Each stroke of my charcoal pencil,
Scraping against paper,
Scratched out yet another scar
Masking my feelings
As they bled on paper-
Black rivers running scarlet,
And locked it there,
A dam brimming
Wiped off, in a brave
Attempt to never
Be uncovered again,
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the fragrance of white lilies
permeating the still air
soft brush of silken petals
on translucent flesh
blood red orchid drop
bleeding through the vignettes
through the charcoal outlines
black and white thoughts mix
into murky shades of grey
this monotone life
but the fragrance of white lilies
I never knew black could look so dark
A tar like sludge rushing down my throat
They told me I had to
That it wasn’t a choice
Cherry flavored charcoal has ruined my mind
It was a darker black than anything I’d ever seen
It was either that or death
One dark black for another
As I downed two bottles of what no one should ever ingest
I cried and cried at the mess
Dark black in my mouth, on my face and in my mind
In a way it saved be but is another way altered my mind
i called him ash
as charcoal was a bit obvious
and i loved him
so of course
i had to keep it a secret
I’m thinking all my charcoal thoughts—
Scorching on my mind—
I’m thinking all my crumbly words
Are worth the dark’s dull time
I sit here in the dark
And watch the embers burn
The feelings of the faces here
Mean nothing in the urn.
I sit against cold tiles,
Hiding in the dark
The fire burns me inside out
I’m alone, I’m hurt.
I sit deep in the fire
I have no more bones to give
All my blood is boiling
And my eyes have all but caved
I sit here in the fire
And think my charcoal thoughts
I want nothing else to do
With anything but dust.
Burn the legs and up the arms
I’m done with walking free
Burn the brain, the heart, the soul
I retire to the dream.
The graphite colored smoke, that rose from your charcoal covered body, in billows of silver.
The ferocious orange and yellow flames, that dance at the thought of bringing your bones into the sun.
Sandalwood and gasoline.
He’s shaved like a survivor of something
And this is the first time I’ve realized, his
Head normally baubled under a dark cap
His arms spindle, bark bent at shoulder and elbow
The leaf of his hands shiver around a 6B
I watch him become a Broadleaf before my eyes
He stretches long around the room
Determined to crowd every corner
Trundling, truncated at root
I wish to be as I see him
A beautiful tangle, loud in motion and
Silent in speech, sprinting full speed
His feet pound in dirt,
Name sprawled on the walls in capital BLACK
Demanding to be heard or at least recognized
He is the mystery of the day, every day
The jumbled stranger, in pieces strewn
Falling in love with a stranger/acquaintance
A splash of color beside the eyes
With ravens lock or barley bright
A starlight freckle on either side below woolly rise
Where pale skin moonlight meets heavy misted
As I scratched away and bent my back
To curve her own ever so slightly twisted
How I drew my girlfriend on a page
Until she then in dimension existed
Amazing how the spine of a poem can shape the work entirely.
GO FOR JEUNE!
- darts for charcoal.
Jeune boy is compassionate, secure, loving.
What more could a girl want?
Charcoal boy is mad.
Boy, is he unhealthy, inconsiderate, hurtful, hateful.
Full of everything but love for me
Because I can suffocate and choke myself on charcoal, I push jeune away in a bout of responsibility.
Choosing between a boy that is bad for me and a boy that is nice for once.
My hand is stiff
from gripping my pencil too hard.
My fingers hurt
from pressing the drawing charcoal
to the paper.
My eyes are sleepy
from drawing for six hours straight.
This pain is an intoxicating delight.