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Skaidrum Dec 2015
The black sun coiled around you by morning,
Gingerly tending your wounded mind
You basked in the tall shadow of two lovers;
Waltzing along the line of indecisive love

Seven has always been your favorite number,
As we embarked to raise the tiger-eyed moon
That desolate soul wrapped in your inked bones
Couldn't silence the riptide that conquered like our kiss.

You were an addiction that took five months to sober,
Feathering every "I love you" with a pitiful look to me
I guess we just headed off to war in different directions
We were spilling blood in agony for each other.

There are regrets surfacing in your heart
I would know,
It's in my palm, right?

"
I am unwelcome and detatched, it seems.*"
--                                                                                   Am I wrong, Lycan?
  Nov 2015 Skaidrum
LycanTheThrope
You were brought up to cast the fragile truth
In that summer haze
I dawned something new
You held it like crystals,
Rather glass
It faded like the sky
Gray in the past

You cascaded over sorrow
Scalding your skin
Silver flakes fell
Counting your sins
The lining you drew
That was once my escape
Now hung up like jade
Curling at his nape

All this time
You held my heart it your palm.

*What was I devised?
Can you tell me, Ahkira?
  Nov 2015 Skaidrum
Detached Dreamer
Art
Forget what they tell you
About being a masterpiece
You are not art

You are not stagnate beauty,
Nor were you created for the pleasure of others

You were not meant to be marveled at
by the simple minded
Or ridiculed for your every flaw

You are not art

You are wind
Sending chills through the bones
of those in your presence

You are fire
Spitting embers with a coal-coated tongue

You are water
A bubbling stream of euphoric laughter

No, you are not art
You are so much more
Skaidrum Nov 2015
...
"They say freedom is a state of mind."
↡↡↡
Nostalgic reminder;
We exchanged souls on the sidewalk once.
His marble dreams dripped along porcelain palms,
Open blue terrors decayed at the birth
of the crow's injured wing.
We're hunting twin nightmares in
dawn's clothes that we've stolen.
Your mother tongue was a certain silence;
And what did I tell you,
I told you not to read death's lips by
the faint glow of the moon.

↡↡↡
I'm sure her wolven love didn't do you justice.
Brown eyes were tarnishing the coals of Jupiter
think foam, lust, and a side dish of insanity.
It's remarkable really;
how love had absolutely nothing to do with it.
There he is again;
Nightfall knockin' on your coffin with ease
please tell me you at least

⇸  h e s i t a t e d  ⇷
to let him in.
Violet bruises paint some pretty reminders,
Pastel happiness doesn't cover up
how long he's suffered.
God didn't bother to leave his name
among the wreckage of your bones.
I still wonder why that is.

↡↡↡
Lets turn these sorrows into strangers
like the way iron melts against your cheekbones.
Unfair warning; caution if you may
poison has never been an easy pill to swallow.
Never let the black sea lend you a double mirror
that's asking for self-destruction straight up.
There's rosemary placed in-between winter's wooden teeth,
it doesn't excuse every frozen god ****** cavity.
They say illnesses have cynical faces,
Grey skin isn't a cigarette dream
don't go igniting yourself
like the Fourth of July.
And I'm so sorry that this whole time
You've been drowning, and we've just been
describing the water.
Your freedom was your undoing, Dylan.

↡↡↡
"But someday, we will meet again."
...
I miss you, my friend.

Fifteen years,
One hundred & Thirty-Five days.

© Copywrite Skaidrum
  Nov 2015 Skaidrum
LycanTheThrope
There's a sick twisted feeling in my gut,
As you step away with eyes of hate.

*"Don't touch me."
  Nov 2015 Skaidrum
LycanTheThrope
She was conceived of fire
Rubies
And fate

Her long winter breath
Curling down
My hate

Mist on her fingers
Swirling
Beach tides

Snow ladden leaves
Youthful
In Autum's lie

She's sick of November
Thrashing
In grey

It's almost December
Timing
A wolf's prey



*Who would ever save a golden moon?
It's time to write again.
  Nov 2015 Skaidrum
Kj
The doctor closed the fist-shaped hole
Of your absence,
With little black knots,
"Come back in six months;
We'll check up on you"

I'm sitting on the table,
But there is no doctor.
There is me and there is you.
You're whispering
Sweet nothings into my ear,
And tearing my stitches out,
One by one.
I can see the hole again-
"Code Blue"
Only it's not blue,
Your eyes are green.
And I when I wake up later,
You're back.
I try to talk, but you interrupt-
you tell me I'm pretty.
"Begin compressions"
Blood is everywhere.
Months pass.
You are lying in bed next to me;
You kiss me on the mouth.
"Charge to 300"
You are gone.
Please don't come back.
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