Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
-D Aug 2017
your name is deceit,
and your colours and blue and black,
and i paint them from day to night,
long, thin strokes

you escape in time
to avoid the crash,
vehicles colliding at 90 mph,
and you escape without a scratch
-D Aug 2017
you are my treasured pain—
and i am your inebriation secret joy

the wonders of it all,
over whiskey and wonderland talk
so wistful and gay

playing dress up for faux first dates
and dancing around inevitability

but i was her in black and red,
with joy and caveats to hold at night

and you were the boy with the velvet voice,
so quiet at day, but bold in the evening tides

how we walked this far
on such rough terrain,
with a third hand in mine,
i’ll never know.

i trip and fall down the coastline,
allowing for bumps and bruises
along my blushed face and jawline

you were not magnificent,
only marred,
with tattered tales of torment and your demise

but the demise was mine instead,
all for the taste of a secret wine

and we became the last of the great faux pas
and I became a dissection at my desk

your words are meaning to you,
but we crumple them and
spit on your intentions,
which until then were never seen
out of your mouth

i’ll never know how you tasted,
but i know
how it tastes
to never have you.

and you’ll not hold me in wintertime
below the shadows of december,
but you’ll hold on to the fragments
of Almost
and Settling
until you pass.
-D Nov 2016
I pray you didn’t catch me looking
at your hands as they worked in the kitchen.
you were there, too,
but it was your hands that captured my attention.
strong, calloused hands.
never did I ever think that peeling potatoes
could be so interesting,
or so attractive.
your chest was there, also
barely clad in a thin white t-shirt;
a small key around your neck
bounced on it,
tumbling around as though
on a glistening trampoline.
the key said,
both engraved in its metal
& in its words to me.
moments passed at dinner that evening,
& as I found myself again & again
praying that your arm would graze my shoulder,
I couldn’t help but wonder
how much hope I could bear to
keep holding on to.
dinner came and went,
but my gaze on you never wavered.
I found myself both not hungry
& ravenous
as the entrees were served.
could your smile be any brighter?
or your eyes more soft?
eyes of velvet shine
& I am mesmerized.
as dinner passed & it grew time to clear the table,
you stood to clean up.
I closed my eyes & prayed for your touch.
behold, at the smallest graze
of your wrist on the back of my neck,
my heart fluttered,
& you dropped my dishes.
I sit here, the day after
still contemplating these small moments,
both cursing
& understanding
that you are not doing the same.
my heart still beats,
h —
o —
p —
e —
when will you serve dessert?
-D Dec 2014
the last thing I remember:
I shatter a bottle of whiskey on the sidewalk with a spring in my step-
in my peace, I hum.

moments later,
a **** begins to surface on my shin,
but the inebriation keeps my head from noticing the litres of blood on the gravel below,
draining into the street sewers.

a nearly audible voice counts down from 30.

street lights, flashing turn signals, yet I stand in the middle of it all, taking it in.

I’ve missed what it feels like to feel alive.

there is a club nearby that has seen better days. the manager has taken to spending time outside rather than inside, and he stands under a streetlamp, looking for something.

it’s not until I splash through the crimson ponds like rain boots in May puddles that I notice anything slightly amiss.

shortly afterwards, the scent
and the distillation
of bourbon and bloodstains clogs my ****** orifices,
a liquid mask freezing solid onto my face, eyes, and mouth.

I collapse in my own filth and doings.
what is happening?

demonic chanting has joined the excitement surrounding me.

grasping for aid like a child for her mother--
car brakes screech to a halt nearby.
can this—

you step out of the car,
grab my hand,
but upon seeing your torn face,
instinct overcomes impulse:

I grab a shard of glass
and pierce it----------------
into my own flesh—

prelude to a perhaps
-D Dec 2014
dark bars
no light in sight
but the light that emanates from your throat.
it cascades through the barren landscape of this rough and worn city.

there’s nothing here for us,
you say,
as we hail a taxi cab heavily into the night

your breath smells like it longs to feel something tonight.
and I respond with a grasping hold on your thigh.

where else can we go? I ask,
as I truly do not know.

your slurs say as you point,
not here,
but your eyes said,
right ******* here
right ******* now.

my hand slides up your thigh.
pant, pant.

you gaze out the window,
and I watch how the streetlights glance at you from the parks and alleys.

suddenly, you call to the cabby
here! this is it!
and the brakes nearly shake me out of the reverie we’ve created.

your car door is already open by the time I’ve unhooked my seatbelt and paid the man.

the night is so dark,
I can only see the bottom of your
expensive shoes and
your toothy grin
like a child who’s found

what’s so significant about this bench? I ask,
you are positively fondling it in joy.

I turn around to see if the cabby
has in fact left me for dead here;

indeed, it’s just you and I for

the echoes of traffic and of the moonbeams
ringing in my ears and your calling further into the park
something akin to
I’ve found the one for whom my heart sings
though the word “sings”
sounds more like
deep in this wooded night.

my mouth gapes open as I look above to see
many moths aflutter on rooftops
engaging in perilous flight

I stop to wonder if any of them
must long for something more
than a swift battle with the night
and light--

as I look back down,
I see that you have begun walking back toward me.

what’s the deal with this park bench?
I yell to you.

you’d never understand,
you say.

what a pain that is to hear.

what part of
this euphonious spider's web
has ever made you think
I’d not understand?

suddenly defensive I sweep off into the night

you call,

but I am too far gone.

I wrestle in my coat pockets for a call home and find
a pen wedged within its bowels.

headlights flicker on its metal surface as I look both ways before crossing,
but step out instead--

a taxi swerves to stop but I
find myself running into it
toward it
within it
opening the door and throwing myself in--

I ignore your voice over the muddled traffic sounds
and listen to my own instead:

where to?
the man says.

to where.*  
I say.

the pen shrieks in my hand
before I notice how it has bled over the leather before me

expletives overflow onto the smooth seat I sit upon
and I am unaware of where this strength has come from

what the **** are you doing, lady?*
the man screams

the door swings open
before I even have a chance to cease its quick decision.

I leave the pen on the seat, screaming
it will torment the man instead.

a screeching pain emits from my shins as I see
there are pieces of asphalt imbedded in this new chapter
of the same sad story
I’ve been telling for the past

I sit on the sidewalk
examining my wounds
and suddenly you approach
and angry.

as I record the glistening pearls of ****** remission
you greet me with,

I was so worried.

like hell you were,
I say without looking up.

your voice means nothing to me any longer.

you’re bleeding,
you mention as though it has been the
most original idea you’ve had within the past three years.

my hand plunges deep into my own flesh,
covered in blood,
as I caress your rugged face.

I am,

I say.

and I can see in your eyes that it
and  it

your hand suddenly lifts me from the sidewalk
and into the woods behind you--

my blood hums on your cheeks for just a moment
before it melts into the sewer.

your hands are no longer hungry,
but full of assurance--
as though this were the one thing
you’d known to do.

my gasp echoes against the trees above the traffic cacophony

your knees are scuffed as you drag me out into the park woods again


I gasp for a fleeting moment

we are?

yes, you say

we are

and as my breath catches in my throat,

**I see.
-D Jul 2014
you’re still gutting me open
as I sleep.
my heart races at the thought of us...

being so casual with each other;
we have our jokes over
pourover coffees while
we make comments on each other’s
whiskey-induced writing.

no one else
has such the privilege as I.

going for walks in the evenings;
we have our places &
our friends to see, but
Neither is so important as
that we sleep next to each other
that night & each night from now on.

no one else
has such the privilege as I.

waking in the morning’s gentle light;
even as I lay awake.
in one hand, you clutch our blanket,
in the other,

no one else
has such the privilege as I.

feeling no hesitation;
so in love with each other
that we bend, but never break.
you chase,
& you catch—
Reverie is ours.

no one else
has such the privilege as I.

spending weekends in our bed;
your hands,
at one moment,
curled around your novel.
the next,
Entangled in my hair.

no one else
has such the privilege as I.

Watching our children leave for school;
I have to go to work, honey.
I know you’re late,
but I still pin you to the wall
before giving you your lunch
on your way out.

no one else
has such the privilege as I.

*I awaken.
it is morning
& I am breathing,
though dripping in our blood.
-D May 2014
lights shining down a dim hallway
illuminate the ghostly remains of
still slinking about within
the deep recesses of my mind.

clutch you tightly within my lungs
[I cannot bear to release you hastily,
for your appearances are far too rare,
our memories much too few].

the scent of musk & former ardor
lingers in my nostrils;
flashbacks of sweat & bourbon
radiate in my temples,
throb in my chest.

I pause:
distant cackling replaces
your former fervent whispers
as my true recollections reveal themselves
out of the darkness—

memories of torment
& deception
& vices asphyxiate me;
blood begins to seep
from scarred over wounds

& I remember
why you are
but a ghost.

Next page