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3.1k · Mar 2015
Gorgeous
Murphy Mar 2015
Last night I dreamt
You called me "gorgeous,"
"Gorgeous?" I said, "that's not my name," I said,
As my cherry red tongue dropped my lollipop
Straight on the ground,
***** red sugar slivers gorging on my
Blood vessels pumping into my heart -
A big metal spoon banging on a cast iron skillet.
Skillful, you are with your
Cinnamon heart smile
Burning my taste buds and
Hugging my curves with every -
Gorgeous.

I dreamt of you
Running your finger like a wet paintbrush on my
Obscenely white canvas
Soaking up my stereotypically common insecurities and
Gently placing them in your pocket,
"I'll take those, gorgeous,"
And then you color me with purples and reds,
Red,
Like Red Delicious waiting
For the bite, like my neck,
Waits for your teeth, maybe
I'll just wake up and keep dreaming,

To see you,
Fiddling with a razor in one pocket,
A cloudy crystal in the other,
Mediating the argument of
Who gets to protect you -
Who gets to lick the salt from your cheeks
After backyard creeks race to your lips
The space between our tongues so small,
Yet it weighs on me like
A sixteen hour car trip with your baby cousin,
Torture.
Like blue eyes shaded by glasses,
Hiding behind fallen heads.

I woke up just to remember
That your eyes are the only shapes I draw in the dark.
Begging for sleep to bring me back
To watch you stare at the dirt snuggled into your
Weather cracked boots
Your fingers tugging at the chain that rests on your chest,
Keeping my attention,

On the heavy black coat I'll be wearing 'til
Summer, an extra layer of skin,
Keeping me from gorgeous,
Let me drop it like an old tissue in the cold,
Let me lose it like I've been sick for weeks on you
And I'm shedding my skin like it's time to start new,

There you go,
Wearing your silence like a tuxedo,
**** - always ****,
And you're breathin' fractions of facts in my ear,
Seducing it's drum like a late night jazz club and
It's your first time on stage,
Gorgeous.
Let my stomach politely introduce itself to my throat,
Pleading with my temple to hold on to that bead of sweat that
Reluctantly drips down,
Gorgeous.
Down,
Like the tips of your lashes meeting my bellybutton,
Wet lips tracing my skin with "gorgeous,"
In your black coffee voice,
Gorgeous.
2.1k · Mar 2013
Pieces
Murphy Mar 2013
Puzzle pieces laid out flat,
Why don't they fit like the
Dried up canals on our palms
Used to fit?

Maybe the persistent mist has
Given up -
Decided to land
On the Sunflowers
Instead.

The only Puzzle I touched,
Hard plastic between
Long fingers.
Cold, Complicated, Confused.

Shock my brainwaves into
Reality -
With the warmth of
Unfamiliarity.

Trace the blades of my shoulders
With your electric paintbrushes,
Creating a masterpiece in me
That is craving
To come to life.

Show me where the pieces
Spoon and weave together
In the perfect harmony
Of our voices.

Finally.
Complete.
1.8k · Feb 2015
This is my body
Murphy Feb 2015
This is my body
I have Redwood skin – thick, fire retardant
It’s especially necessary due to the
Cracked chest cavity I carry underneath my coat, thick
And thankfully so, so I mark my bark with pinches and pulls,
Never changing, never ready for the vacant eyes of strangers
Reading me like last weeks old newspaper,
Just a passage of time, a bleak hobby.

This is my heartbeat,
More like heart pound,
Like a body buried in the burning earth
Pounding against my brittle bones, begging
For the bang of a gun,
To start the race, to end the war
Suffocated by caffeine infused blood that
Doggie paddles through me,
Losing the race against ghosts
Until I’ve
Lost my breath.
1.3k · Jul 2013
Dinosaurs like bleach
Murphy Jul 2013
I wish you were a dinosaur, I could look but fear to touch
I wish you were a dinosaur so your kiss would be too much.
But to be honest, this is no test-
I wish you were a dinosaur because that's your wish.
Collecting those you please, I wish you nothing but success;
You'll be the King of the Plains like that T-Rex you claim is best.
Isn't this what you wanted? Look at me, your powerless crutch;
You herbivore beast with a carnivorous clutch.
But still I crave the days when your hand would hold my breast;
When we'd sink into the sheets like the sunset to the west.
Yet I'd never wish your dreams to be so close but out of reach;
Your tiny arms just long for love and one to teach.
I won't be fooled again despite my skin delicate and pale;
Your clutch just lost its strength, I always knew you were so frail.
I never mean to hurt you, but I'm sick of being a leech;
I've detached myself from you, no longer burning in the bleach.
So cheers, my friend, to all your wealth although you may not think,
You're still my favorite dinosaur, but alas you are extinct.
536 · Dec 2014
Bluest Rain
Murphy Dec 2014
I haven't written in a while
so maybe I'll try
to appeal
to your eyes
once again.

Maybe not.

It's raining in Prague.
I walked by seven people
with their heads down.

What are they looking at?
Not me. That's for sure.
No one smiles here,
not like you.
With all of your teeth;
warming my blood
and seducing
a small squeal
to emerge
from the depths
of my toes.

Such a girl.

Yes, I am such a girl
on this rainy day.
Where trees look like sagging shoulders,
and the ground an endless cobblestone
with a thin layer of reflection.

I walked alone through the square.
Have you ever noticed
how everything is lonelier
when it rains?
I don't mind.
I sat
under my blue polka dot
umbrella,
(Of course)
and watched the puddles build
as the people all fled
like a flood of their own.
Sea of raincoats,
and little dog raincoats,
scurrying home
to the embrace
of their own you's.

I miss you.
You know that, right?
This rain can't wash
even that away.
I tried to write
under the blue armor
but the rain got to my words
and they were gone.
Stupid rain.

Remember when you
held my hand
and helped me
hop mini rivers
in the middle of the night?

I do.
We were so young.
"**** Umbrellas!"
"Put that **** away!"
You wailed,
with your playful
less damaged
voice.
And I did.
Because you are you,
and I am me,
and I will follow you
until the rain washes
me away.

But I know you'd just swim
after me
anyway.

Or at least I'd
love
to think so.

— The End —