Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Jun 2015 · 540
r
alice scott Jun 2015
r
the sun seeped in through the cracked-open window, and i cradled your hand within mine, watching the veins and the creases of your knuckles. the sun seeped in and i whispered to you, inching up the bed and kissing at your cheek.

        "we are alive and i love you to pieces."

wild daisies; your favorite drink on rocks of ice, the sea with it's calming waves and Ancient Ones. i will swim with you until you get tired, i'll drive you home and hold you until you sleep.

i pour molten silver in the cracks of you until you are all fixed.
i will not stop until the scars fade, until the night comes.
each one of your fantasies is a lock -- i will find the key,
dug deep into the nooks of my heart, my art.
Jun 2015 · 494
achilles
alice scott Jun 2015
you are like fall.
you make me sad --
saccharine sad so my tears taste like sugar, my misery tastes like heaven.
your leaves sink and I come undone.

your blue-grey eyes are the ocean, i drown in them.
mine are the bright of the sky, of sapphires,
and you have all of my stares. forever.

the kisses i blow may one day reach you.
they fly a path across the atlantic. across the sky, across the pedestrian roads. they sail along with the leaves of summer. the dead branches of winter.
the kisses are all yours. all of me is yours.

plant love, your seed, along the underside of my breast,
i will twist my hands in the white linen of our sheets.

let's stay up together, decaying coffee in my cup,
your stubble thick with growth.
brushes of black on our pillows from where you held me tight and i cried.
the smell of bonfire smoke. the remnants of our past,

they twirl and dance away. over now. over.

you are like fall,
i want to walk in you.
see you on the dark side of the moon.
Jun 2014 · 502
Untitled
alice scott Jun 2014
I saw wild-poppies in your eyes
Your tongue was a coarse dead petal
Your crown slanted,
As if it did not belong on your mess
Of hair.

Within you are the souls of one thousand
Shades: ghosts, wights, spirits
Shades: hues, tones, colours
Within you
They play seance
With your ribs
Lighting buttercups from your blood

Gods take your crown
Poppies in sight of the holy ones...
**** you, **** you, I will not have my own tongue die.
Was
Feeling
Strange
May 2014 · 424
cords
alice scott May 2014
I was in the hospital on Sunday, I had stayed there overnight, and I was in a room with big armchairs and low lighting, which was very strange for a hospital. I was sure I could leave whenever I want, so I don't know why I stayed.
They took my blood and I don't know where they took it. I don't even know if they needed it.
All I had to do was smile at the psychiatrists and they believed me.

But nobody wanted to see the poisoned hole that had begun to infect my insides, so I let my hands lie limp and gave my mind to the stars.
Mar 2014 · 342
optional
alice scott Mar 2014
****** me
in the space between your eye ball and the bottom of your eyelid
I want you to play in my blood
sweetness
I would do anything to see you smile
Feb 2014 · 2.9k
fishook
alice scott Feb 2014
first kiss
18 year old, diving,
hurt.

lavish styles (of) discipline.
long stories,
instruction:

teacher and student.

(a) bar bathroom:
pure teen punished
sexually broken:

alice.

scarlet underwear,
redhead pigtails,
(and) b grade movies.
idea from: http://animalnewyork.com/2014/****-poetry-artists-turn-live-feed-***-search-terms-verses/ . It was creeping me out. Alice came out twice. Redheads kept coming up, too. Are these people searching for me? Or some-one like me? I have never met any-one like me.
Feb 2014 · 461
tongues
alice scott Feb 2014
I have seen a fish being beaten and left for dead on the side of a wooden boat and I want that to be me
because in death there are extremes
and I want to contract diseases and inflict them on every
**** person who ever touched me
and I want to be made out of poison that makes people want me
more than they want to be alive
I just want to be dangerous
which is how I feel with sharp glass in my eyes
rubbing against my lids and
how I feel with sharp steel pressed against legs
******* I feel alive and dangerous and powerful
more than I ever did before and I do reach a higher existence
and I do feel like a different person
I just want to make people sick with how much they love me
and fall apart with out me
and I am just this echo calling out for my ******* narcissus
who would love me more than his reflection
so **** it Ovid I just want this last bit of danger
I like the taste of my blood when I **** ******* my gums
I love the feel of pain I want it so bad
I want to be euphoric and I want people to want to make me ******* euphoric
I cannot live like a girl without danger when all my life I have been dangerous to all
and I burn people yes but scars only ever last for a couple months
burn scars do anyway, to me, I thought they all loved me
and would die for me
but I have not left behind that many corpses in my tread
and I am not the girl I thought I was
I am not the girl I think I am
I want to be everything and nothing
and good and bad and
I want to be His ******* temptation but I cannot have that title
so I'll be His darling stagnation because that's what I'll do
breaking up won't be ****** and suicide and blood pacts it'll be dad
coming with a van and Him looking kinda sad maybe
I guess when I leave it will be mutual
and neutral and all of the things that I hate
the things that poison my insides the worst thing I feel is neutrality
that and passivity
I cannot stand non aggressive or not emotive
I have to have everything
I have to have noise and terror every day or I cannot cope some times
I hate that life has to be like this now and I cannot be what I want
because the times are wrong and society won't accept it
when I say I do not want to talk about it it is because I feel this
this is bad and this is
the closest I will get to poisoning you
because I cannot tell you my secret desires
for you to **** all the life from my heart
pour it back in me with pieces of you
when I sleep I dream sometimes I dream about you killing me
and it is the best feeling ever I wake up and smile
I am horrid and my heart is on fire
but now you care if it hurts you stop when I say so
I see the look of the eyes of the fish on the boat
I see that look in the eyes of me
this is a very angry poem from the point of view of someone that i used to be
Feb 2014 · 913
sinkhole
alice scott Feb 2014
I swear I've seen tentacles growing
inside the places water goes out.
They are purple and blue and have suckers on
and sometimes I see them and shout:

They have my eyes and my hair in a lock!
And they are tying these ropes to my lashes!
And on my pale arms and shin bones I've seen
purple and blue pus-blood gashes!

Out of these cuts come more of them,
more sucker-filled fat coils of woe.
My father cries out for his lost girl
while my tentacles wrap round his toe...

Until I infect everyone in the world
until I have caused mass destruction,
I will not be happy, I will not be good,
so I continue my disgusting seduction!
I thought I would create a childish tentacle poem because I love nothing more than children's rhymes of gross things.
Feb 2014 · 778
shake
alice scott Feb 2014
here
i am in the kitchen and it is tidy
for once
the noticeboard is all dated last year
cats crawl around my feet

i haven't fought in a while
and you are happy

i used to think i was doomed
i thought i'd die before thirty
i thought not eating would take me

i never thought i would live
in a house half my own
with cinnamon and a chrome clean sink

i haven't fought in a while
and i am happy
Jan 2014 · 699
upstraight
alice scott Jan 2014
in my basement i will keep them
hoards of plasma laden spawn
and at night i will sleep with them
until the radiation sickness takes me
i just wanted to be your doll
hey there baby doll gal doll princess
now i am made of iron and plasma
and the only doll i could be, well,
i thought and it made me feel sick.

geiger counter is up to 500, now
and i can feel my underknees burning
not the kind from a fire but
from a blistering heat
and i swear i could see a flash of light there.

remember the last words your father said to you
good bye love
he was never one for verbosity.
Nov 2013 · 413
now
alice scott Nov 2013
now
you still look so pretty
that was the killer
the cyanide pill you thought was benign
until it wasn't.

ugly things do not make people ugly.
you still look so pretty
even though you tear my insides back out
he said through his eyes.

he just looked tired,
he saw the look in my eyes, a video tape of before
the life flash by of white thighs and burning kettles.
and he looked tired.

i am sorry i am
destroying everything just to feel normal
you build all these cities and you hand me a switch
to the undetonated bomb by the doctors surgery.

you still look so pretty
when those cities burn down
you still look so pretty
with fires burning your irises
Nov 2013 · 721
teacher
alice scott Nov 2013
of course you didn't care about my midnight typing.
the poems i wrote on the insides of my elbows.
why would you need any more than you have?
the red folder stitched tight with verses.

teacher said "girls like that don't matter
when girls like you are in my class."
"then teacher, why do you keep that folder?
up above too high, so i can't reach?"

i hate that folder with all my lungs
i was his pet, his wonder, his daughter.
one day, a Friday, a lie-day,
the distance between us got shorter.

i grabbed that fat gross metaphorical heart
i ate its contents, i felt it digest
i choked myself once (just to see how it felt)
and dear darling old teacher did the rest

now i write poems on his bathroom mirrors
when i break in through the window at night
teacher longs for his favourite pupil, he longs
for her small legs wrapped around him tight

i feel the wrote heart
beating inside me
(my stomach lining
echoes)

with
the words
she used.
Nov 2013 · 402
october
alice scott Nov 2013
the skulls of your friends lay heavy on my dress
and when i danced in your dreams
their eyes came to life, i swear,
i counted every time they flashed,
every time you stabbed their sockets.

429 times
429 times you pierced them
you were stabbing me, too,
they were on my dress and all.

and the room in your haze was filled with coffee cups
with wine stains and dust inside.

the color of the sky was the color of my hair
you said the grass smelled like pumpkins
the guts of the eyes came out when you stabbed the skulls
they rained on the floor. they made puddles.
it made you sick in the night.

sleep well darling
Nov 2013 · 375
ochrea
alice scott Nov 2013
i do not understand the word love,
the way it lays heavy on everyone.
it gives one party
infinite power
to destroy the other.

i do not understand
why you would want to love somebody?
i made a space for you in my ***** system!!!!
thank you. i am so grateful.
i would so rather you just remembered me.

we tried to write memories together;
imprint them on each others retinas,
so in the future
we could scan them,
and see everything and how wonderful we were.

i fought with you over nothing.
it is always over nothing.
let's break up to my favourite song.
i do not understand love,
please do not ever love me.
alice scott Oct 2013
on Friday, a tour of the abattoir,
one with meat hooks so shiny that people's pupils were captured,
and the brownness of the blood river
made the orphans weep.

such a miserable place
your shoes got taken
and your socks soaked up the meat juices,
I got sent home with my eyeballs in a plastic bag.

we all got a complimentary abattoir coffee,
and you were the only one
who didn't drink it.

"there are dust particles in here," you said
"I think there are pieces of gristle, or rib cages"
but no one was listening
their ears were just diamonds
sparkling in meat hooks
the abattoir tour.
The title of this came from s search of my twitter at yes.thatcan.be/my/next/tweet/. Also available on there was "MY BLOOD IS FULL OF MYSTERYZ".
alice scott Oct 2013
all of these bees
stung my eye lashes
that must be it
my mouth drips honey
and the bees die
at my patent feet
the bee grave yard
littered at 495 longitude
my rib cage broken
into white candy chunks
food for dead bees
my eye lashes stung
heaven honey droplets make
the bees sticky cremation
Sep 2013 · 1.1k
3145
alice scott Sep 2013
milk skin taut on bones, the colour of calcium,
                         today the milk is dotted with sun blots, but it hasn't gone off yet.
further down the milk is purple and bruised. but
                       you never want to go further.

drowning in milk skin isn't different from drowning in milk,
the blood of the cows staining your eyes.
                                                                        red in your eyes,
                                    eat out my eyes.

picket fence eye lashes;
one day we will make them stand so tall,
one day i will stand tall, so tall that you won't see me,

i will be a cloud,
                           and a bird,
                                             and a whole aeroplane.

                                                           there is a war. and it is happening underground.

if you are an overground soldier, your milk skin will drown you.
if you are deep underground, you are purple and bruised.
but for the LAST TIME, you NEVER
                                  want to go further.

dogs yelp. and it sounds like accordions.
                            but secretly it is accordions. and they are made from lions.
                                             according to the yelping dogs,
                                            of the purple underground.

i like the idea of skeletons walking around,
but not skeletons covered in muscle.
the underground well they are coated in muscle,
strapped firm to their skin,

                                                                           like suicide bombers.
              and you are a cause worth dying for;

according to the world leaders with their picket fence eye lashes,

according to the yelping dogs of the yelping darkness.

                                                                            you never want to go further.
alice scott Sep 2013
i fell into shadows
on the sheets
of your bed
blonde honey spilling
all over
sticky fingered boy
oh that brother of mine

your sand hair
cried out for my auburn
i had hidden under black
you wanted to pull the stitches
Out
of my body
you wanted me
to never forget

brother how could you
how could i
with your hands on my throat
honey spilling from my mouth
all over
sticky toothed sister
painted bruises
big big brother bruises
bending beneath broken bones
how could you

— The End —