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Have ye beheld (with much delight)
A red rose peeping through a white?
Or else a cherry (double graced)
Within a lily? Centre placed?
Or ever marked the pretty beam
A strawberry shows half drowned in cream?
Or seen rich rubies blushing through
A pure smooth pearl, and orient too?
So like to this, nay all the rest,
Is each neat niplet of her breast.
I Wasn't Good Enough For Him,                                    
Wasn't Good Enough For Her,                                        
Wasn't Good Enough For Them,
Inside I Stir,
Black On The Walls,
White On The Door,
I Feel All That's Good,
Has Fell Through The Floor,
I Do Not Miss It,
Nope--Not A Bit,
I Could Cry And Yell,
And Even Throw A Fit,
I Flunked The System,
I Failed A Dream,
My Skin Is Bruised,
But I Swam That Stream,
You Say Hello As You Pass,
You Think My Week Was Good?
You Think I Had A Blast?
When You Said Goodbye I Ran Away,
*Fast
After a brush with death
his eyes were like kaleidoscopes
the scene reflected himself in relation
to an ever changing world

he felt impermance
in an after glow
as the sun decended behind
the mountain's asylum

Soldier Summit's quieted railroad
an attraction to some
but for others a refuge
after a long and hateful dawn

May their souls rest in peace
those who eternally are blanketed by snow
and may the moutains speak
to the survivors who fight to reach the top of them
Pull your teeth out,
threading your lips together with twine.

Reach into your bellybutton with a finger,
hook-shaped,
and remove your intestines,
like a serpent.

Run a hook into your nose,
removing your brain
as if mummifying you.

Carve a smile with a razor,
under each breast,
******* out the fat
and replacing it with silicone.

Pull your nails off,
leaving ****** beds,
krazy-gluing plastic
over the tips of the fingers.

Fingers into ****,
pulling out the ******.

Spoon the eyeballs out,
sew the sockets shut.

My doll, broken and battered,
now fixed in perfection.
A soft suicide relapse into plasticine porcelain -
you tremble when we ****.
 Jan 2013 Aaron Reisinger
Ashmita
Laughter behind the tears,
Tears behind the memories,
And memories are all that's left.
Of heartstrings torn apart,
Of whispered intentions,
Of cherished nightmares,
And words gone unheard.
You have become a wall.
A cold, hard entity,
Its existence only appreciated
Because someone needs it,
It’s being there,
It being a part of that somebody.
One sided conversations,
Endless longing,
And pain,
An overdose of pain.
But the memories are never lost,
Never unwanted,
Cherished, every moment of it,
Lived in rewind,
Over and over again.
Moments which leave you,
Breathless with pain,
Yet laughing at what once,
Happened, oh so long ago.
An emotion which leaves your mind,
In a chaotic disposition,
On what to do, what to feel.
Weren’t you just angry at that?
How is the exact same thing leave you
Smiling, perhaps even laughing,
That too behind drowning eyes,
A heart wrapped in pain,
Held at a death lock,
Draining the life out of you,
Leaving insanity to prevail.
His eyes watch your every move,
Stalk every footfall,
Register every flutter of the eyelashes,
Every smile, every tear.
His touches, burning your skin,
He watches you while you sleep.
He is there, nowhere.
Mind games you cannot defeat,
Troubling your soul,
Making you remember,
Memories old with use,
Played on repeat,
So often that,
The images become your reality,
While reality becomes a denial.
And finally you find yourself,
Slow dancing in a room alone,
Never really being alone.
Long nights spent sitting
At corners of the bed,
Replaying every moment,
Hoping that somehow,
You could reach into the past,
Grab him, take him in your arms,
And pull him into the present with you,
Swearing, never to let go,
Again, that is.
Yes, you hope,
For hope is all the lost ones have,
Hope to find things lost,
Hope to meet,
Hope to talk and not just speak,
For this world is a small place,
And our lives are too long,
Our wishes too meaningful,
Longing too true,
And love, pure.
And what a beautiful mess this is.


Inspired by Jason Marz's song "a beautiful mess" :)
She stands in the truth,
a puddle of lysergic acid
that seeps into her bare soles,
as a tuning peg twists her gut.

The single page, crisp,
bends, hangs limp
where index and thumb tips
barely touch left and right edges.

Her blue eyes quickly sweep left and right, work
their way slowly from top to bottom, absorb his self-eulogy,
drain their color out and onto the page.

As each drop hits, ink blots change from explanation and apologies
to a Rorschach Test to which she will never have an answer.

Moisture leaves her body faster than she feels it will be replaced,
she is mummifying herself alive in Sokushinbutsu,
attempting to join the Xerces Blue letter-author
who flew away into extinction.

The walls around her now close, tight, stone;
her only contact with the outside world the string of her memory
attached to the bell of loss.  

The weight of the page
she holds destroys her.
 Dec 2012 Aaron Reisinger
RL
Rose
 Dec 2012 Aaron Reisinger
RL
First petal.
Browning and creased
Flawed, to say the least.
A victim of time.
Plainly visible for all.
To admire.
To abhor.

Second petal.
Smoother, whiter.
With a hint of warmth.
My lingering touch
Soundlessly penetrates
Your faceless mask.
I left my mark.

Third petal.
Perfectly encrypted
From everyone but me.
Every line traceable
Every blemish shown
Every part of you
Known.

Last petal.*
Purest, untainted
You guarded it to your best.
But like the rest,
It withers, and is soon just a fragment
Of what once was
and what will never be.
 Dec 2012 Aaron Reisinger
Frankie
I want you to pick me up and hold me against your body;
I need your arms around me, shielding me from any more pain.
There is nothing I want more in the world than for you to love me,
to want me,
to be with me.
I cannot imagine living without it.
I need your hand on my hair, holding my wits together and your arm encircling my waist, keeping me whole.
The raw emotion I feel for you is overpowering;
it fills up my insides until my torso burns and my ribcage threatens to crack.
The thought of your heart-wrenching smile or your lovely, all-seeing eyes whips the breath from my lungs and starts a waterfall down my cheeks.
I am in love with you, and I am wholly yours.
There were little ways, once, when things could sparkle and spread the light
just like I spread your legs
then.

Away I could turn,
and feel your eyes on me,
the breath for breathing in always fresh and free between us,
the staleness now punctuating every sentence, drooling from my lips
and off away somewhere…

nowhere.

The infant
me lying next to the mother
of you in the creeping sun

running away over the edge of the world
like Magellan.

I could chase it,
I would,
I swear I will,
if you would ask it,
and I would tumble over that dark cusp
and off into a six-year terror of death and disease,
just to return,
spinning the Earth under my feet,
pushing it with my hands like paddles,
kicking it back with toes,
sweating bleeding shaking
and collapsing
back into
you.
Those words are now meaningless
compared to what you mean to me.
Where I thought that there was no way to feel deeper,
you prove me wrong.

I am ice
and you were the cool breeze
that keeps me from melting and evaporating away.

No four letter-word could ever measure against you.

I was eating cigarettes for breakfast;
now I subsist only on the health of you.

I was dreaming of the day
I was born,
strangling on an umbilical noose;
you have slid your pink life-giving cord into my navel.

I was writing my suicide note,
but you came and lit it aflame,
blew away the embers,
wrote a story with a happy ending.

I dangled, atrophied, off of an edge,
my chalk-outline superimposed over the gaping black.
Your hair, strands of raven steel,
snaked their way through my fingers,
held me long enough for you
to pull me back.

You held my hand,
guided the crayon it held.
Where I saw only a blank
page, you showed
where the lines were and created
a piece of art beyond
anything the world has ever seen.

You are my life-support system,

Holly,

and without you,
I wouldn't be writing this.
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