Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
-
Emily Snow Aug 2015
-
I look at the sky;
all is eternity.
Emily Snow Jan 2016
You said i should buy a car,
A blue one with burnt seats;
I said i wouldnt want to wear it down,
But you said i had to reach
nope i have no idea what this means
Caw
Emily Snow Apr 2016
Caw
My angel, my brave bird
Bursting perfect with words,
Let me hear them softly sung.
My strong one, come closer,
Let me hold you in chilled
Moon-glowed embrace.

My lover, my dark water
Give me a taste, a lick
Of your fire, of your desire.

Like a siren I caw for you,
Like a bird of paradise lost.
I beg you to break me;
My soft feathery neck
That crooks to your name
And howls in the night

Like a dog— my love,
Fire me like a pistol.
Bury me in your clamoring heart.
Emily Snow Aug 2015
Yearning for clear, seven and fear;
Found an old book and made it my snare.
It rotted in bed and drank the stars,
/Crossing closer to cars/
Emily Snow Aug 2015
Kissing the clouds that tremble and run;
I fear I’m mourning the salty breath,
waving at the birds as they devour the sun.
I match the crows and hope for death.
Emily Snow Apr 2016
Trees; uprooting arteries
From a garden growing
In destiny’s sterile womb,

I walk inside
The frame of crime—TIME
A desolate dusty-green capsule.  

And I walk outside
The frame of time—CRIME
A burning slate-red lake.

Arteries, rooted like trees
Form this heaving orb-corpse of mud,
Birthing fleshy despairs.
Emily Snow Apr 2016
Golden hour daughter
Splitting eyes gouging light—
Harboring disfunction, not
Finding sensory stimulation
Beyond illusion— overactive/>

Am I a life force,
Or a chair for it to sit?

Stitching pixels to form—
A drive to keep an open
Ripped rib wind— about  
My drouth stomach,
Itching, salivating…
Emily Snow Jun 2015
im tired, and i love you
but im bored and you will get bored of me
i would rather stay in bed
and dream of flying tigers killing me
in the backseat of your van

kick your shoes off at my feet
oh, you found my heart;
an anemic white wolf
running for the ocean and then folding
into the sound of your name
rushing to the underside of a goodbye

ill touch your back and warm your hands
but then ill cut them off
and tie them around my neck
you will reach to get them back, but with what?
you dont have hands

smiles sneaking beneath soft rocks
falling into my hollow hands
melting through and through the sand
to give me heat and tremble my skin

the smell of your shirt pulls me in
im your vulture
im tearing at your skin
i traced the shape of sorrow on your thigh
gave you a headache and started to cry
common answers running through
gave you cancer, pulled your tooth

im tired, and i love you
but im bored and im in bed
besides, how would you hold my love?
thick and sloppy; dripping blood
you don't have hands
1:30 am
Emily Snow Jul 2015
restless fever of useless gardeners
feeding the monsters of separation
calling quiet the aching reach
of a love drinking leach
Emily Snow Feb 2016
I said
With defensive defiance,
I can go by myself [all alone]
Into that orange twitching woods.

As branches jolt
Into shutter release, quick mystique
Of that yellow cat
Is found with only the sun in her eyes;

A soft machinery: organs of utter chaos,
That frame of beauty.
My smaller self would stop and listen,
Heartbeat quicken —

A fall through the ice;
I only wanted to freeze the frame.
Yellow lungs, paste from the sun;
[I'm heaving with my heart now]
Emily Snow Apr 2016
The sky shelters you and
I from the sky itself,
Bleeding clearly a cleansing,
As disguised a drowning, of

Mossy light over your thigh
Bone, raw and swollen.
The Gods eat it up and
Declare war on the rest,

Like myself in feverish night,
Sky is groaning hot—
Steaming like Hell,
All faithful to itself.
i don't like the third and fourth line of the second stanza agh
Emily Snow Jan 2016
when the sky saw your eyes i thought it was a floodplain, but you lifted up my chin and had an anerism. the sky came in folds.

once you said it, i knew it was chance;
and the torrent would climb up the bridge
to the rug in my stomach
well
Emily Snow Aug 2015
Climbing up the furnace to the hollow gate of heavan,
Itching for gloppy sunshine in the cracks of your stomach.
Pour it out, pour it out; the thick fervor of negation;
Climbing in the window through your ears,
Hearing, yearning for the stained glass.
You know, it’s okay to die.
Emily Snow Apr 2016
Tide pool crest of ivory mist;
Apex of sky—blinding back-light.
And I, writhing under its eye
Contain all but any innocence.

I have cracked the gates, an
Uncanny peace of clouds
Glimmering like water, like wool
Being spun by the hands of the light—

The kiss of the light—my master
Penetrating the mystery itself,
A nauseating beauty, silently
Howling: Death, Death…  Death

As the symmetry of the swirl
Curls my heart into a fist
Forcing, fitting myself into a box,
I leave the excess for my corpse
To find, swollen and bursting with gas.
Emily Snow Oct 2015
calming from the torrent,
wires pushing through his skin;
i wish for an end that
does not contain love.
Emily Snow Jul 2015
went to the bookstore again today
stomach tight like his hands around my wanting
mind restless like a bird by the road
red car comes and devours its mother

saw an older boy again today
hands tight on the handles around my watching
moves as i walk past like fire inching back
i say i like his yellow bike

1 July again this year
tired like every useless word they throw; pennies in a well
itching for solitude like a red bug climbing in her hair
a black cloud comes and eats my yellow cake

have a nice day i say again
i hope it's a good year i say again
8:11 pm
i don't like this one; i'm curious if you do

— The End —