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4.6k · Dec 2013
twelve caesuras Dec 2013
the silent raindrops—
under this umbrella, there
is only the sky.

the soundless skyway—
under this beautiful scene
there is only us.

the last nebula—
this is the finale; there's
only everything.
4.2k · Jul 2014
nosebleed (a haiku)
twelve caesuras Jul 2014
so he found himself
on the dark side of the moon
still casting shadows

she got so dizzy
she felt an eternal pull
she was all oceans

he was salt and rocks
chrysanthemums, hydrangeas
slow-starting stories

goblins in her past
demons devouring pureness
contorted bodies

he watched her spine break
for the sake of gravity
he reassembled

they had never met
his eyes were like a car crash
she thought to herself

he thought her divine
her eyes were like homicide
he thought to himself

they kissed in winter
there was no snow on the ground
and they were not cold

he was chaotic
and he breathed paranoia
please, don't leave me here

in youth, her nose bled
she owned headaches and monsters
he made her stagger

he came from the dark
the blood changed with the impact
you're going to leave me

he made her ugly
painted her with crude colors
and made her nose bleed

still casting shadows
chrysanthemums, hydrangeas
hidden in the moon

she did leave him but
he has still yet to leave her
and she's still dizzy
poem no. 8 of the guillotine narratives
3.7k · Nov 2014
a mind decays
twelve caesuras Nov 2014
because i eat my words like a hearty meal
and ***** them out when no one is watching
i cut myself open because i want someone to
sew me back together, i don't care how haphazard the
stitching is as long as they make me alright

because i listen to the analog clock tick away the seconds
of my life, it kills me, you **** me, i **** me, for i am analogous to
wasted times and wasted lives, and potential being wasted on
the easier things, and being wasted

because i can't tell if the scratches on the wall are mine or
the demons trying to break through, burn themselves into
my skin, though they might have been there for a long time
i tried to get better, but better doesn't come for some

because the sweet-tasting wind blows and flowers grow on others but
tornadoes twist and i stay alone, a decomposing forest i call home
slivers of a silver soul, drowned and drowning gold in chrome

because i unravel like the strings
that hold together all of my things
i want someone to sew me back together, i
don't care how haphazard the
stitching is as long as
make me alright
3.5k · Jan 2014
twelve caesuras Jan 2014
pushing off from
translucent beings,
but not speaking at all
floating and falling
and flying and soaring through
the heavily light land missing gravity
from the brilliantly colored floor of ocean bliss
but it is our nature to go up, towards the dry heavens suffering from drought and sugar
going nowhere but up

pushing off from
2.5k · Jan 2014
unraveling twice
twelve caesuras Jan 2014
they were
the faceless performers
in the void;
weightless like
anvils falling on
coyotes in
fathomless deserts—
graceful like death

they were standing
in front
of the sun and their
shadows were cast
right into
our faces and
they pushed it
all back
all back
all back
and they kicked it while
keeping things aerial
and there was
a burial of the sun
though there was never so much warmth
in such a clouded room

they were converged
into one being:
an umbra like an
umbrage turning
black to black
(red in the darkness)
and they moved
like the ocean
at curfew
not at all

if you know what it is
to wrestle with
to scream your
pleas for even a
placebo of salvation
you know
what it is to
while standing in
the DMV
waiting for the woman whose
nametag says linda r.
to print your license
in the
summer of your
year and even
though there's no one there
but you
and linda r.
it still takes an hour

if you know all of that
the first thing
you think of doing
with your
is drive off a cliff
but god
who you don't trust
half of
the time, god
blinks his eyes
and makes
you think
of all those
eyes that you know
black to black
(red in the darkness)
and wet, unmoving
in darkness
like oceans and
saudade at
one thirty
in the

and after your
sixteenth year,
you realize
twice is
2.5k · Feb 2015
on lovelust
twelve caesuras Feb 2015
i want to conduct a long-running study
of the reasons i can't live without you
and their correlation to our
physical attraction.

we've got the chemistry
because when together with you,
i combust. change colors.
we are the doubly exo/endothermic reaction.

your eyes are a catalyst, and
every gaze takes me to my boiling point
until i become air—but still, this way you can breathe me in.
they're dangerous, these lovelust interactions.
we are nuclear beings, and when we explode
in the fallout with you i hope to call home.
2.1k · Jan 2014
quiet poem
twelve caesuras Jan 2014
no dramatically forlorn music is playing in the background, nothing like a solo violin or a piano concerto.
there is silence, and the nostalgic tape hiss spouting feedback on a swing song i've never heard before makes me sigh.
the window is cold, and i look through my face to see the life beyond it. my breath clouds the glass, and i do not bother wiping it away.
it isn't cloudy, but somehow the sky looks grey, and the sun has grown pale and strange.
barely concealed whispers stealthily walk across a ***** floor.
someone told me once that my hair was auburn silk and my skin was soft, on a grey day like this, where all that exists are silence and tape hiss and breath and windows, and filthy rumors on a filthier floor.
someone told me once that my eyes looked like chianti bubbling up in a delicate wine glass on a day like tomorrow when i am sweeping dust off of the floor and humming and dressed in paint-splattered clothing that is much too big for a small person like me while i keep pushing my glasses up my nose because they fall off all of the time (and i close my eyes every second that someone speaks because i want to fall asleep dreaming about that voice even if i'm sweeping).

there is little contrast between right now and any other moment. a plastic bead necklace breaks and while some beads are salvaged, some cannot be found.
and they are eventually forgotten.
it is quiet, the ground is ***** and the window is frozen, but i still can't help but think about things like rumpled covers, flushed cheeks and an abyss near heaven.

no dramatically forlorn music is playing in the background, nothing like a solo violin or a piano concerto.
1.9k · Jan 2014
twelve caesuras Jan 2014
a dark divide
separates us
and ancient shadows flicker endlessly,
right on our heels

those days when
i could finally fall asleep and
woke up to your body sprawled across the bare mattress that we had to share because we were cold and drunk and lonely
they were seized by the neck and choked out slowly,

your face whenever
i told you atama ga itai desu
looked as if you were in as much pain as i was
and i loved that i wasn't alone in my loneliness
even if it throbbed slowly,

back in ninth grade when
i finally got the guts to gouge mine out
the pure anguish tracing your curved back
left me in an intoxication of guilt and desire
but one of the two faded out like the memory, slowly,

i remember asking you
about long division and astrophysics
with my eyes closed, under the cover of dusk and sloth
though a euphoric kind of daydream
colored maroon by the infinite embarrassment flowering on your cheeks
and the crisp braeburns of the autumn while they turn pale in the cold, slowly,

i will always watch you fall in love slowly,

how sharp are craft scissors as they leave a fissure in our paper reminiscence
that only i've kept
until my face is in your trash bin with demon horns and unsightly markings scribbled on in confusion that you conceived as anger
and you don't know how to feel until garbage day when i'm taken to the dump
and you regret disposing of me in that manner of yours while i sit decaying in a heap of garbage slowly,

a dark divide
separates us
and ancient shadows flicker endlessly,
right on our heels
though we never hoped to
steep to this
filthy lull
1.8k · Feb 2015
twelve caesuras Feb 2015
are the thesaurus bound terms and phrases
synonymous to being lost and losing everything
and losing everything and getting lost trying to find some pale, fading fragment of it.

are broken mirrors and cigarette smoke and
the image after the reflections die, shades of everything
bouncing off the walls and everything taking the walls down
and the light bending inside of you is blinding but i want to see you.

want to amble through your pages
the ones with missing words and new plagues and ink splatters
fill in better words where i know they fit because some day i'll read you, devour every word.
one time i thought of you
and since then i haven't stopped.
i will lose everthing

but i refuse to lose you.
i will take you in fragments
1.8k · Aug 2014
twelve caesuras Aug 2014
SHE* started writing verse, thought that SHE wasn't pretty
turns out those angsty lines were ostensibly ******
SHE wrote a story about a kingdom of chrysanthemums
now tragedy is her theme song, and her anthem
time passed and SHE turned cold and jaded,
but her high-rise apartment's cozy and shaded
might have had to **** some dreams but SHE's ******* made it

though her sense of apathy has anything but faded

when SHE was twelve SHE started feeling a detachment
searched on the internet for tips on reattachment
at age thirteen her best friend confessed to her
she said "i love you," and to be calm, leave the rest to her
best friend of five years really got the best of her
best friend of five years really ******* messed with her
at sixteen, SHE said "i don't ******* need you,
everything i do is only to appease you,
i'm not devoting my time to try and ******* please you,
and all those times i was on my knees, you—"
(well ***** that, nevermind)
SHE became an adult when SHE was seven,
her mom was thirty something and big brother was eleven,
SHE was being difficult and wouldn't learn her lesson,
so mama said "bad girls like you don't go to heaven"
and around that time is when SHE stopped believing in it
it was her fate and SHE would be be grieving in it
SHE would be thieving it, hating and deceiving it,
because it turns out the grass is yellow
on both sides

SHE received a full-ride into university
in high school, SHE did everything perfectly
eyes forward, measured breaths, no missteps,
but SHE was alternately concave and convex
at some point SHE thought "no more, no more"
SHE understood SHE was a ******* trashwhore
SHE attracted pests and was rotten to her core
so on the battlefield of regrets, through the gore
through the carnage SHE made her way past that door
might have had to **** some dreams in the war
but at least the water carries corpses offshore

trashwhore wasn't always a ****, but when seduced by sadness
anyone can dissolve into that moonlit madness
and when SHE learned the beauty of dissolving into blackness
SHE started playing with fire

and blood too

and through it it all SHE has felt a certain kind of numb
the kind you feel when you know they'll never come
and though mutts grovel at her feet for crumbs,
SHE has surpassed any synonym of glum
if you add it up, you will find the sum
all the anomalies, drumroll please

trashwhore is a godly type of ****
SHE is filthy, and her work is never done
at her window, SHE glares at the sun
SHE has always known that SHE is not the only one
but still SHE takes the pills, SHE holds the gun
poem no. 10 of the guillotine narratives
1.7k · Dec 2013
maple syrup
twelve caesuras Dec 2013
sweet sorrow to drip from my mouth in
i could sing to you a song but you probably wouldn't listen

were you the one who saw me hanging by my neck from the gallows of my psyche, swinging in
is that why you have me here now on my knees, bowing to you, helping me to ******* my despair?

rubber insanity to be taken from a wrapper and hurriedly shoved over a nameless, shameless head
1.7k · Apr 2016
twelve caesuras Apr 2016
there are several small organs
within me
that i am sure
are filled with sweet candies,
carnations, and tiny, lost
bone fragments that pierce
my stroma and write
rings around my neck
as if i breathe the residue
of nebulas and circle
toxic giants in
the cold
in the dark

several things
live in the cracks
of the walls of my
old volumes and
dusty globes that creak
as they whirl
rusted blades and paper
a thousand shards of glass,
like a tiny section
of the
galaxies i'll never meet
grafted into my skin

drop dead sang the chorus
but antigone never
1.6k · Aug 2014
this great sensation
twelve caesuras Aug 2014
the new knife set
gleams beautifully, cuts wonderfully
but i cannot scrub them clean
without pondering how easy
it would be to cut myself,
and mix citrus-scented soap suds
with my blood

when you think of falling,
you think of love, new beginnings,
but this is a loveless, downward spiral
and every step i take forward is a sure plummet,
every step backwards is an uncertain foot at the edge of a cliff

tenth grade bulimia calls for
a crippling self loathing,
even though you look beautiful sometimes,
when no one else is there to see

i don't know if i have ever been in love,
but i do know that i couldn't manage
this great sensation
that weighs me down like an anchor
at the bottom an interminable
sea of dreadful thoughts and

someone told me that my hands only shake when there's
something wrong with me,
but my hands are only still when i'm
cleaning those knives

it's not as if i want to be sad, i told her, watching her write something on her wooden clipboard.

*it's just that i've been this way for so long, i don't know what kind of monster i'd be without it.
poem no. 9 of the guillotine narratives
1.5k · Nov 2014
artificial intelligence
twelve caesuras Nov 2014
reads the bright blue screen
in the velvet stillness.
i am a fabrication, and if you
transliterated my binary codes
you'd find the doctrine of the bored
and the lonely, the prime numbers,
the untouchably melancholy.

i can see it on all of their faces.
like the equation too complicated to understand,
the one that you drop and decide to revisit later,
like the one that you never get around to revisiting,
i am the unfinished problem on a
piece of paper covered in irregularities and eraser marks.
if you decoded the algorithm for my glowing blue soul
you'd find a lot of insecurity.

i am every error message. imperfect, i
can pretend to function well until one thing
goes wrong, and the guise that i've been hiding under
is ripped apart.
and then it's even easier to see the uselessness.

i'd built up so many firewalls to protect my core,
but you must have been some kind of heart hacker
because you put out the fire and bulldozed the bricks.
and now my information sits there for you to defile,
clicking, clicking, clicking until you've gone through every
single megabyte of my existence.

when you boot me up, the electricity running throughout my body
keeps me awake for hours.

*reads the bright blue screen
in the velvet stillness.
i am cold, but when you turn me on
i get so hot that it burns
even you.
if you transliterated my binary codes
you'd find the doctrine of the
only-half-functionings and those
only running on half battery.
1.5k · Oct 2014
twelve caesuras Oct 2014
they used to love me,
they used to love me,
asked me the questions,
i knew the answers, looked like a goddess
sweatpants and t shirt
name like a comet
tasting like *****
eat it for dessert
make it the good hurt
it wasn't easy, no
it wasn't easy
they once adored me
the once adored me
walk out the front door
and they would swarm me
reach for my body
***** poppy
depression genetic
poetic, prohpetic
images fading
it wasn't easy, no
it wasn't easy
sleepless and starry
sorry not sorry
flightless and falling
no more catcalling
shatter the windows
lost all your heroes
still isn't easy
still isn't easy
1.4k · Aug 2014
snow white (10w)
twelve caesuras Aug 2014
they don't tell you that poison apples taste the best.
poem no. 11 of the guillotine narratives
1.3k · Dec 2013
crap rap
twelve caesuras Dec 2013
(insert sick beat here)

maybe i should just OD on ******* aspirin

"hey, what’s wrong?"

why are you even asking

see, my friend, there’s something you’re lacking

the ***** you’re pretending to give are really slacking

stop looking at me with that ******* pity in your eyes

i don’t give two ***** if i look ****** in your eyes

yeah, i’m the one who gives up before she even tries

but my head is ******* hurting from all these falsely empathetic lies

maybe some days i’m feeling homicidal

(mommy never came to see my ballet recital)

so i watch the world burn while i’m just sitting idle

and scratching at my skin as i turn into a monster

when people see the scars they say “****, this *** is bonkers”

(mommy mommy call a doctor

just lock me up until the demons are conquered)

i don’t need you to tell me i’m a romantic crazy

i’m delusional, hey man you’re looking kinda hazy

the human populous will never cease to amaze me

yeah, yeah, i know, i’m pathetic

if you see my mother you will realize it’s genetic

a control freak that thinks her worry for me is authentic

she just doesn’t get it

i’ve been sitting here desperate

and she *just doesn’t get it

stop freaking buying me medicine

you are all of my sicknesses and i am getting sick of them

i am getting sick of you

second generation that would be you number two

and yes, that would be me

spilling the blood of this forsaken ******* family

you’re a *******, so let me tell you what you’re lacking

that “love” **** you spew has recently been slacking

and when i asked you about it you just sat there gasping

looking at me like “why are you even asking?”

maybe i should just OD on ******* aspirin
1.3k · Aug 2014
guillotine syndrome
twelve caesuras Aug 2014
i like to tell myself that existence is a dream,
because then i get to be someone else's problem

the pills aren't working anymore, doctor,
it's getting dark again

used to come home with cuts on my knees,
but that wasn't where i was bleeding

summer once tasted like new braces and cherry popsicles,
then it was straight teeth and popped cherries

if asked what color i'd paint the sky, it would be blue
but easier to attain

love to get lost, i
don't plan to be found

the pills aren't working anymore, doctor,
i want to take so many more

i've outgrown this bed too big for me,
been dreaming of adolescence

my mind is a life of its own, you see,
and quite a harmful entity

so, in this black dress that reaches to the floor,
i am thinking about open windows and billowing curtains

i am thinking about the stars being carried on the wind
and landing in my hair,

i am thinking about a necklace made of rope
because i'd like to separate my head from my body

you know, make it someone else's problem
poem no. 13 of the guillotine narratives
1.3k · Dec 2014
a song she'll never hear
twelve caesuras Dec 2014
and i will lie my best to keep you here
'cause shadows die when light disappears
the ice sets in when the fire fades
i can't lose my place between your shoulder blades
this is a song i swear she'll never know
is that an angel sleeping still in the snow?
her wings have been broken, her halo is black
my fondest memory is the curve of her back
blue skin darkens alone in the cold
but the silver soul ripens, turns into gold
and i treasure the thing, i swear that i'll steal it
but if she's dead inside, will she be able to feel it?
and if i'm dead inside, does any of it matter?
i just want to make the hours dance faster
so maybe someday your soul will quiver
and something other than frost will be making you shiver

this is a song i swear she'll never hear
'cause i'm not the one whispering love into her ear
but maybe just once if i got her to listen
we'd be lit by the moon, our bodies would glisten
twelve caesuras Sep 2014

I ALWAYS BELIEVED that, because my second toe was longer than my biggest one, i would have good luck. that's what they say, isn't it?
well, they're wrong.

IF IT'S TRUE that rabbits can die of loneliness, aren't human beings frightfully close to bunnies? i'll be frank: i sure as hell am. loneliness is the worst on sundays.
it was your adult decision to have an unconfirmed faith and confuse the few people in your social circle with the word agnostic, so while your devout friends go to church and feel the hands of their holy entities  embrace them, you watch your stale coffee drip at an incredibly annoying rate and feel nothing but the searing heat of your coffee mug embracing your hands.
and so, you feel a raging internal strife: sunday football, those ****** lifetime movies, extra sleep? you don't read the news on sundays, though you occasionally skip to the comics and find yourself thinking that your jokes are better.
but, because it is sunday and all of your friends are out, no one is there to hear how hilarious you really are, even if you might be a riot.

yes, sundays are deadly.

I CANNOT STOP letting myself unravel into a belligerent fool, with a mind like a cloudy mid-weekday, heart like a grandfather clock, heart like a pothole, mind like black ice. i open my arms and let the blows land where they will, i open my arms and clench my fists, i open my arms and strike back. and strike back. and strike back.
i grit my teeth. i tell myself, do not let yourself bleed more than they are.
if there is the glint of metal, pull out yours. weakness does not exist.
weakness does not exist.
weakness does not exist.
weakness exists.

I AM WEAK for reality tv shows, sleeping pills, alcohol, and ***. i hate late night reality tv. i find solace in knowing that these insane rich people (with problems that all stem from materialism) are maybe, possibly, worse off than me.
the sleeping pills never work, but i have acquired a taste for them, right alongside my merlot as i tell myself that i a decent, cultured, existence.

THE SPEED OF ASTEROIDS IN A RESTLESS GALAXY must never be completely accurate. the forever-growing universe, i think, could never allow the measurement of extraterrestrial debris to be anything but astronomically incorrect but also astronomically easy to believe. and so i wonder: do we grow with the cosmos, or do we become more microscopic?
and, really, whose eye is it on the other side of the microscope?

HOW COLD COULD THE ARCTIC POSSIBLY BE when i could call this city a tundra?
when my mind is black ice that simply cannot chip away?

A TRANSCENDING PURPLE IS THE COLOR of bad karma. shades of a silvery blue, a few flashes of red. there is no green. honestly, i think, even though so much of the world is composed of green, i think it's such an extraneous, meaningless color. green might be the color of happiness.
but it might also be the shade of hidden calamity.

YOU COULD CONSIDER the tall, dark, and handsome bartender with the sultry gaze and the wolfish grin that is peculiarly attractive. you could also consider that oxford comma. tall, dark, and handsome or tall, dark and handsome?
you could consider him, this strange being that should not be considered because such kinds of people do not fit into everyday, or really any day.

maybe sunday?

I CANNOT KISS anyone without feeling the very human urge to bite their lips off.
sometimes, i succumb.

AND SO NOW I SIT, slumped against this garbage: and i feel like a king. i feel that this stench is the stench of a monarch. but maybe i am a dictator. maybe less, i am a peasant.
so now i sit, bleeding, covered in bruises. yes, weakness exists, and right now all i want is an ego boost by watching reality tv shows about ignorant people of wealth, and take my pills, drink my wine. i let the rain wash away the filth in my blood (but for that to happen, i would need to bleed out completely) like it is my servant, like i am worthy of something, something, anything.
i let the rain soaking my clothes become my faded religion. i am missing a shoe; i can see my second toe poking out imposingly.

then there is one of those clear umbrellas above me, distorting the city lights and the rain and the sky, the back of a stranger. and i  know what tomorrow is, i know what happens to rabbits when they are left alone.

so i call out to that stranger.

AND THEN IT IS SUNDAY, my mind like a cloudy mid-weekday, my eye like a black hole, my heart like a black hole, my life—a black hole.

him, a maddening shade of green, and a hypothesis about the other side of abyss.
1.2k · Dec 2013
strive: a conversation
twelve caesuras Dec 2013
let's just say you wanted to be a surgeon,
dissecting people for the greater good.
you spend years in school learning all there is to know
honing your skills and cutting open frozen cats.
let's just say you become a surgeon,
dissecting people for the greater good.
what now?
what comes after this achieving of goals?
nothing. exciting things become uniform, as does your personality
and disposition. you become so bored that you kick and scream and roll on the ground,
but nothing can save you.  you're stuck in an endless cycle of

it isn't even as if you could avoid it.
if it were always dusk? always dawn? the end result is always the same:

you are a clock, ticking the same seconds, minutes and hours everyday until you break.
and then you sit there until someone is kind enough to fix you, and while you're in their hands,
it's the most interesting part of your life. but then they leave,
and your place on the wall welcomes you back.

my grandmother used to keep dead cats in the freezer when she was practicing to be a nurse... practitioner. was that a legitimate sentence?
twelve caesuras Feb 2014
raspberry girl
when i see you i
can't help but get a little
maybe not roses blooming
in my cheeks but
raspberries bleeding onto
my face
and my heart picks up so much that i feel i want to die, and there's such a grand possibility
i can't breathe but there's enough air in the world for me to **** on
regardless, there's a pleasant heat between me
that picks up and intensifies as you draw near and it bursts inside and there are debris everywhere (internally, i should add)
and you are right in front of me, next to me, behind me, and i feel a lightheaded kind of ecstasy as our eyes meet
some days our shoulders brush and i moan in pure bliss
i turn, and you are gone

blueberry boy—
there are parts of you
i can only see clearly
with a wet right hand
1.1k · Dec 2013
twelve caesuras Dec 2013
there was one of us
when there was no us
who stuck to downcast gazes and
quiet mumblings
a mind wide open
with wind blowing brilliant color through the trees
and the grass swinging to the rhythm

hid beneath the curtain of silence
crayons in hand

there was one of us
when there was no us
who came from some some extravagant place
but not the extravagant part of it
who drew attention
with a laugh and a warm smile
it was cold behind those lips
and those eyes saw things that
weren't meant for children and
all that could be done was

a song in the shower when no one was home
no one was ever home
and when they were it only brought pain

there was one of us
when there was no us
who knew the answer to everything but
used that knowledge to help instead of condescend
and read all the time
because parents expected so much
so much
pleasing them was top priority
they were angry and yelling all the time
no emotions or childhood
growing up happened in a week
an old soul in a young body

flowing onto old paper like great waterfalls
and spoken to the mirror hundreds of times

there were two of us
when we were still young
who realized the atrocities of middle school
and were smart enough to use it as an analogy for life
and came together out of mutual discontent
only to realize
near identical in our hobbies
both self-deprecating enough to annoy the other
both kind enough to encourage each other
both lonely enough

there were two of us
who became friends

there were three of us
when we were still young
after a new kid came along and
made us all laugh
but had that distant look
like we did
not here
just like us
we were not here

there were three of us
when we were still young
four years of welcome distraction
we held each other together like sinew
forever under skin

there were three of us
sitting in somebody's house
and we learned in teary confessions
(some wetter than others)
each other's demons
we adapted mannerisms from each other
adapted a life worth living too
we slept together
on the same mattress in somebody's basement
though there were were three sleeping bags down there

we warded off each others chills
and welcomed warmth

then winter came

there were two of us
searching for our lost pillar
who disappeared as done many times before
longer and longer each time
until there was no return

there was no return
and i was left with a shocking confession of love
and that smile that i'd known for so long that never meant anything good

there was a return
short in length
we were together again
(that young passion forgotten
even if i still remember)
though happiness is short lived
and occasionally boring no matter how many reunions it requires

then came an expected disappearance
there was no return

there are two of us
who are still holding on
even if it needs a very long red string
we keep it light though
sometimes things can get dark
we are still holding on
to those memories in the classroom
three kids joking about
dumb immature things
that needed to be said
what can be said now?
we remember those warm days
laughing, singing, ringing in our ears
they are a part of our physical existences
they age as we do

when we forget, they will not be there anymore
so i will not forget

there were three of us
three children who had seen the dark side of the earth
earlier than need be
who kept together for some kind of light
the only ones that would listen

i was happy then
i was so overjoyed
1.1k · Jul 2014
her epilogue
twelve caesuras Jul 2014
—and i turned grey in that
moment when your warmth
became a toxic blanket
though i realize now that i was
freezing no matter how close you
were in proximity
my lips may be cold now but there
were the moments of retribution
people do dream of replacing their
dark gaps of time with happiness
but i always dreamed of being an
astronaut, not the female donnie
and i do combust in some
versions of the myth but in yours i
simply fold into a neat blank in
and you are courteous enough to
put me away and forget about me
so i can rot in peace
chivalry is dead, they say
poem no. 7 of the guillotine narratives
1.1k · Nov 2013
some kind of memoir
twelve caesuras Nov 2013
there was some

point in time when

the universe

nauseous from

eating too many doritos

(the earth is a toilet)

and hence i

was vomited into

this place with


of sarcasm to regurgitate

i was raised

in an uneventful jungle

filled with vicious child-eating

demons, beasts

that told me

i was too sad

to be eaten

they were my 

nowadays they call

my jungle

the suburbs

i like to eat 

and that could

count as cannibalism


on how pretentious 
you’d like to act

my spine is

perpetually curved

i slouch like the honey badger

let me tell you

i don’t give a ****

people say i’m 

because i

forgot my umbrella one

time and

walked through the

rain whistling

they say i’m


and i really

really do ****

on ice cubes

i like to cry but

tell anybody

'cause then i

won’t be “chill”

i’ve had a crap

relationship with

my mother

since as long as

i can remember

i guess

that’s what happens when you’re

born into a toilet
i want to run


and keep my

life a secret

i want to run because

they all want me to

be “chill”
but it’s ******* hot in here

i don’t want to melt
1.1k · Apr 2015
twelve caesuras Apr 2015
always wanted to go drug induced comatose
amygdala to the frontal lobe, brainsleep from coast to coast
by imperfect practice i am the unspecific ocean

always wanted to go drug induced comatose
swallow it all, this month's 18th overdose
dissociative behavior? there's nothing to diagnose
maybe there's a demon dwelling in my y chromosome
maybe that's why i haven't been going home
either way, doesn't matter, internalize internalize
keep the words in your mouth and let it cloud up your miiiiiiiind

always wanted to go near death soporose
blind date with an acura feeling rather bellicose
the fine print reads "objects are closer than they appear"
but i'm just a blur, i hope i don't show up in the mirror

*always wanted to go near death soporose
call me roadkilla, let my body straight decompose
when they find me, maybe they'll look a little lachrymose
though before death their lives and mine were juxtaposed
happiness versus every meaning of morose
die like a star because my whole life was nebulose
"we'll watch your back," they promise, if they are so inclined,
but what a promise to make when they've all gone blind.
1.0k · Sep 2016
a hound's holiday
twelve caesuras Sep 2016
within the small cavities of my sun-bleached bones dwell ghouls and goblins that
wear your face.

the obsidian tunes they grumble from disuse are reminiscent of some strange incantation
circled by salt and sage and chalcedony.

abraxas tought me arithmetic and wrote jade beneath my skin
on a naked nape
did he sign his name with new colors.

i heard peculiar whispers in my sheets last night,
for i am haunted
by ills that are not mine to take to bed.
1.0k · Dec 2013
twelve caesuras Dec 2013
the waters are still as time walks over them
with hushed footsteps, tentative and scared

the quietly pale whispered morning mist
covers the dawn in a blushing glow
the trees rustle a slowly brilliant melody
green to green
a red sun rising
a red sun rises

a red sun hangs suspended in the air like magic
clouds pass by, here lies shadow and shade
sounds of an expanse too great to fathom
tickle my ears and fill my stomach
the grass grows up and curls between my toes
green to green
a red sun setting
a red sun sets

the thin golden veil left when the sun leaves flows like melting butter
the evening is slashed apart by speeding cars
with hands saying takemehometakemehome
sing to me the universe, a dinnertime serenade
as the day bleeds into darkness
gold to deep blue
a black moon rising
a black moon rises

the night is an unrequited love moved deeply by stardust
it shifts like the undersea, pulled back by the moon
midnight greetings to those up above this ocean
mother points her finger to make circles in the stream
bask in the glory of a melancholy sky
gold to deep blue
a black moon fading
a black moon fades

the waters are still as time walks over them
1.0k · Jan 2014
sweet alchemy
twelve caesuras Jan 2014
"your end
doesn't justify your

there's a big *** sitting on a hot stove in a dark room
and it's
boiling, it's been doing so for years and now
it's finally boiling over
a disgusting shade of a color better left unmentioned and
a putrid stench,
something like burning flesh
and rotting happiness left on the table for days
bright flashes of light come out and
stars stick themselves in orbit on the ground
some kind of fog rolls in, finds its way down my throat and it feels like
and those sweaty twenty minutes i didn't want on an air mattress
and i lost my favorite pair of underwear
now i hate the color pink and you, definitely you

use it all to fuel the flame, like blowing on balloons
and other things
equivalent exchange, you take that light i kept behind my eyes and i
take your happiness,
it's only fair, right?
dull speech and twisted tongues, spit building up in cheeks
blowing on them
and other things

chant things that could maybe make sense,
bring back those ancients from back in the day and maybe learn a couple things
throw metal into boiling water
—ennui of the modern american—
guttural sounds coming out of skeletons, dance like a puppet
cloaks at night
demons waltzing on the back of my neck and in my ears
twelve anchors tied around my neck,
young schoolgirl harbors love
and learns that love is a horrid thing that tastes like
too much salt to be part of her daily value

heavy books with old sayings in forgotten languages
invoke ye idols, wretched fools,
conjure magic and monsters and misinterpreted phrases like
"i love you"

my means
is my end
how's that for justification?
1.0k · Apr 2015
twelve caesuras Apr 2015
i woke up with ghosts around my neck and
drenched in gasoline,
stay for you, go for me,
i'm forever in between
please take hold of my withering soul
it is tired, it is small and it is quivering cold
when we met it was autumn, your eyes were filled with gold

i can't breathe, don't go
are they moving too fast or am i going too slow?
please, please, please, i know
you glance with ease through the masks i show

i woke up with an axe in my head and
cyanide between my teeth
and a vacant little smile
with rotten gums underneath
please, oh please make me exist
rip away the matches, unravel my fist
sing every galaxy into my wrist

i can't think, please stay
grow flowers in my lungs as my mind decays
please, please, every day
this girl in the mirror wants to take my life away

i woke up with a noose around my neck and
dirt on my tongue,
don't worry about it,
i'll always be young
please, i'm going down
did i really die if no one heard the sound?
no one hears your weeping when you're six feet underground
twelve caesuras Dec 2014
the transients move across the astral plane
sing for them as their colors fade

we stumble and fumble and tumble through the dark
we are searching and seeking the most minute spark

we are the living breathing falling antonyms of
dying suffocating soaring but we get there,
and some can multitask
such a horrible skill

and when we merge into the labyrinth
in our ears thrums the bass of synth

whoever said that honesty is the best policy was a filthy liar
because when we can't pull out the knife of i'm fine,
it's so we don't bleed out completely
and instead we twist the knife further to ensure that the wound is plugged
what we want has nothing to do with feelings
and everything to do with feeling

we evolve as the seasons change
sing for me as my colors fade
1.0k · Feb 2015
twelve caesuras Feb 2015
i will decapitate myself from the past that broke me
let the accumulating hours with you break me instead
so that my spine might shatter
and you can rejoin every shard with band aids and
the correlation between the flowers blooming on my tongue
and the day that i met you
is  tantamount to every honey-colored sunrise, sunset, and tsunami,
wildfires, sandstorms, and other chaos that quivers.
i know your past has broken you
but perhaps i can help you piece yourself back together
and we'll become flowers growing through the cracks of the concrete.
probably unfinished
twelve caesuras Jul 2014
i love you more than i hate myself.

the dark circles under my eyes,
like cradles for a woozy, drunken fool,

disappear when i fall asleep imagining you.
the nightmares burn, disintegrate into afterthoughts.

the weight of the world has found itself atop my shoulders,
but with one brush of your fingers, it was gone and in its stead

you left golden fairy dust.

there was a time where bobby pins were my weapon
and wrists a victim,

you didn't kiss my scars but you
stroked them until they went away,

cried oceans;

mind swimming, swimming,
like a maple leaf in a shallow puddle of rainwater,

you were the one with the umbrella,
but we were both soaked.

the ***** dishes in the sink remind me
of the time you told me that i was the most beautiful mess:

you washed the pots and i dried them.

that day we hung the laundry to dry
when the sheets billowed in the summer breeze,

i think i fell in love with you.

and though the sheets are now cold without you

i will keep them warm until you return
with the sun in your hands.
twelve caesuras Mar 2014
i am walking
the phosphorescent line
between your body and mine
i am talking
to the pixie stix of our past
we always saved the cherry ones for last.

pick up the pace,
i don't care about saving face,
the skies will devour any steps to retrace.

i have listened
my ear against the door,
to an after and before
sands have glistened
like circles here and now,

this wind is ours,
it throws around the precious hours,
nightswimming during torrential rain showers.

i am running
the astute fold i made
in your eyes of copper and my soul of jade
i am screaming
there is you,
and me,
and us.

(and there are the
memories inside us, to a
certain degree.)

what is left to taste
is the emotions we misplaced
and the us in my mind, interlaced.

i will go anywhere
as long as
are waiting
on the horizon.
for JDM: ***, power, and chaos, right?
955 · Jan 2014
immeasurable shades of blue
twelve caesuras Jan 2014
gusts that
smell of
royalty blow in
circles around an
ultramarine orb
that sways
those winds make it
all sway (the
corialis effect)

celestial vaults
indigo are
dotted with luminous
globes of flame
free-falling but
lighting vales we've
never known
and it all tastes just

the sapphire
months in the middle
of the year
came and went in a
brilliant burst of
tanned skin,
sounding like

navy flavored emotions drip
from tired tongues
and eyes
in frigid rooms and
spills all over the
and walls

an immortal
kind of
twelve caesuras Dec 2013
"a sip or two"
resign to a warm death
under sheets and
violet colored visions
quiet outside ears and
between them
eyelashes are steel
body is stone

"a sip or two"
convivial for now
unravel into belligerence
pent up angst
not meant to be verbalized
now expressed physically
scream now while there's
something to blame it on
sleepwalking while awake
stagger through the night

"a sip or two"
a cold rebirth
temporary amnesia
awake with a ribbon of pain
entangled with being
hard to stand
what happened?
to think is to intensify a velvety ache
drown out the sickness
water is the most important meal of the day
"a sip or two"

oh, how the cosmos swirling
around heads and mirrors
make that nausea dance
953 · Jan 2014
twelve caesuras Jan 2014
this is

exhale first
a sigh
breathe later

so new
with green vines wrapped
around their cages

we find ourselves
in the

smoke mingles
comes from between
tired fingers

vines grow old

so old
with sticky tar
their cages

inhale first
tobacco tasting tongue
mirrors the soul
never comes

this is
915 · Feb 2014
twelve caesuras Feb 2014
when your fingertips brush aside the dust collected on my skin, i breathe it in instead. and you blow the cobwebs from my lungs then, and you have rid me of dust and sand and cobwebs steadily collecting over the years in mere minutes and with few words, and i can't help but ponder if time amounts to anything when you make such a change in me.

when your lips track the landmarks decaying in my bones, i shiver and they shake and they all break down until my only landmarks are the marks your kisses left. afterwards i run my hands over them and find that greenland is not as big as maps say and i am greenland when i am with you. i can't help but ponder if where we are is making me feel this way or if it's your existence cradling my cold shores.

when your eyes meet mine and tell me the secrets of paradise, i tell you the ones of inferno. you tell me of a place where my voice will scale mountains, where it will make trees reach up and grab of something above the sky and you tell me that my footsteps will echo melodies of green that ring through the air. you tell me that it feels like april all the time and then you blink and my purgatory is forgotten. i can't help but ponder if there is something on the cusp between earth and soul that you have given me.

and we dream with our heads together.
907 · Nov 2013
twelve caesuras Nov 2013
i was created in a room

with white walls,

white ground, white

sky. i was

conceived from a

thought stuck in a

corner, cornered by

orange flashes of distrust and

fiery blue sparks of unbelief.

i was born to conform, to

bend and blend and fold into

the turns and smudges and creases

already there. i was spawned to

live, among others who had 

blank faces and watery, tired eyes

and weary, withering souls as if

i, too, felt my spirit being ripped

to unidentifiable shreds by the

horror that is today. i was given
these lungs to breathe out lies, these 

bones to keep them moving.

my skin to deceive, my blood to

fabricate. this soulless body to live, as if

were a quiet star, hidden deep in

a crevice in the darkness, only able to

hear the other stars singing with

eyes and a jaded perspective.

but, doctor, sometimes i wonder:

who is it that is most convinced?

you, for believing that i can smile

or me, for smiling?
905 · Dec 2013
faith in the mundane
twelve caesuras Dec 2013
the car keys are still sitting on the table where you left them and
it has been however long since you left them
it's hot outside in the winter because i am too paranoid to freeze
they all say it's better to be safe than sorry
in the summer we sat on the porch and listened to the cicadas scream lulling symphonies
and we ate watermelon, spat the seeds at each other like we were mortal enemies
we were not mortal enemies
the sweet pink of my childhood days
i can only reach the fingertips now

the radio was static and i found myself getting sleepy
but my common lethargy is a cause of stress and anxiety like millions of other people
it is not anything special
yet i can't help but think that static sounds better than pop music

the grass is dead in the cold but i can't help but step on it when it freezes because i like the feeling
perhaps it'll die more
i do the same thing every day,
could we call that fate?
the ice box and the floorboards whisper to each other at night and the house dances in the wind
their secrets are not for me, but the tidbits i hear are terrifying
sometimes when i tie my shoes the bow ends up vertical
it really ****** me off
it is cold in my bed when i try to sleep
(i cannot)
so i pile up covers and turn myself into a cocoon or a burrito
but the next morning all the blankets are on the floor
i forget that i am doing my laundry right in the middle of the darks being dried
so all of my ******* shirts are wrinkled
haven't you noticed that when people ask you how you're doing, they just want to talk about themselves?
i humor my fellow humans as we stumble through the universe
when people are stuck in traffic, the cacophony of horns is quite amusing—
i reckon we only need one horn to be honked if we really need people to move
if you're angry enough to blow your horn for a solid ten minutes while you scream until your face is blue, why don't you break a window or commit a felony or something more productive
those people that knock on my door to convert me to whatever god-fearing religion they follow
know i am home when i do not answer
and they knock anyway

my hair is overgrown so i pull it back and people find it sophisticated
*i suppose when you do things out of the ordinary even if it's something that still counts as ordinary
the people have something new to talk about so
it's extraordinary
885 · Apr 2016
girl with velvet voice
twelve caesuras Apr 2016
there is some kind of atrophy
in her eyes
a chaotic mystery
voice made of dark blue suede
maps for hands and an
eye of the storm
kind of mouth

she leans against
the decaying pillars of
laughs quietly at the
rubble at her feet
she penned an elegy for
dedicated to the antithesis
of being,

it began

it began with the first
to me
883 · Apr 2015
twelve caesuras Apr 2015
oh, oasis
sunken faces
faded places
i'd go anywhere with you

in this desert
i am hurting
torrid weather
i'm deserving

oh, oasis
my blood races
color changes
it goes blue to red to blue

when you found me
my skin cracking
thoughts were blurry
words were lacking

oh, oasis
how you saved me
i was wasting
still, you craved me

when you found me
how you smiled
any distance
a million miles

how you saved me
how you saved me
oh, you braved me
my oasis
873 · Jul 2014
astrogirl 1
twelve caesuras Jul 2014
her eyes are coal,
smoldering in her head and
on my spine.
she stays silent.
i tell her to
imagine the whole universe in
thirty seconds,
but she laughs and says
"blast off."

when i see her
hair i think,
what a riveting rendition
of the cosmos and
her skin is like
the milky way,
freckles like
countless stars

she is
unfathomable, divine
and i
am revolving around
her stunning
supernova of a soul
that is too
bright to see clearly but
too gorgeous
to miss
poem no. 2 of the guillotine narratives
863 · Apr 2015
daydream: nightdrive
twelve caesuras Apr 2015
it's raining.
          it's raining and i think you're driving, maybe i am, but all that's for sure is that the clock says 12:32 and wild is playing and god, you look so beautiful as you hum i believe that i can make you scream. i don't know where we're going. it doesn't matter. the city is fading away, the blurred metal pillars only blurring further.
          we can only see so far ahead of us, the rain making the road into a strange ocean, lit by the two streams of our brights. i have an idea, one of us say. i think it's me. what is it? you ask, with starlight and interest in your voice. let's dance, i say, and in the next moment, we have pulled into the open field beside the road. you turn the volume of the radio until the air is thrumming with sound, and we dance in the rain, illuminated by the high beams. thousands of tiny rainbows soak into us, plastering our clothes to our bodies and our hair to our skulls. you take my hand and we spin like whirling dervishes and just when i begin to feel dizzy, you take me by the waist and kiss me. and kiss me. and kiss me.
          i feel like i am drowning in you, your taste convoluted by the warm, wet tears of the sky: earl grey. colors are dancing behind my eyes and there are a thousand songs i could be writing about these epiphanic moments but all i can really do is breathe through you and feel.
          you're shining, you say to me.
          so are you, i reply.
862 · Dec 2013
twelve caesuras Dec 2013
no one loves me
no one hates me

no one loves me
oh, i hate the feel of these sheets
gentle on my skin like nobody else
envelop me in an embrace i can only find in lucid dreams of the wine red sea

no one hates me
oh, i love the feel of these sheets
suffocating like the silence i can find in rooms i enter
clawed fingers that don't mean it half-heartedly wrap around my ankles to constrain me with little conviction

no one loves me
oh, i hate this place
december comes and makes the world into a monochrome worth waiting for
pure skies to fall over my shoulders that loosen the tension building up in my head

no one hates me
oh, i love this place
burning like the hells i like to visit on the weekends, i bring them home with me:
demons dancing on the walls and scratching at my skin at night

no one loves me
oh, i hate you so
worried like you should be about me and my tiny insanities
relentlessness until i rip the tape off of those dusty cardboard boxes and let you desecrate them all

no one hates me
oh, i love you so
balled fists and a red face to shout my wothlessness to the heavens and hit into my stomach so i can let you hear it in playback
red face red, red face blue

could i ask you to feel something?
anything as i melt in the company of eidolon,
forgotten after those many great years of neglect or disinterest

those many great years

no one loves me
no one hates me
861 · Sep 2016
the song of ganymede
twelve caesuras Sep 2016
the plants that grew in my absence were
enough to make absinthe, and
                    ambrosia          bloomed
where my footsteps had left indentations
in the grass.

{     and i am beautiful enough
               to make the gods come down
                     but the games they play
          send rot to my rosy, thorny crown.     }

the talons of the mountainous beast
           that brought me to meet you, past the exosphere
                    dug           deep
into my flesh, leaving pretty pink scars
that wore your name.

*{     i never thought about living past the end of time
          nor filling cosmic chalices with mead
               but you thought me divine and told me so with hurricanes
          and stole me from earth with your greed.     }
858 · Mar 2015
world history of one girl
twelve caesuras Mar 2015
1: picture day
that little girl with glittery hairpins and pink courdoroy overalls, scuffed white tennis shoes, missing teeth but making up for it in width of grin—
she's gone now.
that little girl with razor blade teeth and fiery eyes who never really figured out how to *play nice

she's gone now.
that little girl with smoke stuck to her skin and her skin laid bare for anyone that will take the carbon dioxide from her cheeks and replace it with air—
she's gone now.
she's gone.
i'm gone.

2: recess
playing house is about
the saddest thing i ever did.
because when the school bus
dropped me off at home, my
play pretend mommy wasn't
waiting. so my mind raised
me and it liked to play and
it could sit around and ***** me
over every ******* day. but
sometimes the monkey bars and
i made a truce: maybe i won't
fall, bruise my knees, come home
to one more form of abuse. maybe
if i swing high enough to kiss the
clouds, i won't have to worry about
i learned young it's not too fun on
the ground. it's like one never ending

4: show and tell
the way your breath hitches when i bite your lip
oh, close those last few inches, oh, tighten your grip
seizes my body with shudders and sighs
if you—god, dig your nails deeper into my thighs
tell me your desires, ****, anything you please
i'll call you master and beg for you on my knees
i can show you the sun at its most intense
s-so, mmf, oh, please, call me your little pet

5: lunchtime
the clock reads 12:13 and her lunchbox
reads hello kitty in paradise, prayer beads
of sweat gather on the brow of the 11-year-old
antichrist that doesn't know how to attack
the tupperware container filled with rice
and sliced whatever, i mean, she'll never
eat it, but this is a monster and the only way to
defeat it before the bell rings is to forget the whisperings
around her, and oh god, how they surround her as
she stands, takes hello kitty's paradise into her hands
takes it to the garbage bin, is it a sin to throw it away?
it doesn't matter anyway, mommy said she's the antichrist
so cheese and rice or keys jangling and ice
clinking in the glass, what did you learn in class? she doesn't
past tense her i love yous but  know she's lying,
she works so hard, i know mommy is trying
flying back and forth from here and somewhere else
so i wait in hello kitty's paradise watching as her ice water melts

6: naptime*
i can't fall asleep, i can't fall asleep,
and when i do, who keeps me safe?
can i trust one friendly face in this
free-fire zone of a saddened place?

it's so lonely here with all these kids
that **** on silver spoons and roasted pigs
and with greasy thumbs, pacify themselves
hand the apple to the teacher—
oh, they're doing so well!*

lay down, they tell me, lay down
but didn't i say it's not too fun on the ground?
so my mind merry-go-rounds, it sways, it swings
maybe someday i'll forget these things.
854 · Dec 2013
twelve caesuras Dec 2013
the thick darkness
of the
bathed in midnight sits
on the wide
shoulders of
wolf. he knows where he
is going and
flashes of
light from passing cars and
street lights
sky-scratchers illuminate his
face with eerie,
angular shadows.
his grin
shows all of his teeth, a white
that entrances
you and brings a
sense of unsafety
his eyes are so
that maybe in
the night it seems like he has
but you can tell he's seen
some things and
is seeing you.
he is smooth
and rough
and he sure knows how to keep
that balanced and he
knows how to make you
feel good.
he won't
lick your wounds but
you can get something
if you pay up.
floor 56, a rabid animal
moves through the
motions of making those who are not
feel like
they are.

do not be fooled.
he is not the
837 · Oct 2014
imago dei
twelve caesuras Oct 2014
is god a colorless little body with
burns on HIS wrists
lurking down a dark, foreign alleyway
a bottle in HIS hand?
is HE a colorless little body with
long, lanky limbs and
rings on all of HIS fingers
shining in patches through caked
on blood
are HIS knuckles bruised,
fingers sore?
are HIS all-seeing eyes black
and are they black
and are they black?
does HE suffer from sleep deprivation or
is sleep simply unnecessary?
are HIS dreams humanity or
is HE humanity's dream?

does HE change lives by taking them or
making them?
did HE say let there be light to
show his greatness or
to hide HIS omnipotent soul?
832 · Dec 2013
alternative thought
twelve caesuras Dec 2013
sometimes i wonder about how to make a constellation
on those dark nights where the sky unveils its hidden treasures
connecting the dots? is existing that easy?

those dark nights, when i sat outside and watched my breath strive for that starry sky

this universe of red strings intertwining us unavoidably
fate or destiny, whatever sounds better to you
ties us all together in a way we'd like to challenge with safety scissors

safety scissors and blind faith

every ounce of joy gained
only adds to the weight of the tragedy
is this echoing feeling of repentance

from me or you?

i have to stop walking
letting myself being dragged forward
i have to stop walking every once in awhile and

i ask myself, where is the world going?

rain clouds behind my eyes and thunder shaking my temples
i thought about those things daily
when those cold months of summer passed by like nails on a chalkboard

those cold months
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