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raine miller Mar 2014
my dear, my dear i ask a favor -
take the cracked, ebony skeleton key
dejectedly hanging on a dusty corner hook,
and place it in my heart.

turn the rusted lock-cogs
(after all, why oil something that's never used?)
and slip your inky hand inside.

with a lone bony finger,
write your name in the ashes,
coax flames out of dried rose petals,
and sprinkle ruby drops of Amarone
across the cracked floorboards.

just flood the empty chamber,
until it's a vast, black ocean of stereotypes
and half truths,
so that i might be able to honestly say
i'm not empty inside,
because even lies weigh more than nothing.
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 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.
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.
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.
raine miller Apr 2014
broken atop the jagged social food chain
i stop for just a minute to lick my wounds,
more animal than human after a lifetime of cruelty.

i sank my claws into the aspirations of others,
shattering theirs with a swipe of greedy paws,
in effort to protect my own

(after all, family ties only run deep as tidal pools
in the wake of crashing waves of ambition)


twisted fangs snarl at the world,
secretly afraid of the blatant isolation i brought upon myself,
but refusing to show my weakness to the dogs sulking below,
i subject to vainly try and convince myself that pride is supposed to mean more than
one
raine miller Feb 2015
with nimble, spidery legs it crawled its way down my throat and between my bones, carving itself a black hole deep in my chest.

there in its cave, it's dank and dark. here and there, shards of broken pride glint dully among gray ashes of a burned out reality, while the cobwebs on the ceiling do their part to constrict my lungs.

because heaven forbid i ever get too clean and comfortable in my own world.

harsh red eyes glow like fire pits, pulsing and throbbing in time with the ****** trails that constrict my arms – row upon row of handmade scratches tangled together like thorny branches, visibly warning innocent spectators to keep the hell out.

its icy fingers probe my mind, forcing impossibilities as sharp as knives between each fiber of my being until i’m breaking up and going black like a tv station in bad weather.

too bad i forgot where we left the remote.
raine miller Sep 2013
When I was a little girl,
You once said to me,
“There’s no use crying over (accidentally) spilled milk”
So I closed my eyes and promised, “I won’t”,
But am I allowed to cry over
Wrongly spilled blood?
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?

i.
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.  

ii.
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.

iii.
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.
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
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
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
yesterdays
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
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.
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.
raine miller Mar 2013
Shattered glass and splintered spirit
Scattered on a cold, unfeeling floor
The last breath of hope exhaled
As Time walked out the door
c+
raine miller Aug 2015
c+
it’s quite possible that I failed the vocab test,
but I still don’t think life is a simile for existence.
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
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,
confused,
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
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.
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
*Imperfections.
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
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.
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.
raine miller Dec 2014
i, honey, am the worst at acceptance,
but you were the blatant canary in the cage for me:
like the math proof from last night’s homework,
I got to work on you,
set my mind to study your deliciously sharp angles,
only to realize that what I thought was a triangle
is actually a circle –
that the beginning of our story
was in fact our undoing,
because you can’t add something
to nothing
and expect to get your infinity.
so like everything else
i left you unfinished.

maybe the next ***** can actually solve you.
raine miller Jul 2014
thin tendrils of steam hiss quietly,
enviously stretching and winding around one another,
desperate for even a hint of solidification,
so as to claim ownership of the delicate scent of blood-stained petals dancing across the dim cream walls.

gentle streaks of pale-gold light play amidst the shady garden,
glittering like calcite as they flit through the haze
to teasingly strike the delicate glass beads that slide down my body;
those that send warm caresses and kisses across scalding skin,
forcing tense muscles into the coquettishly elusive state of relaxation.

eyes half-closed,
gentle sighs flit out the corners of an upturned mouth,
as the world and its problems melt in the heat
and splatter down the drain,
my worries whisked away like the cotton candy soapsuds
frantically clinging to the floor.
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 Mar 2013
you are a mirror,
reflecting something new
everyday
presenting me with
pretty, false distortions
as to who you really are

like the hapless victim
of some cheap magic trick
i am expected to unknowingly
pick the right card
as to what you really feel

faced with too many shiny red cups,
too many sides of you,
how on earth am I supposed to choose
the one that’s hiding
your essence underneath?
raine miller Jan 2013
bright lights and falling stars
black and white people in a colorful world
trees growing sideways
out of twisted ruins

the moon shining softy,
the stars glimmering brightly,
until they puddle
dripping out of one sky
and into the other
while the sun rises

twisty turning streets
devoid of mechanical monsters
frame and form the boundaries
between the shadowy light-filled woods
and the mirrored urban jungle

a multicolored rain falls
amidst the intricate iron work crafted into the alleys of buildings
whose only job
is to gently cup glowing golden pools of light,
to illuminate the darkness softly
and flash pieces of unknown objects
at the viewer

i’m falling up to wonderland,
to a backwards world
that’s just as fantastic
as the one dubbed reality
a remnat of a dream long lost to the night.
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
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
simultaneously,
the broken shards of stars
float and scatter across the indigo sky
like wind-swept leaves scuttling over puddles in fall
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.
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"
raine miller Feb 2014
i am icarus,
a naive earth-child who thought
she could touch the stars
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.
raine miller Apr 2014
move over lois lane
(there's a new damsel in town)
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 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
DO NOT RETURN TO SENDER.

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
raine miller Jan 2013
walking amid the field of broken memories
in time with the plucking of faded guitar strings
dancing to the music of forgotten dreams
of a childhood long ago
i approach the smooth pane,
the mirror we call our soul
and peer in
slowly, carefully,
for a thousand different people
wink back at me
but it is only the
reflection of the stars
anyone else out there ever have that time when you're trying to fall asleep and your brain decides to keep you awake by showing you a replay of your life with bonus "what-if" scenes?
raine miller Jan 2013
time ambles slowly
hands of a broken clock thunk into place
after spending eternity walking in a never-ending circle
choked by the thick, hot air
weighed down like feet slucking though thick mud
only two minutes have passed
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 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
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
raine miller Aug 2013
stolen
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 :)
http://worldwildlife.org/pages/stop-wildlife-crime
raine miller Sep 2014
you’re the errant ink stain on the side of my hand – the sickly, pale blue splotch that lingers like a bruise and prompts the annoying “are you sure you’re okays” from random strangers playing the good samaritan.

seeping under my skin, your presence lingers well after the words fade away. like a foolish explorer caught in quicksand, you sluggishly trudge through my maze of veins, refusing to let me move on, clinging to me like earth to a corpse-

and propelled only by the desire to wrap your cold hands around my mind once again, you begin poisoning me from the inside out, killing me slowly like the snake that you are,

only i'm too young and stupid to know the difference, so i call it heartbreak and try to convince myself i'm really just moving on.
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 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.
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,
infinite.
thoughts?
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 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.
raine miller Mar 2014
i'm just a poor magician,
a failure of an illusionist
attempting to perfect a slight-of-hand balancing act,
and you're the card i seem to misplace every single time
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.
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