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16.4k · Aug 2013
raine miller Aug 2013
luminescent shards slice through the night sky,
proudly blazing the cacophony of freedom and nationalistic pride
their screams piercing the crisp night air,
already tinged with fingers of hickory smoke
and delicate strings of strawberries

exploding into being and
crumbling into dust
the broken shards of stars
float and scatter across the indigo sky
like wind-swept leaves scuttling over puddles in fall
raine miller Jan 2013
there's something special
about black – and – white photography;
about the elements that are there
and the elements that are not

raw emotions coexist with unfeeling colors
making everything clearer;
like peering through a looking glass
reminding one of
rainy days,
starry nights,
the corner seat of cafes,
silver rings,
ripe-red strawberries,
and streams broken with rocks.

sharp pain,
beautiful love,
harsh anger,
sheer confusion
are more clearly seen
but no more understood
than the world around us

separate panels,
windows to a world
that not quite mirrors
the one we inhabit
my ramblings on dark-dimmed rooms and haunting pictures
2.9k · Jan 2013
raine miller Jan 2013
soft flecks riding gentle gusts
melting into the same stone-gray sky
like specters into walls,
only to reappear moments later
starkly suspended against
dark misted figures
composed of anything
and nothing
this silent storm
falls fast
creating a blank slate
for us to etch our stories upon
first snowfall of the season! i love the simple blank beauty of snow.
raine miller Feb 2013
clinging to my jacket,
burying his face in the sweet, smooth leather
i inhale deeply,
his familiar scent flowing straight to my heart
a blend of crisp night air, – sharply punctuated by faint fingers of cigarette smoke – a fruity mix of sweet liquors, of delicate spices and melting cheese, doughy scents of unknown breads, traced with the careful fingers of herbs…
staining my body
and intoxicating me
the scent of the italian restaurant follows me home
and settles there,
stubbornly refusing to give me up
and I it
wrote this after my family and i had the pleasure of dining at a little family-owned italian restaurant. my advice - bread with provel cheese and a dribble of olive oil
1.9k · Mar 2017
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.
1.8k · Jan 2013
The Sailboat on the Water
raine miller Jan 2013
Crisp triangle of red sail,
Standing at attention like prim tin soldiers,
Solitary and glowing
Amidst the thick blue smudges of water

One drop of color
Accidentally spilled onto an endless floor
Too pretty to clean up
raine miller Jan 2014
My keys (but who hasn’t?)
A tiny wooden heart
That one piece of paper with that one important reminder on it that I really needed to remember
A bottle cap
Some pretty rocks
Every last baby tooth
That one Goldfish you lose track of when eating but step on later
A stuffed cat
The childhood ability to look at someone and not judge them at some point
Fifteen years worth of chances to wake up early and see a sunrise
At least five rings
A friendship here and there
French fries buried somewhere in the car
A hot pink Barbie shoe
The same innocence about the world that I had when I was little
Countless socks
My favorite Jesse McCartney CD
Scribbles on paper that a four-year-old girl drew
The cap to the toothpaste
Two grandparents, a great-uncle, and a great-aunt that are really only misplaced
A watch (or two)
Three beads to my favorite bracelet
Old homework papers from grade school
A little doll
Five thousand dollars in pennies
My mind on occasion
The doodle I worked so ******* when bored in school
Four pieces of candy
About a million hair thingies
The same enthusiasm for carnival games that I had when I was eight
Seven little cute, shaped erasers
A thousand chances to go to bed early at sleepovers
Many pairs of sunglasses
A neon orange, pink, and yellow dance costume
Rubbery clothes to put on Polly Pocket dolls
The little star charm to my most favorite necklace
Memories of myself at age three
A ton of pencils
And pens
And countless more things that I can’t even remember
the first time i ever tried a list poem, a long, long time ago. apologies in advance for its length.
1.3k · Mar 2013
raine miller Mar 2013
spiraling into an endless whirlpool of confusion
i don’t know what to do
to say
to feel

two wolves, one temptation on each side
desperately fighting to rip me apart
tugging at my shoulders,
teeth of desire grazing my skin
teasing me
as I turn between them,
and totally unsure as to which fate to pick

head hanging in defeat
mind bogged down
with unshed tears of frustration, confusion, and longing
with heavy thoughts of doubt and hope
glazed eyes trying to see down each path in vain
a twisted smile plastered on my face
so that others can’t see the mess I am inside

leading me down different paths
both parallel to the other
and yet leading
in totally different directions
and I am lost
and afraid
and too tired of fighting
and consequences
of what might be
to make a choice
1.2k · Jan 2013
through the frame
raine miller Jan 2013
the picture by the window

glass melting against skin
wood welding with bone
frozen in place
watching the world pass
through weary eyes
suspended in time
not even a haphazard glance
is thrown this way;
so much for symbolizing
the glory days
if, on the thousand and one chance
someone should see me one day,
really pull the facade away
and look underneath
then maybe,
just maybe,
i could be
what i was meant to;
a memory

the painting in the bathroom**

blur of soft colors
wrapped in light
with the delicate scent
of roses wafting towards us.
we wait,
with the air contentment,
carefully posed
by creative hands
you never tire of peering at the same
blank page
after day
after day
should anyone look
this way
all they would see
is the same
painted on my face
after day
and they too, would smile,
and leave
but i remain
looking over your shoulder
but never really seeing
until the end of time
ever thought of being on the receiving end of this?
1.2k · May 2013
A Meeting with Temptation
raine miller May 2013
Curling in on myself,
I meet the snake in the grass
At last.
His cat-tail tongue
Flicks back and forth hypnotically,
While his liquid sulfur eyes
Burn into mine,
Trying to spark the tiny wisp of a flame
Smoldering inside me
Into a wildfire.

You could do it, you know.

That voice,
His voice,
Almost broke me
But I hung on, stupidly,
As if I was holding together the shards of pottery
That my mother used to call her favorite vase,
But knowing that I couldn’t fix it
All along.

It’s not that hard. You always think about escaping the pain. I know what you truly feel. Plus, don’t you want this deep down?

His silver fangs flashed threateningly.
He didn’t need to use them, though.
His words melted into the purest poison in my mind,
Freezing every limb
While wrapping spikes of fire
Around a melting mind,
Contradicting himself
By fixing and breaking it.

One flick of a hand is all it takes. Not even a second of your time. Try it.

The haunting melody of his words
Enchanted me,
The song of evil echoed in the shadows
Between weeping willows lining the meadow.
The willows that wept for me.
Without another word
I turned and ran.
Too scared to face the snake in the grass.
Too ashamed to seek medicine for the burns he left.
1.2k · Mar 2017
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.
1.1k · Apr 2013
the bar girl
raine miller Apr 2013
“draw me a memory,
etch it in my skin”
the girl drawled sweet and slow.
“play doctor with your dainty knives,
carve my heart to
make love grow.”

drowned in cherry liquor
with cigarette smoke on her lips,
she wove jewel-bright lies between her fingers
and slung temptation about her hips.

she masked her face with rouge,
eyes framed in midnight black
and when deceitful suitors knocked on her door
there would be no turning back

she flirted with seduction,
and bat her eyes at sin
she gambled with violent passion,
and lost a game she could not win.

she met one man too many,
ventured out too far on her own
because when she drank too much that night
it was Death who took her home
help on this poem and the title would be appreciated, it's a work in progress.
raine miller Mar 2013
a trickle.
That’s all there was.
A trickle,
Dancing quickly through
Cracked and broken
Bones of stone.
But it was enough
To keep the image of agony alive.

Shrouded in white,
Rough edges made softer
By a careful hand
The only drop of color
Is the blood curled in on itself,
Refusing to dry up and die.

Burned and scorched by lover's curse
Shadowy tips casting airs of mystery and forgotten passion
Tumble over the iron blanket
Enveloping me in its hypnotic embrace

Chills make their way down my spine
As I crouch beside this sinister seductress
Attempting to look as innocent
As a poisoned glass of wine;
A thing of false beauty choked by thorns.

Under an iron sky,
Amidst ashen bones
The last dying rose of winter grows,
A ****** slash
In a pile of stones
Is turned to ash
As the fire grows.
i wasn't sure about this poem, and feedback (good, bad, indifferent, random, anything) would be most appreciated. i'd love to hear what you all think.
raine miller Jun 2013
Filthy streets and faded sky
Gaunt faces hiding angry eyes
See dying children, hear their cries

Splintered wood and broken thread
Hear the ghostly footsteps tread
As weary women scrub the spilled blood of the dead

Tattered flags and shattered dreams
Litter the streets where hope once gleamed,
Flying to the cacophony of silent screams
wrote this in memory of those who died (especially the students) during the 1832 June rebellion in Paris. (for those of you unfamiliar with the tale, it was the rebellion hinted at in victor hugo's les miserables.
1.1k · Jan 2014
raine miller Jan 2014
You and I stand,
Fronts to the sun and backs to the moon,
Two halves of the same person,
Yet broken in different ways,
In order to make up for the other’s
1.0k · Jan 2013
raine miller Jan 2013
sprawling mass of arms and legs
not knowing which belongs to which
whimsical chimes lost to the sky
again and again
winds whipping melodies
through the woods
as we stare at the stars.
strong wooden bench beneath the
mass of huddled blankets
voices overlapping,
talking of everything and nothing
as we bask in each other's presence
and live in this moment,
raine miller Sep 2014
act your age, they say.
mature a bit, be responsible, mold like play-doh into a blue collar job and freeze, forgotten in some dusty basement corner or formless prison of a cubical for forty years or so.

(but of course, the like play-doh is omitted, it's far too childish an image for sophisticated analogies.)

dissect innocent ink stains like lab mice and call it philosophy,
distort your real sight behind a funhouse lens and call it cinematography,
avert your eyes from poverty and explain it's how to succeed in business, and not just the mechanical extraction of any scrap of morality from the bones of a thousand robotic workers.

(and you couldn't wait to grow up.)
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.
936 · Jan 2013
raine miller Jan 2013
darkness slowly gathering,
stretching her cloak to quiet the world below.
going out with a bang,
the bright explosion stretches, infinite above the world.
red streaks bleeding out
against a background of
molten gold and fiery orange
dripping slowly out of the sky,
falling to nowhere and everywhere
slowly fading to
palest pink,
the color of the girl's blushing cheek
cupped so gently by her lover,
for they come out
when the sun has died.
gray blends with pink in the sky,
darkening with every passing glance
as the sun is reborn,
broken, yes, but just as bright and beautiful,
its fire reflected
in the stars shimmering
against the velvet sky
dark at last
927 · Oct 2015
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
922 · Feb 2015
raine miller Feb 2015
when we were little,
you’d flash a quicksilver grin and whisper “tiptoe”
it was our little secret, our game of dodging lava in the kitchen
and playing secret agent down the steps.
each footfall was perfectly planned, and like carefully written x’s and o’s, not a single toe was found outside the thick borders of the six inch by six inch linoleum squares we used for stepping stones.
no mission was too dangerous for the innocence of youth, and if one should “burn”, the other was sure to follow.

only now the clock’s struck twelve, and our days of make believe have ended.

like the lost boys, we’ve finally grown up,
because instead of spies navigating lava and trenches,
we’re army men skirting across a minefield littered with lies and half truths.
slurs, putdowns, and yells ricochet across a worn kitchen table that’s seen better days, and this time the people burn without moving an inch,
scorched by words sharp as knives, but twice as cold.
every man is now for himself, and it’s funny how hard it is for such a deafening group of people to ignore the pathetic way peeling linoleum squeaks as we abandon each other, storming from the room,
our partnership crumbling like a house engulfed in flames.
896 · Feb 2013
Twisted Fairytales
raine miller Feb 2013
Fire in your eyes
Red-hot pokers,
Scorching my skin
Hands burning
Darkness growing
Whispered lies
And empty promises
Echoing in the black ink
Heavy breathing
Disguises silent screaming
Of protest
And fear
And pain
No time for second thoughts
I am the princess and you are the prince
Of this twisted fairytale
Cloaked in scarlet
Given a *****, rusty crown
That will only break
The second
Our story
844 · Apr 2013
oak and i
raine miller Apr 2013
rough kiss of stiff rope on my cheek,
as quick and light
as a brick falling through a window.
rocking back and forth
to try and convince myself to let go
for once –
breathe in,
breathe out –
lying flat on my back,
poked and prodded by the gentle Sunlight
trying unsuccessfully to get me to laugh.

staring up at the soft gray sky,
as it shatters above me,
cut into pieces by the tree’s arms.
childlike with longing,
the loping oak
captured its prize,
but squeezed too tight,
and with fumbling fingers,
tries to put the pieces back into place,
and hold them there,
only to cry red and gold tears of
when the sky merely shattered again.

so we sit there,
tree and i,
in a compatible silence,
because we both know how it feels
when you mess something up
and can’t get it back
to the way it was.
we both know how anxiety feels,
when we think about what’s going to happen
when the sinister songbird,
the cold, unfeeling axe,
is perched at our neck
waiting to sing.

mirroring each other’s
loneliness and desperation
we keep rocking in the wind
staring at the sky
as the glowing sun tries to repair us
by filling in the cracks.
raine miller Jan 2014
a melancholy note carved out of the heart of a Beatles' song
(oozing with asphalt straight from a lonely crack in abbey road)
is plastered to the ***** bathroom wall,

because here I sit atop a cracked pile of grimy marble
while you’re essentially across the universe,
as unreachable to me as a drink for Tantalus

rain dejectedly slams against the grubby window
(that’s reluctantly filtering in gray light as drab as the tiles under my feet),
a dreary mirror of my laments over our
that never really existed
(as far as you’re concerned)
a poem inspired by various titles and lines from the Beatles' songs - can't take credit for those brilliant phrases
807 · Mar 2013
the bread and the spread
raine miller Mar 2013
pressed into shape by careful hands
loving fingers caressing your pale face,
completely erasing wrinkles and scars.

warmth rushes over you,
lifting you up
so that it might pour into you
and spread throughout
until you are brimming with it.

lonely and forgotten
like the last extra-extra large sweater
at an after-christmas sale
on a rack
the warm high giving way to
cold, crushing reality.

i don't know when someone decided
that your pale complexion
needed to be covered up and hidden away
in order to sell,
but someone did.
and it worked.

thick globs of the rich stuff
smeared all over your
face, turned you at least
7 shades darker
than you were.
sinking into your skin,
the sweet, delicate smells
of the gelatinous concoction  
ensured that it would never really leave you,
and it didn't,
not even when you were devoured.
i decided to try and describe my breakfast - a bagel with nutella on it.
raine miller Apr 2013
tumbling through the air,
a helpless descent of fate, if you will
cleanly slicing through the still pool of quicksilver
forming neat ripples
across the molten surface.
and if you could peer underneath,
you’d see tiny orbs
crafted of dreams and desires
floating gently upwards towards the sun – like a balloon ambling through a clear ice blue sky.

but most people merely cast them off as air bubbles,
meaningless and dull,
just like the scratched, ***** coins thrown into
the dank, scummy water
collecting in the old, cracked well.
792 · Apr 2017
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.
789 · Aug 2013
i am not a rug.
raine miller Aug 2013
from the silence,
nature’s once-mighty king –
with broken bones and shattered strength –
is left to die by a kangaroo court.
a carcass bought with blood money,
stripped of pride, power, life
now lays across
the floor.
aside from being my first rictameter, this is a tribute to WWF's new campaign to help save the tigers from illegal animal trade, an issue near and dear to me. more info? see the link below :)
770 · Mar 2017
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.
766 · Jul 2015
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.
764 · Feb 2016
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
756 · Jan 2013
When Shadows Race
raine miller Jan 2013
Shadows race across the page
The soft light idly slanting in sharp contrast
Lazy sunbeams illuminate a blank page full of unreached possibilities
And entwine with the shadows of what has been
Shimmering specks thrown from unknown objects glinting in the sun
Send flashes of color at the monochrome sheet
But disappear as fast and as quiet
As the moon dripping from the dark morning sky
just got inspired by sunlight on my notebook paper when i was bored.
753 · Apr 2013
The Art of Finding Fairies
raine miller Apr 2013
Press down into the cool earth,
Sinewy grass and rough leaves
Trace ghostly fingers up
Arms and legs
Sticky with bug spray
And slick with sweat
As crickets yell in our ears
And the air hums along
To the tired tune of humidity
Tucking us into our earthen bed
With a hot, muggy blanket,
As we try in vain not to move.

Twilight begins to fade,
Leaving inky smudges across a blue-gray sky,
Like the ones staining the old notebooks
Laying forgotten in piles in my room
Slowly an invisible hand
Colors in the rest of the sky,
Until night has fallen at last,
Her cool hands running along our cheeks,
As she breathes chilled winds across our necks,
Yet we refuse to budge.

And then, ever so slowly,
They awaken.
A whisper through the grass,
A faint glow in the distance – is that just a star,
Or is it the prize we seek?
With shrill screams breaking the silence,
We run, hand in hand,
With an empty peanut butter jar
And a never-ending dream,
To catch the fairies that flit all around us,
To learn their ways
And dance with them
Until the dawn
day 2 of April's PAD Challenge, write a dark poem and/or a bright poem. sort of combined the two.
663 · Aug 2013
our dance
raine miller Aug 2013
As time goes on, I realize just what you mean to me.

Still ticking away after all these years,
I can hear the steady beat
Of the broken Cuckoo Clock;
Faintly filling in the cracked silences of life
With ticks and tocks
For us to waltz to,
But the steps are different now;

And now, now that you’re near, promise your love that I’ve waited to share.

Time has made the wrong assumption
That we become better dancers
If it moves faster,
Ignoring us as we trip and stumble,
Stubbornly refusing to stop and wait
For us to catch up

And dreams, of our moments together,*

We’re learning to dance again,
You and me,
Because when the world seems to go black and white
And we appear to go our separate ways for a time
We always find a way to spin back together,
And while things will never be the way they were,
(Because the older you get, the more complex the dance routine is,
And the harder it is for us to keep in time with the frenzied beats of life)
There’s always a chance
That they’ll change for the better

Color my world with hopes of loving you.

Sixteen years
Of stumbling and spinning,
Interweave with thousands of smaller moments
That fill the stage we dance upon
With the same warm glow
That lurks in your eyes,
The glow that reassures me everything will be all right,
And that we will continue to dance.
for my daddy.

the italics are lyrics from Chicago's, *color my world*, by the way.
656 · Oct 2014
raine miller Oct 2014
this is gospel, for the vagabonds*
and oh, how we aimlessly wander
throughout the moral snarls
choking the world.
can't claim ownership of first line, it's a lyric from panic! at the disco's, "this is gospel". the rest is just a sketch i've been toying with for awhile.
652 · Mar 2013
raine miller Mar 2013
******, mangled dreams lay about
as she mirrors the dead;
a pale, blank face
and empty dark eyes,
devoid of emotion, thoughts, and time

subconscious drowning in a
poisoned sludge of false contentment
imagination ripped apart
by illusion’s dainty knives
soul slowly dying
by the drug’s dark hand

yet her brain realizes nothing,
not even when the noose
is tightening its embrace
around her feeble neck
or when poison creeps
in the still red waters,
silently spreading
like moonlight over the ocean
as the night overcomes her at last
everywhere "her" or "she" is featured, "him" or "he" can just as easily be substituted, if that helps you better understand it. a bit darker than what i normally do, sorry but it's something that can't be ignored.
raine miller Aug 2013
threadbare spirits in ragged dresses
dance to gaunt, inharmonic despair.
the lonely winds whisper of madness,
while tatters of paper-thin promises whip through the air.

oh come and see humanity’s lost ones,
battered and broken beyond repair;
skeletal frames distorted by cruelty
no more than shadowy ghosts beneath the rest of humanity’s stare.
637 · Jul 2015
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.
627 · Jan 2013
music in my headphones
raine miller Jan 2013
music flowing through wires to the world
shatters time.
eyes close,
breathing slows,
s I am lost in the song.
wandering through hundreds of words
beats rocking my body
as I lay motionless upon the cold ground
listening to a thousand stories as beautifully individual as the stars;
a link to the world.
any critiques on anything i wrote would be appreciated, as a writer as new as myself desires to soak in as much feedback as one can.
raine miller Mar 2013
Hazy silver ripple
In an infinite, heavenly pond
With starry waves
Pooling in a soft impression
607 · Oct 2013
Hypothetical Lovers
raine miller Oct 2013
Hopelessly crafted from snippets of lyrics
(Silently stolen from the Beatles, the Killers,
Or any available band
That resides within my iPod)
And descriptions of back-and-white characters
Locked in the pages
Of the dust-covered books
Lurking on my shelves

He is the beautiful creature
And I am the joke of a scientist
Driven by impossible dreams
That felt compelled to create him.
Trapped in my mind’s eye
Like Aphrodite in her Golden Net
(and looking just as foolishly tantalizing)
He constantly slaves,
As the forced player in my absurd daydreams,
Only to find himself abandoned
Every time
And I don’t know why he keeps taking me back
593 · Feb 2013
melting rage
raine miller Feb 2013
Silently screaming
I don’t understand
Why can’t you hear me
Melting from the inside out
Full of hot, molten frustration
Brimming with rage
As it spills over
One agonizing drop at a time
Unseen cracks running amuck
Slowly breaking me
Until I shatter
590 · Mar 2014
raine miller Mar 2014
high on just your smile,
the euphoria intensified when Cupid’s needle pierced my heart,
(in the form of an accidental brush of your arm against mine).

hopelessly intoxicated, i all too often
babble romantic nothings at my bedroom ceiling,
and hallucinate about Lord of the Rings marathons and late night phone calls,

before crash landing amidst crumpled piles of used tissues,
suddenly thrown back into the embrace of cold-hearted reality
with nothing but a scarred heart and bloodshot eyes.

and even though some tiny portion of my brain
begs me to be rational for once,
i keep coming back
(because while the heartache is bad,
loneliness is a thousand times worse)

some call me stupid,
but i can’t help being human –
we all have addictions
(you just happen to be mine)
570 · Jun 2013
lackluster poetry
raine miller Jun 2013
haphazardly thrown together
like the chipped plastic beads
on the necklace I gave you for Christmas
(and you loved it)
the title of this poem is in no way my own, but the body of the poem is mine - i owe the BIGGEST thank you to gabrielle grace, for allowing me to use a line from one of your poems as the title. you are a gifted writer and a wonderful person!
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 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
547 · Jan 2014
The Doctor’s Song
raine miller Jan 2014
Pick for me a paradox
Of broken sighs and ticking clocks
Hum our tune of desperation
As every departure means another awakens

A box, three figures,
An ace of spades
Haunt the crowned caduceus
Pursuing the fallen maid.

Ensnared in the tangles
Of time and space,
A lone sprit endlessly wanders,
The last of his race.
random bust of poetry at 3:30 in the morning
raine miller Oct 2014
when i’ve known you all my life,
and we’re trapped behind the iron bars of routine,
how can i continually be amazed at your eyes, those two shining orbs beautifully handcrafted from Kuiper’s pure ice?
and if i’m honest, you’re the reason i failed that biology test,
because your eyes through off my Bell Curve every time,
as the word blue is not descriptive enough to capture your eyes – after all, how can one force beauty to adhere to the stiff shapes of lowly words?

your eyes have the slight grayish tint of misted windows on rainy days, the sort where mother would order me not to go out - you'll catch your death, or worse pneumonia, out there - but i'd play spy for a bit, dabbling in the gray area of life myself while slipping through the back door and going out anyway.  

your eyes are the azure of sidewalk paint strokes, reflecting the sky in neat splotches, pooling in cracks and brimming with never-ending joy. your eyes, they are puddles kissing concrete slabs in fall, your hazel patches amid the blue reflected in the sepia shards of dried leaves collecting at the water's edge.

and you, your eyes are pools of indigo ink, words of what and who you love carved onto twin orbs with a blue pen over and over again, until they all ran together and accidentally formed a window to your heart.
541 · Jan 2013
Museum Mausoleum
raine miller Jan 2013
Stark white walls
Guard twisted stories
And buried secrets
That never see the light of day
Where the haze of history
And the glaze of time
Muddle fact
And fiction
Suspended endlessly
In fragments of stories
533 · Apr 2013
Birth of a Star
raine miller Apr 2013
Sharp burst of light
Within a dark pool of nothingness,
Fiery tendrils curling across the burned and blackened sky,
Clinging to glowing embers of stars
With shaking hands
Crawling across the heavens,
A red-gold mass crying and screaming,
Proclaiming its arrival to the universe
written for the April PAD Challenge, Day 1. life picked up and i didn't get a chance to post it sooner
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