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Apr 2017 · 792
raine miller Apr 2017
i cannot let words settle, 
would rather plunge my hands into the silt 
and bring them to my mouth; 
i like my tongue when it is *****, 
the stories are easier to tell. 

i only speak in mudslides, 
in recklessly tumbling thought over thought 
because there is so much to say about the rain
so much to say about the leak in your living room ceiling
so much that still slips through the crack.
Mar 2017 · 373
thirteen weeks
raine miller Mar 2017
you were of keys jangling unceremoniously in the hallway, 
soft flicker of running lights reflecting nervous glances. 
hands pressed against quiet spaces, 
fingers cool
like my mother’s smile when i tell her. 

fingers probing, insistent, curious, 
like tendrils climbing the garden wall. 
you were the soft pulse of synthesizer shower hymns, 
breaking ourselves down into the strings of ancient instinct 
sliding between my legs. 

her lips moved as the tides
and i did not know what to do 
for you to be fine; 
you have her taste in music and my bad habits
and i hope you outgrow both.

this body is the imprint of an imaginary friend, 
the remnants of plastic dinosaurs buried in the garden, 
and i hope you find a home somewhere among them.
Mar 2017 · 770
raine miller Mar 2017
for my mother*

“...This morning I came, I saw, and I was conquered, as everyone would be who sees for the first time this great feat of mankind”.
- President Franklin D. Roosevelt

her sides are bruised from holding back rough waters,
yet she still opens her arms to receive the floods;
my mother is stronger than the Hoover dam.

she built herself up from rubble to curl around my life,
bending and breaking herself to plug up the cracks.
the river of people thundering through my life see her as overbearing;
i see her as the guiding force pushing me towards open waters
that she could never empty herself into.

i describe my mother as a national monument;
she describes herself as a pile of rocks.
my mother wears humility like a nine-year-old raincoat
fraying at the sleeves,
because she spent the money on my brother and i instead.

i believe the softest smiles stand resolute
and conquer.
Mar 2017 · 1.9k
raine miller Mar 2017
how do you apologize for something 
as intrinsic as the mapped curves of your body, 
of dips and valleys marked with double **’s 
that stand straighter and taller than you ever have?

tell my mother that i take medicine to stop the tremors, 
but my body is still a fault line, 
still a “it’s her fault line” that cracks open every time that i walk down the street. 

sometimes i think about what would have happened 
if i had worn shorts under my skirt. 
would an extra layer have slowed you down, 
forced you to think about the territories your hands were invading
like the colonists we used to mock in history class - 
other times i scrub myself with bleach when i realize i’m Turner-ing the corner. 

we were told in our youth it isn’t safe to run with scissors
but i feel safer carrying blades between my teeth –
the taste of blood keeps his tongue out of my mouth.
Mar 2017 · 1.2k
of seafarers and yesteryears
raine miller Mar 2017
saltwater eulogies for distant lands fester in my mouth; 
the sores make it hard to talk sometimes.  

for the sake of Penelope i will not weep over receding tides. 
instead i kneel resolute, and lick the salt from my palms. 
with barren hands i will wring handfuls of sand from my lank tresses, 
and keep the fires burning. 

loneliness ebbs and flows like the tide. 
waves kiss the shore too exuberantly, 
hurting themselves in their desperation to hold onto their grounding.
trails of white foam bleed across shifting sands, 
the lingering touch of your palms against mine.  

i am learning the language of driftwood - 
of hermit ***** and burrowing, 
in wearing the weight of empty rooms on my back.
Feb 2017 · 318
raine miller Feb 2017
my body is a haunted house. 

i scrub myself with bleach to remove the stain of your touch - 
how do i rid my house of ghosts?

the sweat has grown to mold in the heavy silence,
but there’s still a light blazing in the window. 

shall i touch my lips to that torch to burn the remnants of your name from my mouth? 
or simply resign to the legends and inhale the smoke? 

exorcisms are hard when you fall in love with your demons.
Feb 2017 · 416
raine miller Feb 2017
i want to live as if i were a firework.
it is an absolute ownership of the self
to recognize that none escape life without burns,
and to charge forth recklessly.
screaming across the night sky,
fireworks cannot go unnoticed
with their gaudy colors and thick trails of smoke;
i wish to be myself as unapologetically.

brash and impatient,
i want my voice to reverberate across the masses,
whether i speak to one or a hundred thousand.
my words will echo the raucous thunder of fireworks,
in the ceaseless recognition that i am alive, that i am something;
be it nothing more than a camera flash against the smudge of time.

do we not delight in the glare and promise of a simple firework,
a chemical accident launched into being?
if a firework can be beautiful despite its brokenness,
then i too can rise from my own ashes,
cry into the void, and flourish.
Nov 2016 · 334
left (right?) brain
raine miller Nov 2016
i threw up a poem last night -

it dribbled out of my mouth and into the bathroom sink,
a putrid mess of tangled letters.

but before it could slither down the drain,
i caught it by its slimy tail,
dangled it over my clenched jaw and slurped it down again
until i had the proper utensils to pick it apart –

the lab only opens at 7.

you call me barbaric,
but i explain i’m an engineer.
you say i’m destroying art when really,
i’m trying to understand it;
you can’t find a Whole without falling into it,

and i only know how to fall by tripping over pieces.

if i only look for constellations it’s easy to miss the stars,
and i’ve found they like to hide between the spaces of letters.
just as the heart is reached by cracking ribs,

so too meaning from dissected phrases;
i break things to understand why they’re put together.
doesn’t that make me a poet?
slowly we learn to make right choices out of wrong turns.
Nov 2016 · 223
raine miller Nov 2016
i spit words into your mouth to find my voice;
i am surviving a ventriloquist culture.  

last week at the store i bought a crowbar,
spent an evening forcing it between my lips
but couldn’t gather enough courage to swallow.

i cannot bring myself to wipe the dust from my mouth;
i am afraid of the spiders crawling beneath my tongue.
the fused hinge of my jaw has now grown patchy with rust,
peppered vibrant and ****** across my cheeks.
i can hide it with blush if i try hard enough;
if i cannot speak i may as well look the part.  

there is safety in your scripted words,
no dark thoughts to turn over like skipping stones
when i need something to do with my hands.
memorizing lines means that
i don’t have to worry about their implications;
dummies always smile.
Nov 2016 · 150
panic switch
raine miller Nov 2016
she is afraid behind a wheel,
but walks between thick yellow lines waiting for inspiration to hit;
this is the paradox of the one who writes for herself.

she builds mountains in her sandbox,
and waits for waves to come and erase her work bit by bit;
she sees herself in natural disasters.
it's wonderful to be writing again.
Aug 2016 · 420
missing persons
raine miller Aug 2016
i am bruises and knives and trying too hard. 
i am sandpaper daydreams,
rubbing myself raw with a runaway imagination. 

you are windex and crayons smeared across a broken mirror. 
you are regrets and apologies, empty promises and lies,
but always seem to have the final word.

confidants and comrades at arms against the war of the worlds
where science and sentiment are forced apart,
we became late nights and early mornings,
where equations were scribbled on thighs and poetry on lips
but broken people can’t make each other whole;
one always gets torn by jagged edges.
an older write i decided to breathe new life into
Jul 2016 · 210
raine miller Jul 2016
the low notes of the base rumbled through the dark,
dissolving into the thunder at the heart of the storm.
our entire world was black and cold,
save the garish neon of convenient store lights
smeared across the misted windowpane.

we were blackened ghosts of ourselves,
four lonely shadows haunting a cramped dorm room.
lighter than air, we hung suspended between wholeness and brokenness.

yet if i could bottle happiness, it would come in the shape of that night -  
in the shape of four hazy figures clumped around a window,
as he says,
“it’s so nice to have friends who can just…be. who understand.”

from that night on,
he crumbled ozone in his mouth,
but i learned to love the taste.

even though lightening only breaks a sky apart,
i think i began to believe in tomorrow.
the soft rain filled the cracks between my teeth,
and i smiled for the first time in three weeks.

if only the eye of a storm wouldn’t pass.
i've stumbled into a stormy weather disposition as of late, but have seemingly misplaced my umbrella. cheers to the cleansing beauty of rain.
Jun 2016 · 307
raine miller Jun 2016
i would gladly sweep the ashes in your mouth
beneath my own welcoming mat,
if you had said it would help you to breathe.

my friend, i will slit the palms of my hand
and catch the life that drips out,
if you had said it would help fill your emptied soul.

the shadows i carry on my back,
are not the weight of your harsh words and empty promises,
but the tangible sorrow i carved out of my heart
upon hearing you say,
i want to **** myself".

my bones are bending against the hopelessness
i try to lift off of your shoulders,
because there is no greater anguish than
seeing your brother recede like the tide,
except for not knowing if he will keep his promise to come back.
toska, (n): russian. “at its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish".
Jun 2016 · 355
raine miller Jun 2016
i cut my tongue repeating your sharp words,
but i didn’t drink enough to forget the taste of blood.

so i wore the same carmine lipstick tonight
that i so nervously used for our third date,
and smeared it across another man’s face
with my tongue.

i too can play with knives.
harmony is a fickle friend.
Apr 2016 · 386
finite incantatem
raine miller Apr 2016
and to know you is hard; we wonder.

i cocoon round your shoulders when i’m half cut
and i’m frozen and i’ve got that visible breathing -
i’m depending on you again.

you looked at me with your old, old eyes -
remember the time you walked all night just to meet me in the morning?

i miss you, and i wish you’d stay, but your love is anemic, and i can't believe that you couldn't see it coming for me.

but in the end, i’d do it all again.

i think you’re my best friend, and i don’t love you, but i always will.
**a poetry challenge piece from a friend - composing a poem consisting of only lyrics from a pandora "most listened to" mix. the true artists of these beautiful lines are listed below, in order of appearance.

the funeral, band of horses
cocoon, catfish and the bottlemen
1904, benjamin francis leftwich
first day of my life, bright eyes
autumn leaves, ed sheeran
the kids aren't alright, fall out boy
poison and wine, the civil wars
Mar 2016 · 465
sandpaper eulogies
raine miller Mar 2016
you said hello like somebody already pulled the trigger.
and so i learned to brace myself for every siren,
listening for the vowels of your name
tucked beneath each desperate wail.

you wear a watch not to measure the time,
but to hide how quickly yours runs out your wrists,
and it doesn’t take a doctor’s eye to see
that the cuts don’t heal like they used to.

the hardest part of saying “i love you” right now
is remembering to use the past tense -
and i haven’t fallen out because a few demons
thought it’d be fun to play hide and seek
between the ink stained layers of your cerebrum.

rather, it’s because i need to shoot novocaine into my lips
to keep smiling when our paths cross.
i can feel my bones straining beneath the weight of your absence:
you haven’t looked me in the eye since last September.
and i stopped referring to you as my best friend sometime in January.

i’m so ******* lonely,
because i spend all of my time talking to your ghost,
be it your shadow on the bed
or your scent pressed between the ratty pages of Catcher in the Rye.
the only time i can really hear your voice anymore
is when i lean over a trashcan and look for the remnants of your life.

we were late night walks to lonely baseball fields,
desperate prayers on balcony ledges,
long shots just trying to play the game.
when did we loose?
in memoriam of our attempt at chasing cars.

pardon the strong language. i usually don't curse, but there were no other words strong enough for him.
Feb 2016 · 761
raine miller Feb 2016
today my hips hit the table that rests at the foot of the stairs.
the impact left a deep purple bruise, not unlike the ones you gave me,
but this time a vase shattered instead of my bones.

sometimes we break things that we can’t fix, but try to anyway.
(that’s who i am)

so i cut my hands trying to put the shards back together,
even though i sort of loved seeing the artwork raw,
cracked open only for me,
the way that those creamy blue flecks lay scattered on the floor like hundreds of puddles winking in the late afternoon.

i don’t know why i fall in love with broken things like i do broken people -
maybe it’s because i believe too strongly in dawns,
maybe it’s because i don’t know how to give love away
expect in parcels stamped

or maybe it’s just the way your mouth looks when you’re sad,
because i couldn’t help seeing pieces of you reflected in those shards.

i wish i knew how to fix the things i broke.
hiraeth (hear-eth) (n): a homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was
Feb 2016 · 351
raine miller Feb 2016
you were a comet screaming across the night sky –
i was the lonely stargazer who heard you.

radiating an icy blend of pain and desire, you launched yourself into my life five months ago, and i’ve been blinded ever since. with the precision of Galileo, i studied your curves and broken edges, cutting my palms on the splinters of memories that seeped through your skin.

i tried to help sand your rough edges, but i think it was me who was more effectively stripped away. you’ve lodged yourself in the far recesses of my mind, orbiting my every thought and igniting every frenzied dream.

ceaselessly i scour the night skies for a glimpse of your light, but your beauty is just as fleeting as your attention.

i just wish i was strong enough to be your acting sun.
hyperbolic comets are my definition of chance encounters
Feb 2016 · 346
raine miller Feb 2016
you are ripped paper and smoke and my battery acid daydreams.

you are the feeling i get when i burn my tongue with scalding coffee, the idea of watching a car wreck in slow motion - that instant where i can see my logical self wrapped in a straightjacket of desire, but am helpless to stop the resulting leap into heartbreak and disappointment.

this padded cell would be a lot more comfortable if you would visit once and awhile,
but i understand why you don’t want to live here.
Dec 2015 · 365
raine miller Dec 2015
as a child i carelessly plucked petals from daisies, whispering he loves me with closed eyes and an innocent tongue.*

only now i find that flowers can and will fight back, because any affection you may have had for me has surely wilted upon the sight of her. with rosy cheeks and slender frame, she blossoms as i fade with the passing seasons of your love. the moment you untangled yourself from my bed to wander through her gardens, Jack Frost slipped in, wrapping his icy tendrils around my cracked heart and freezing the roots you left behind.

*i sleep alone now, our bed a barren wasteland of "what might have been's". but i no longer waste my time with praying for rain, as he so clearly loves me not.
you are the song stuck in my head
Oct 2015 · 923
raine miller Oct 2015
i wake to the weight of your absent figure draped across the bed, the silence unbroken by your quiet snores.

i wasn’t lying when i said i honestly slept better this way, limbs curled back over themselves like fallen trees, face pressed against a cold cement wall.

you were the first boy who crawled into my heart and made it your bed, tucking your toes under arteries and resting your head in the chambers as you told me dark stories of your past.

like an ee cummings poem folded twice in my purse, i kept the image of your smile curving along my shoulder blades tucked in my back pocket, because it was the only thing that got me through sunny days.

but i didn’t know that you liked to wander between the sensitive layers of sinew and skin, leaving bruises like breadcrumbs on the memories we'd made. the pain of my phantom limbs is the overwhelming desire for your arms curled around my waist one last time.

being around you is starting to remind me that i hurt all over, but i can’t find a way to erase the stain of your words on my mind

some friends last a lifetime, and i think you’re one

i just didn’t know that to you, a lifetime is an urban legend.
a drunken toast to the first boy i trusted with my poetry
Oct 2015 · 356
waiting room daydreams
raine miller Oct 2015
habits are just old skins i can’t shrug off, and it’s starting to cost me more than just bandages.

if bleaching trays and rusty scapulas can’t rip away the stains of my outermost self, how did you expect your gentle caresses to erase the scars?
Oct 2015 · 254
second guessing
raine miller Oct 2015
i threw up this morning trying to get the taste of you out of my mouth -

your kissed burned like ***** going down, but the escape was too good to pass up.

it’s just funny, because while i never thought i fit the stereotype of being that girl, you never once lied about being that boy.
Aug 2015 · 505
player 1 offline
raine miller Aug 2015
when we were younger fools, playing ***** was asking “truth or dare” but already knowing the outcome.

so i dare you to grasp my bleeding, ink-stained hands in yours as if they were carved of precious metals, ignoring the reality that they’re merely two bits of impermanent flesh littered with scars.

i dare you to find meaning in the heaps of words i keep in notebook after notebook, breaking them down one by one in the quest to understand my own personal modern-day tower of babel.

i dare you to peek into the dark crevasse of my soul, unafraid of dirtying your perfect hands with my greasy shame as you shift through moldy fears and tarnished desires.

i dare you to climb into my bones, stretching them like chewing gum as you fit yourself into my life and carve your own stories into my veins.

and when your mind stops reeling thanks to the drink in your hand,
do you think it's possible to feel the same way about an impostor?

if not, i guess it’s game over for us.
Aug 2015 · 236
raine miller Aug 2015
it’s quite possible that I failed the vocab test,
but I still don’t think life is a simile for existence.
Jul 2015 · 395
raine miller Jul 2015
if you’re the bass, i’m the speakers tearing apart at the seams, because i don’t think i can take much more of your thunderous yelling. people say that it’s loud music that wrecks your hearing, but i believe it is in fact your voice that cracks my eardrums and deafens my soul.

so shut up and sit down before i loose it and take a **** hammer to the broken record skipping along my vertebrae. sometimes you can repair a seventy-eight by wiping away the dust, but this old relationship has been dropped too many times, resulting in scratches that just can’t be overlooked anymore.

this time it’s my turn to turn up the volume.
title is comprised of two italian musical terms:
fortissimo, meaning "very loud", and furioso, meaning "furious"
Jul 2015 · 766
the hawking effect
raine miller Jul 2015
the theory of everything can be summarized by the fact that nothing lasts forever, least of all us.
Jul 2015 · 433
raine miller Jul 2015
and I guess I never realized just how incredibly fast time is actually moving.
like miss pandora, I foolishly opened a questionable, worn cardboard box I found in the attic,
and suffered for it,
because here I sit among the cobwebs,
fat tears oozing down my cheeks,
as I stare into the tiny crevasse in which my childhood best friends have called home for the past seven years.

memories and personas overload my mind, and soon I’m cracking into static sobs.
because I can still tell you who was in attendance of our last tea party,
who held me as I cried myself to sleep after a hard day at school,
who eagerly watched as I spun myself silly dancing to Chicago instead of cleaning my room,
and who guided me through the perils of growing up.

and all these precious friends got in return for their kindness was being left alone in a cramped, musty corner in a shady attic.
but that is just precisely why they mean so much –
even after I sought their comfort and abandoned them when I was finished, like an addict’s needle,
they still seem happy to see me after all these years.

( and I need them now more than ever. )
cleaning out my room is so much harder than i thought it'd be.
Jul 2015 · 637
the rinse cycle
raine miller Jul 2015
today i drank half a cap of bleach in the hope of cleansing all traces of you from my mind.

it didn’t go as planned, however,  

as the skeletons in my closet have started to dance, and i realized that the stains on the wall look a bit like your smile, and the blood from my wrists isn’t pooling quickly enough on the grimy laundry room floor.

so much for hiding the fact that i’m a mess.
Jul 2015 · 359
speeding tickets
raine miller Jul 2015
i want nothing more than to get in the car and just drive to anywhere, to nowhere. i want to drive faster than the arguments happen, so that i can watch them disappear out of my rearview mirror.

so i can hurt them as much as they hurt me - i’d just throw back my head and laugh as they cling desperately to my back window with jagged, bleeding fingers before peeling away to fly beneath the next car’s headlights.

but most of all i want to see your leering mouths twist with shock at hearing your perfect baby girl got a speeding ticket because she was too busy crying to realize that the little smoky blur of numbers on her speedometer read 70 in a 30 zone.

maybe that would finally deafen the screaming matches, but with my luck, it’d just fuel the fire, so maybe i'll just drive and not look back.
an unfinished work, but a piece of work nevertheless.
Jun 2015 · 343
raine miller Jun 2015
the best part about photographs
is the face that they're a little bit like masks -
they portray you as you seem to be,
and keep me from facing what you've really become.
raine miller Jun 2015
One more slap to the wrist,
Too many scarlet-faced yelling matches, and
Three missed calls -
For God's sake, it's been
Five years since we've made it through a day without at least
Six pointless arguments.
that's Seven times I've cried today as a result of your
Eight diva-esque mood swings, but you'd never know about them because
from Nine to Nine you're locked away amusing yourself with
Ten different shooting games,
but this time it's my turn to pull the trigger.
raine miller Jun 2015
blood may very well be thicker than water,
but you’ll find bonds of ink stronger than any silly crimson pact -
they surpass even Death himself.
Jun 2015 · 246
raine miller Jun 2015
i want to dive beneath the waves of your anger -
***** the safety stops, just send me straight to the bottom like iron chains, because melting into silence is a faster death
than breathing in your toxic fights for years to come.
May 2015 · 436
raine miller May 2015
it's said that "when one door closes, another door opens",
but isn't it funny how you weren't on the threshold of either of them?
May 2015 · 394
The Theorem of Us
raine miller May 2015
You said you never understood Poetry, so let's see if this time Science gets it right.*

It just really ***** when you start to realize that opposites attract because they’re too unstable on their own, and I haven’t made the honors grades to actually understand that conservation laws require one side to gain and one to lose in a chemical relationship.

You were water, light and mystical. I was exuberant to spend time with you, even if it only lasted approximately three years, four months, and twelve days. My oily soul longed for a companion to accept my blackest qualities, and to my surprise you did, for a time.

But, just like all playground science experiments, a textbook conclusion had to be reached. I was too focused on the joys of having a lab partner to realize that I failed to observe the unbalanced flaws in our chemistry.

We are oil and water, and as you float upwards to your new lifestyles, I can’t help but find myself sinking further from your sight and wondering why the hell I guessed this time would be different.

So here, my friend, is our universal equation:

We equal a difference in opinions multiplied by miscommunications divided by the time we’ve had plus the statistical probability of love at first sight to the power of her.

In other words, it doesn’t take a physicist to conclude that our big bang has long since happened, and that we are now galaxies apart.

*Science may have explained it, but only Poetry reveals why it matters – because the truth is that we are going our separate ways, yes, but truths can’t possibly illuminate how much it hurts.
i'm not angry, i promise - my heart is cracked with sorrow and patched with nostalgia, not hatred.

"so weep little lion man, you're not as brave as you were at the start."
May 2015 · 338
the fighter
raine miller May 2015
i am the athena of literature, spinning fluid truths and shimmery musings into rigid frames of lies and selling them as priceless artworks entitled "human souls".

i paint expressionless galaxies in syllables and rip apart the poor man's empire with letters.

i bridge the country and city, divide the haves and the have nots, tie the knot between reality and imagination, and form the chasm between good and evil.

and you thought it was violence that made you powerful?
May 2015 · 333
raine miller May 2015
my jaw is locked, the key long thrown to the wind;
still vainly trying to hold back screams that won’t be heard over the ones downstairs.

i’m hugging my knees to my chest, jaw aching,
nails desperately digging into the soft flesh of my calves
that already sport too many scars.

reverberating against my skull like a haze of bullets, angry words dripping with sulphuric jeers flying every which way.

a chain on either hand i’m forced to watch and choose sides like it’s a roman execution, deciding which fighter wins or dies in a game without winners and rules -

when did it turn out like this?
raine miller May 2015
my skin blisters as your warm hands trailed along my back.

alien emotions zing through my body,
crackling along my toes and popping in my ears.

pulsing though my bloodstream,
the word love seared across the black hole of my heart,
burning up in the atmospheric layers of my mind before eager lips could part,
our moment passing faster than the blinding flash of a supernova.

i’d be the moon revolving around you any day -
because while i love my own identity, there’s no one i’d rather be more associated with than the man pinned beneath my fingertips.
credit goes to the band muse for the title inspriation
May 2015 · 326
...we all fall down
raine miller May 2015
as i child, i, too, said that sticks and stones could break my bones,
but that words would never hurt me.

i mistook these ramblings for wisdom, though, because now i realize that even words with rounded edges start to feel like stones the more they’re hurled at an unprotected heart,
and that even though the bruises they leave aren’t a gossamer indigo,
the scars they leave behind are just as permanent.
May 2015 · 381
raine miller May 2015
so go ahead and crush my lungs.
grind my ribs with your supposed power,
or spit rancid hatred at my feet.

kick me over and over again with your fear-capped boots -
as if seeing me bleed out can leech away your own cowardice.

***** your hands in searching amidst the human ties of blood and tissue,
scream until your own throat is as raw
as the white bits of bone poking out of my sides,
but the silenced ones will still laugh at your ignorance,
your futile curses.

rain maker, rain maker,
storm our cities with bullets and bombs,
flash your teachings across every screen and page,
and see the lack of growth that results.

let out your growing frustration with every slash of a knife,
as even you must eventually realize that you can’t find anything
tangible within a massacre -

when will you silly warriors abandon your wargames
and realize that a spirit cannot be killed?
*note: this is not about anything/one/where in particular.

just a thought on bullies.
May 2015 · 308
proper investments
raine miller May 2015
why waste a penny on my thoughts when throwing two stones will tip the scales and send the whole **** mess tumbling down?
May 2015 · 272
public service announcement
raine miller May 2015
to whom it may concern:

the following has come to our attention that the person(s) of this household has been using the crevices of the defendant’s ribs as their own personal dumping grounds for excess emotions including but not limited to: heaps of shame, half cracked glasses empty of wisdom, twisted gears, moldy banana peels, flat wheels deflated by disappointment, and broken clocks that forgot how to scream about making deadlines.

kindly refrain from adding further emotional instability to the defendant, and should your actions proceed, you may find yourself joining her in the nut house.

the management,
her concerned little voice
Apr 2015 · 387
raine miller Apr 2015
the t.v. is at it again, flinging buckets of blood on the walls and shooting holes through the windows. it crackles and fizzes with hatred, smoke racing along its wiring with each foul word, splitting itself in halves with statistics of wage gaps and wealth gaps.

sixteen shootings, three tornadoes, eight corrupt businesses, and a toxic chemical spill.

poisonous headings drip from the screen like mold on the steps, each letter rotting from the evils it represents. terrorism rises on the wings of carbon dioxide buildup, while the happy story about the adoption of a disabled puppy is cut off to broadcast the latest news of the drug epidemic.

of all the things a frazzled student had to deal with, understanding the world’s problems didn’t make the final - so shut the books and burn your notes, because worldly logic is a child’s imaginary friend.

and it’s not so much the images on screen of shattered limbs and corpses and rotting countrysides that disturb me so much -

i’m scared because i don’t flinch like i used to.
because some days you just can't take what's on the world news.
Apr 2015 · 299
Of Dust and Ashes
raine miller Apr 2015
Dying embers flicker and fade
Like sunlight dancing through a forest’s shade,

But an iron sprit remains within
Allowing a rebirth to spark and begin.

Fly from the ashes, breathe in the heat
Scorched from the blaze of glory, too stubborn to retreat

For it is from the fire, the destruction, the pain
That we phoenixes rise, to try living again.
Apr 2015 · 324
vagabonds like us
raine miller Apr 2015
if they say that all roads lead back home,
and that every journey ends where it begins,
why do I feel so lost?
Apr 2015 · 236
once bitten
raine miller Apr 2015
and i think that all monsters are scarier in the daytime because that’s when it’s easiest for them to hide. like magicians they make themselves disappear, painting beauty into the edges of their ghastly faces, tucking filthy claws into shirt-sleeves. they lull us into thinking they aren’t real, and that’s the most dangerous part - after all, i think, if i see them coming, their bites can’t hurt very much, can they?

i’m wrong every time.
Apr 2015 · 304
hard to swallow
raine miller Apr 2015
nobody ever told me that it would be possible to feel lonely with your three best friends in the room -  

and for a relatively innocent, optimistic heart,

it is this truth, this sole realization that almost finishes you off.

because when the pressure behind your eyes starts to break your resolve, and your lungs are tied in knots from trying to breathe regularly, you realize that you're falling apart on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, and there's nobody left to help you pick up the pieces.
raine miller Mar 2015
forced to stretch lies and dollars like strands of used chewing gum,
we toss back a shot of ***** just to face the morning.
our ragged apartment reeks of failure,
trash and clothes littering the ground like broken glass.

take to the streets to try and find a diamond in the rough,
but all we can find is a cheap piece of cubic zirconia
that leaves us with a slash in each wrist for all our trouble
while robbing the pennies from our thoughts.
raine miller Feb 2015

toss. turn. tick. tock.

toss. turn. tick. tock.

the voices are at it again, screaming at me until their throats bleed out and they choke themselves. so they turn instead to carving fear into each of my ribs, etching inadequacies along my skull.

they crush my mind in iron grips, ripping and shredding my innermost self to greedily feast on the mangled scraps of morality that lay abandoned, caught in a frenzy like castaways reaching an island for the first time.

yet all the while they leer at me, all blackened tongues and foaming mouths, and i claw at my own eyes with ragged talons - because even blindness is better than watching yourself slowly rip apart.
this is part four, the final piece that i have finished at the moment. the others will have to wait for another sleepless night.
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