from symptoms,
I am the sickness,
Punching myself black and blue,
Refusing to stop until I'm soaking red.
I'm better off suffering from the thing that kills me,
Than cutting away parts of me until useless fragments remain.
Like the captain that goes down with his ship,
I will never see salvation from this point onward.
This disease has seeped into my cells
And now I'm more sickness than human.
If I took away the biggest part of me,
What would I be left with, but emptiness?
Feb 2017 · 662
Corvus Feb 2017
Cold, lonely shower.
Watching the skies turn dark grey.
Soft piano notes.
Corvus Feb 2017
Betrayed by my first encounter with socialisation,
The anxiety turned my brain into a wreck,
Then it sent me on my way to sleep.
I awoke to the vibrations of the floor on which I laid.
Dull music from below drilled holes in my skull,
As the foreground shook with blurriness.
Muffled laughter accompanied shadowy shapes
That my mind would not analyse.
I tried to sit up to catch my surroundings,
But my arms would not move.
Then I felt the heat of another's strength forcing my own to subside.
Eyes glinted at me from the darkness like diamonds;
Glistening and so happy.
Then weight upon my back. Skin against skin.
Resistance, but more fists with grips joined in.
Laughter twisted into a foreign tongue,
And it created silence.
Created the screams within my mind, echoing throughout my body.
Everything...or nothing at all.
Yet life was still beating incessantly downstairs.
Trapped in thought.
'Man'? No.
Suffocating on feelings with no names,
As I ripped out my name and I forgot myself.
Memory begets pain, and pain begets wanton distraction,
So I crush another tablet
And add it to the others to force down.
Feb 2017 · 534
Corvus Feb 2017
Perspiration coats skin
That stays invisible in the black of the night.
Rain hums an erratic but steady melody,
Leaving rhythm-keeping to the bodies;
Burnt with lust that consumed them
Quicker than rain can douse spirits,
Knowing they downed spirits in a whirl of confusion.
Throats burned, and tongues searched for answers
To questions she didn't recall asking.
Retracing memories' footsteps back...
Back to the bar where his charm set a flame that,
Ironically, made her wetter than the rain-soaked coat
That he took from her, whilst offering his own.
She remembers now.
Walking, talking, thinking away the rain,
Until his soft lips were upon hers and she resisted nothing.
Pushing, pulling, each other into a niche
That will hide their encounter from the wrong kinds of eyes.
A moment after the darkness swallows them whole
Does the predator devour its prey.
It is a prowler, always stalking the scent of pheromones,
Always leaving behind ruins.
Feb 2017 · 2.1k
Voluntary Conscription
Corvus Feb 2017
Dropped off in a desert.
Combat uniform tight against me.
Sweat gripping my skin in a desperate plea
For sanity to return, so I may escape.
Gunfire stutters its loud whispers of death against my eardrums.
Explosions drown out screams. My own?
I blink. The dust engulfs my body as I writhe on the ground;
Fetal position my permanent placement.
Longing for the ground to swallow me whole,
To the comfort of death's womb.
Cries of, "Get the hell up! What are you? This is a man's war!"
I get up.
The gun at my side like an old man's artificial hip;
Comfort and support in an unstable land.
I look at the chaos and depravity around me.
This is supposed to be Heaven to me,
Yet the combat boots feel too heavy.
Corvus Feb 2017
I don't look like me, I don't sound like me,
I don't feel like me.
Sometimes it feels not like I'm in the present,
But like I'm from the future sent back too far into the past,
And I'm impatiently waiting, playing catch up
Until my body grows into its brain.
Please, god, let me grow into myself.
My skin feels stretched too tightly over brittle bones,
And my muscles are so itchy,
I want to rip away my flesh just to reach inside.
My heart clamours incessantly, hurling itself at my rib cage
With such ferocity that my entire chest shakes with its beating.
Please, god, let something quieten it,
And if it can't appease it, please, god, let something silence it for good.
Feb 2017 · 533
Collision Concept
Corvus Feb 2017
I'm sick of this push and pull, we don't have an umbilical cord,
But here you are, draining me, and what do I get in return?
Cold nights turned into hot nights, bed sheets, back seats,
They've lost all their appeal, and I don't think it's the venue,
I'm thinking it's the menu. What good is love when you can't afford the price?
I'm an accomplice in this heist where you steal a lover's trust,
And I don't think I'm any good at this;
I'm guilt-ridden, I'm torn to bits.
I wanted your love but I hate who you've become,
And I've started to realise I'm the same monster as you.
My heart belongs to you, too, and my body goes with it.
I'm not stronger than you, I can never separate the two.
I got in the car with the devil and was surprised when it crashes,
I should've known I couldn't walk away without some bruises and scratches.
Repost, because why the hell not?
Feb 2017 · 1.1k
Muse of Concupiscence
Corvus Feb 2017
Sometimes it's in your voice, the words you whisper;
They drive me crazy with lust, with desire.
With anything you want to call it.
A catalyst for ***, a gateway drug to a world of
Never-ending thirst begging to be slaked,
Masquerading as Heaven.
But I hear the devil in the soft corners of your accent,
And I see fires blazing behind your eyes,
Lighting up the dark brown into a molten gold
That beckons me to drown in them.
Gold is the colour of halos, you tell me,
Of deity-like regalia, divine and beautiful.
Gold isn't the colour of demon attire,
So I swim in the depths of those flame-filled eyes.
Feb 2017 · 925
City War-Drums
Corvus Feb 2017
They want us marching to the sound of fear,
Footsteps dull, thudding in-time with one another,
Eyes always fixed on the horizon,
Searching for a sun that always lies just too below to see.
We cannot go back;
Nighttime has already fallen
And we march ever forward, chasing sunlight or outrunning darkness.
We are never sure which.
The stars are no longer the pinpricks that show us a glimpse of Heaven
Poking through the blanket of vast, lonely nothingness.
They have mutated into the eyes of our enemies,
And they surround us and outnumber us a million to one.
They want us to move forward, but no matter how far we march,
We are followed by more and more eyes, twinkling and menacing.
Black silhouettes of trees stand against indigo skies,
Swaying so erratically in the wind that we swear they're chasing us.
March faster than the trees, faster than the stars' light can travel.
March faster than the sound of the war drums can reach our panicking ears.
They are here. I can hear the drums.
Can you hear the sound of drums?
Feb 2017 · 445
Post-Poetry Obstruction
Corvus Feb 2017
Sometimes (most of the time),
The title takes more effort than the poem.
If you're inspired, your pen moves your wrist
Faster, almost, than the brain can think of sentences.
And even when you're not inspired, when you've got writer's block,
You manage to think of a topic and away your talented self goes.
Then there's the title.
Do you want it to be simple or eye-catching
To the point of forcing people's eyes to read more?
Will you use a line from the poem,
Perhaps a word that sums up the general mood?
Or are you like me?
Do you want to think up a word combination
That probably doesn't exist anywhere except your poem?
Are you urging your brain like whipping an already-galloping horse
To think up a word far beyond your vocabulary skills?
I can write a poem in ten minutes,
And spend a week waiting for the perfect title.
Sometimes it never comes, but when it does,
I often love the titles more than its content.
Handy tip: If you're reading a poem I've written and the title is only one word, I probably hate it.
Feb 2017 · 1.6k
Corvus Feb 2017
I'm scared of letting myself love you,
Even though we both know I already do.
I'm so afraid that my arms are knives
Ready to cut you into slices of meat,
Willing and eager to devour you
Like you are nothing but my latest prey.
At the same time, I'm afraid that my body is an old book,
So ripped and used, so damaged by fingertip oils,
That my entire being will crumble into dust
Under the weight of your embrace.
Your love is so beautifully heavy,
Clumsy in its eagerness to express itself.
Whereas mine is so half-eaten that it trembles,
Cowers in the corner fearfully awaiting your advance.
I don't want to be this afraid of vulnerability,
But every step in the right direction
Is a step out of my fortress and into the night
Where bad things have followed me.
And I'm scared that instead of hurting me again,
They'll possess me and make me become them.

And then you would become me.
Feb 2017 · 906
Corvus Feb 2017
It's like having phantom limbs,
All protruding from random points on your body.
Sometimes it's like having limbs where there should be nothing,
And your brain is telling you that your hand must've taken a wrong turn.
I want to touch parts of me that don't exist
Outside of the empty vacuum of dreams.
I want to drag the scalpel across my own skin
And rip out the heavy weight of the tissue that drags me down.
Most of the time it's something I fixate on multiple times throughout the day.
Sometimes the worst-case scenario takes hold,
And on those days I've got a serrated knife in my hand,
I'm trying to find a reason to put it down.
I almost always put it down, if only out of vanity.
If only for the return of sanity.
So I breathe, I try to gain more air than is possible
Because the heaviest weight tends to be lying on my chest.
I breathe enough to return to passive fixation,
Where it's like an obsession and I'm stalking my own downfall.
I just want to touch the parts of me that don't exist.
I want to feel that they exist.
I need to know that I exist.
It's amazing how one of the most prevalent things in my life is also the most difficult to write about, but inspiration pops up now and again, so here we are.
Feb 2017 · 397
Life Lessons
Corvus Feb 2017
I've needed glasses since I was 11 years old,
And I never wore them until a few weeks ago.
I was afraid of being bullied,
So I spent my entire school years with blurred vision,
Sitting close to the whiteboards,
Or sneakily copying the words from my friends' notebooks.
And now I have glasses and the world is clear and pristine.
Or it would be if they weren't constantly smudged and *****.
No matter how clean I get them,
Three minutes later they've attracted more smudges, clumsy fingerprints.
My point is, helping yourself is the right thing to do,
But it doesn't always mean the quality of your life will be better.
This is, without a doubt, the stupidest poem I've ever written. And let me tell you, those last few lines are added onto it so that the poem isn't just about me whining about my glasses, but that's exactly what this poem is about. I hate glasses.
Feb 2017 · 842
Ephemeral Artery
Corvus Feb 2017
The bleeding out is inevitable,
It's only ever a question of when, never if.
I hold you close to me, with your skin like magnets
And your lips made of daggers.
Eventually I feel the sharp pain of a kiss's incision,
And you put the full weight of your damaging codependency onto the wound,
Keeping the blood carefully sealed inside the artery.
I wrap your broken promises around me like a bandage,
Tie it off with my breaths of lies.
And in this moment, when I am at my most temporary,
My heart beats its strongest, lying right next to yours.
I feel eternal, your love feels as endless as the universe
And my pain is as non-existent as the space between our bodies.
But it's only ever a question of when, never if,
And the blood spurts out in fountains of nightmare.
Your broken promises, my lies, and the endless love
Are made visible with the arterial spray
Of an unforgiving love's puncture wounds.
Feb 2017 · 1.1k
February Feelings
Corvus Feb 2017
It hits out of nowhere, with no warning.
A year since my last mental breakdown,
Thinking I was done with suicidal ideation,
And it hits me with the force of a torpedo.
I never know where it was lying dormant
Or what triggered the volcanic eruption
That burns away all progress made.
I just know that it hurts, and the ash lays heavy on me.
I lie down and I don't let myself get up.
Must be something about February, right?
Feb 2017 · 8.6k
Flame and Flesh
Corvus Feb 2017
I've discovered Hell, and the truth is,
It isn't a place you go, it's a sickness.
It resides within your bones
And its scaffolding is made from trauma.
The only fire you'll find is from the white-hot flashbacks
That leave you drenched in sweat that smells like smoke.
No-one lives there except you and your enemies,
And your enemies are fragments of history, unable to be killed.
Your mind is the devil that subjects you to punishment
That you can't help but be convinced that you deserve,
And escape is a notion kept only for tears;
Everything else remains trapped.
Hell is being held within the cage of your own body
And killing yourself trying to break free.
Jan 2017 · 1.3k
Accumulating Dust
Corvus Jan 2017
I'm afraid of dying alone.
I'm afraid of how I'm always the one
Who reaches out to loved ones first.
Like they're more comfortable apart from me
Than I am from them.
And it becomes a chore, a conscious decision
To not obsess over how long it's been since we've spoken,
And if it means they don't like me or they're just busy.
I'm terrified of everything shortening my life span
Or the quality of the time I have left.
How severely I'm impacted by my own wilting body
And how many goals it means will be left unticked.
Sometimes when it's night, and the world is covered in silence,
I wish to myself that I'd never existed.
Such a waste to be given life and to spend it all
On illness, misery and loneliness.
I'm scared of dying alone,
But I'm more scared of living alone.
And I am living alone.
Jan 2017 · 1.3k
Corvus Jan 2017
I label you a demon far too often,
I write about you like you're a succubus
Or some sort of sexually-manipulative, destructive force
Desperate to destroy my happiness or sanity.
And I'm sorry for making it seem that way,
When the truth is I'm equally to blame.
Magnets are drawn to each other equally,
And for as much as you pull me, I pull back just as much.
But sometimes it feels like you have an upper hand,
Some sort of winning deck that I can't see,
And you watch me like you know it,
You play with the nervousness like it's a game.
It gives off the illusion that it's one-sided,
And sometimes illusions become truths in our mind.
I resent you for it.
Truthfully, I resent you for a lot of things.
How easily you make desire your element;
The way you take an uncontrollable flame and tame it to your will,
Let it do your bidding like a puppet does for its master.
How hard it is for me to even look at the flame that you wield.
Jan 2017 · 1.1k
Corvus Jan 2017
There's a sea I sometimes find myself treading in,
Sometimes steady, sometimes drowning.
It's hard to stay afloat at times,
And I hallucinate people on ships sailing past me,
Not a care in the world, and I hate them;
Every imagined smile hurts like inhaling the saltwater.
But the worst thing is the monstrous shadow beneath the waves,
Huge and treacherous with eyes like emeralds,
It wants to swallow me whole and drag me down,
Into waters so deep that all becomes black.
And worst of all, when I hear that leviathan's rumbling roar,
I sometimes think it's coming from inside me.
Jan 2017 · 1.1k
Corvus Jan 2017
There are phases when I sleep less than I usually do.
Bouts of insomnia that stretch too thin,
Making me feel like I'm half-mad, paranoid to the fullest,
And even more unwilling to fall asleep.
Sometimes I can't sleep facing my room
Because I think I can see the shadow in the darkness.
And sometimes I can't sleep facing the wall
In case I feel it sneaking up behind me.
Lying on my back is never helpful,
And lying on my stomach makes me nauseous.
So I sit up and I read until my eyes feel like anchors,
But I still don't fall asleep.
No-one ever told me how painful and exhausting it is to be alive.
Not to live, just to be alive, to be breathing and functioning.
How after the wounds have healed and I feel relatively human,
I'll still find myself terrified of the dark, of touch, of sleeping.
How randomly it all comes, how I can fall asleep happily,
But wake up choking on my own panic.
Sometimes I think healing isn't a process, it's a virus;
It takes over you, and your body fights against it valiantly,
But eventually it takes over you, and you're not you anymore.
You're forever symptomatic of healing.
Corvus Dec 2016
Desire. It's the storm cloud that creeps
Across the skull and blocks the light of common sense.
It's the janitor with a hidden agenda
That doesn't allow any light bulb to come on.
A Svengali swinging a pendulum left to right,
Until the mind is at its complete beck and call.

Desire. It reaps millions of butterflies;
Grown in the stomach. Wanting to be free.
It's the cause of the tension in your body.
The tsunami in your eyes. The quaking of the hands.
Most importantly, it's the internal burning sensation
That spreads to become a hole in the heart.

Desire. It's the delicate crumbling of anxiety
That melts with the comforting warmth of relief.
The fire of temptation; burning so sweet
As sweat collects upon victims unknown.
The aching in the muscles, the knocking in the chest
Of a heart whose cavity has been patched up.

Desire. It's the patch that frays over time
And the hole is re-opened. Tears re-flood.
The trembling vocal chords and the cracking voice
That fall like foundations under searing heat.
The eventual destruction and its finality
That hit you with a dull metallic taste in the mouth.

Finally knowing that no matter how bad you want it,
You will never own it unless under its own terms.
Advice? Read the fine print.
Dec 2016 · 701
Corvus Dec 2016
It's a strange feeling, lying next to someone,
As strange as waking up next to someone.
Sometimes I don't sleep, I just watch your silhouette,
As if blinking would make it change into the shape of a monster.
Or I wait for the black night to turn into that very dark blue,
Because it means dawn will come quick enough
That I can fall asleep safely,
In the knowledge that daylight will keep you human.
Then there are times when I don't fight it.
When your arm around me is warmer than any blanket,
And on that rare occasion I find myself comfortably sleepy,
At peace with falling asleep.
I can't always tell the difference between a silhouette and a ghost.
Can't always tell if it's your arm or a serpent.
But I'm glad you know the difference between my fear and my acceptance,
And I'm grateful you stay with me regardless.
Dec 2016 · 1.2k
Like Water
Corvus Dec 2016
Love is like water.
It has no colour, no smell, no taste.
It is neutral in everything.
There is no joy in love, nor any sorrow.
The only thing we gain from love itself
Is the relief, like drinking a cool glass of water
On a hot, relentless day, or for some,
A desperate need for quenching the thirst
Of one who was dying of dehydration.
Besides that, all else is down to the person you love;
What you love about them is what turns the water blue, red,
Or the colour of galaxies.
Dec 2016 · 1.7k
Corvus Dec 2016
You're a wolf in sheep's clothing
That I saw break itself apart just so it could join the flock.
You lived with the sheep long enough that your stench faded,
Inhaled their lifestyle until it became yours.
Then the real wolves came, wearing their own skin,
Entered the flock and began to feast upon the sheep.
You sat, injured and deformed, wearing fluffy, white wool
Over your grey fur.
They came for you, and you pounced.
Your self-blunted teeth split their skulls open,
And your claws tore flesh like the sheep tore blades of grass.
They came for you, but now they are yours.
You ate the wolves' flesh and licked clean their blood;
Your sheep's clothing stained red with wolf.
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