dani: Favorites

Jan 2014 dani

1/25/13

Jan 2014 dani

Riley

1/25/13

Fill my lungs with flowers;
Vases for your affection
And yours alone.
Sip the frozen smoke rings
In stumbling drunk motions
As they dribble from my lips.
Mold me as clay;
I was born
To fit in your
S p a c e s.
Dig your fingers
Underneath my ribs.
Bury your pain in the absence
My heart left when
I handed it to you,
Wrapped in brown paper and string.
My hands are a coat rack,
A place for you to leave your fingers
When otherwise occupied.
My eyes are the mirrors
In which you peer
To try and see what it's like to
Love you.
My skin is your canvas
But you're too gentle
To urge a purplish bruise to
The milky surface.
Instead your touch
Rouses a rose petal
Blush;
A flower tint
To your maiden
Fashioned of snow.

k.f.

Jan 2014 dani

Cigarettes

Jan 2014 dani

vibrantveins

Cigarettes

I promised my mother that I would never smoke cigarettes but here I am with you. It seems to be that I am addicted and you are the nicotine, how cliché. I remember in middle school when someone showed me how battery acid melts styrofoam instantly, and that was just one of the many deadly chemicals in those little white sticks. I imagine your touch to be something like that, my skin melting to the bone as you pour yourself over me. It's funny, because I watched my mother smoke for years, when she were upset or anxious she would smoke more to feed her addiction and calm down; I think I may have found my newest addiction. There is something so flammable about you and I will light you over and over again and inhale you because I need a rush. Soon it will turn into a dependency but I don't mind. "I can quit anytime." know I promised I would never touch those cancer sticks but if that was the only form I could find you in, I would smoke a pack a day for the rest of my life.

Jan 2014 dani

Something I Could Only Read To Your Feet

Jan 2014 dani

bb

Something I Could Only Read To Your Feet

I'm going to love you like the floorboards do. I'm going to touch you like your bedroom walls never could; lay your forehead against me like the shower wall and try to recount every lie you ever told laying down. Your nails will hold me against the headboard in a dark act of crucifixion; I have been dying of your sins since before I understood that they were not the kinds that I should love, and perhaps this is not the kind of love that ends well on glossy pages but it is the only love I know. I was a nearly dead stray on your doorstep and you fed me pretty words from your hands like you knew how to take care of things that had no home (despite having never had one of your own). You know too well how your name sounds when your hand is on my knee, you know too well how your name sounds when you are coaxing the life out of me, as though my trachea were the back door of your apartment, and you know how deadly you are with a look on your face that burns like the candles in a chapel but never melts - I sit vigil over your dead body but your ghost is always touching me, you are always bringing out the worst in me and stretching it out like sheets over a ****** mattress and I cannot take care of myself and I am incapable of breathing until you are watching me.

Jan 2014 dani

Something, But I Don't Know

Jan 2014 dani

bb

Something, But I Don't Know

Today, it snowed and it never snows here in this state and you told me once that this place was madness and I guess that's why we can't have snow because it is quiet and so gentle in nature and maybe we are just too noisy and inconsiderate and God knows we can never have anything white for too long without scuffing it up. I haven't been able to write anything like this about you in a while and for some reason I typed out an apology, about to press SEND like you even knew that I had anything to say about you in the first place. Once, when I was very small, I had a fever and my mother told me I was mumbling in my sleep like I was crazy but she didn't know at the time that I actually was, and somehow I don't think it's sheer madness to conclude that whether you believe in spirits in a bottle that grant your wishes or spirits in a bottle that can only pacify your misery for a night, neither can grant the wishes you may have made when you were cradling your cheek and your mom was trying to assure that Daddy always loves you. Suddenly, it isn't so insane to think that the glass slipper on the stairs could become your heels on the sidewalk at 1:30 AM and fantasy fades into reality not in a flow of water color, but in an unexpected explosion, and I realize that once upon a time I thought was a flame but I was only on fire, and now all I am is smoldering.

— The End —