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Pour a tragedy into
my hand and allow the
novelty to drench my fingers
and seep my skin. I'm
jealous of my age yesterday
and the person
who I might be tomorrow.
What a baffling existence we lead every
morning after the awe of
the sunrise
has dissipated.

When
the world outside my
window looks like a charcoal smudge
on the back of my fist, I think
of the uncoiling stillness bleeding
in and out of me with each breath. I'm wholeheartedly
in love with
thoughtless first times, but
I'd rather burn a bad first
draft and recklessly risk scorching
my fingers
instead.

I burn my tongue on coffee every
morning and shiver myself to sleep.
But one thing I learned today
is that a colorless existence is normal
for most people
until you have the courage
to spill a little blood
and believe that red is
the most beautiful color.
wow this seems so unconnected, but that's just how i've been feeling lately. like an outsider in my own skin living through days i cannot fully claim as my own, behaving foreignly to people whom i cannot fully connect to in one capacity or another. i've just been feeling very very strange and i hope this poem reflects that in a way.
and here I found myself
in complete radio silence.
You're the soft humming static,
the deafening silence
as soon as I close my car door.
There's a certain kind of peace here,
though what I have is emptiness;
what I have is nothing.
You're the cigarette in my fingers at 3 am,
if only I hadn't quit.
You're the portrait that I'd create in awe,
if only I knew how to draw.
You're every song and piece of poetry
that these hands will ever compose for months,
and even years,
and by the stars, sweetie,
do I know how to write.
He was so busy painting the sun,
all in yellows and blues
that he forgot that the green
dripped from his brush
and fell upon the round
and blades where fashioned
swaying upon a ground...
and saw
that it was good.
Understanding made me feel Obligated

Love makes me Oblivious

So much time and energies wasted

SQUANDERED

When they could have been

Deposited into a more worthy Entity

Now is the time to rise and **BE STRONG
A Blessing and A Curse my empathic heart.
Someone out there deserves my love , and i shall be ever strong for them when the time comes .
 Jun 2015 Isabella Pullivan
Axel
Staccato's of clasping chains.. feverishly flaying your wrists...

As a rabid dog chewing off its own limbs to crawl away.


You hide in my shadow.. The only place where they cannot get you...

While your children burn...

A sour scent of ***** floods richly within these forsaken walls...

A tranquilizing melody of ****** gargling


I will mutilate the memory...

I will stain the status you built...

I will pluck your fruit and devour it with voracious appetite

Gnawing your rotting tongue bit by bit...

i drink sepsis that drips from the shank of your thighs..

My hunger everlasting...

Ravenously, depraved, my claws rend and maim your angelic wings...


A carpet of feathers gusts at your final gasp....

A cold lick on your eyeballs...

We drag you into our grave...

Rats...

Swarms of rats...

And i wear a crown baptized and blessed of your blood....

Adorned with warm and beating entrails of the defeated and the devoured...

Bricked in walls....


I can still hear you clawing during the  most sleepless of sleeps...

And taste your rotting tongue...
 Jun 2015 Isabella Pullivan
pin
Like a rainbow tiger
Thoughts catch me a cold
The ones there before the sundown
Like can we, me trust lost souls
Cause theyve lost mine
Rewind old voices maybe it makes us feel shivers down our spines
I know theres two of me sometimes
I know theres two of me somewhere
Sitting & dealing with cardio sickness
I know theres two here somwhere
My Masterpiece
If I had the hands
of a Master Sculptor
I would mold the lines
of your face to my mind,
where for all time
I could visit and admire
what I behold
when I looked at you.

Should these painters fingers
find the deft
Of ability to paint in naked hues
a destiny
in twilight afterglows long denied,
I’d paint two,
one for me and you.

If I were a maestro of music
I would play
One Solitary note
that awoke a worthy world
to a breakable breathless heart,
shattered
but still collectible.

If I were an adequate poet
I would share  in pictograph
of parnassian light
your certain savoir-faire
so all could read
you as I do,
so untamed and exquisitely rare,
claimed by many
but never
will you ever...
be truly owned.
 Jun 2015 Isabella Pullivan
Zoë
i miss all of you.
the way you speak sweetly in my ear,
the way you hug me tight,
the way you blush,
the way you grin when i catch you staring,
i just hope that she doesn't miss all of you too
Best things worth the wait
Sleepy days lead to pouncing
Anything that moves
 Jun 2015 Isabella Pullivan
XIII
Oh my darling,
your beauty comes in many shapes.

You are the Sunset;
you are the beauty before the darkness.

You are the Moon;
you are the beauty in the darkness.

You are the Sunrise;
you are the beauty before the mourning.

You are the Rainbow;
you are the beauty after the rain.
Compilation of my 10w poems, Sunset, Moon, Sunrise and Rainbow about beauty.
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