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Anastasia Jun 28
ash
i called him ash
as charcoal was a bit obvious
and i loved him
so of course
i had to keep it a secret
c.b.❤
Strung Jun 14
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.
you tarnish me,

my fingers are *****,
you ***** me

I'm *****

you're soft in a hard form

you make marks,
but not alone

you need me to make marks,
you mark me


I need you to make marks


I inhale you,
I don't want to but you are there,

In my breath,

uninvited,

tiny invasions

violations,

creeping into my orifices,

under my nails,

in the cracks of my skin,

on my skin


I need you,

I use you,

you use me to spread yourself,

I spread you,

you disseminate across the surface,

across me, 

on to my skin.


It's dark,

you're dark,

you make me dark,

I use you lightly but you are still darker than the light,

I make you darker,

not darker than yourself,


You touch me,
I touch you,
we come together,

we collide,

I make a collision using you. 

I use you


There is sound,

you are silent but your movement makes sound,

I move you to make sound,

you and I generate sound,

we generate,

generate sound,
marks,
dust,
traces,

little traces of touch.

I no longer have you but you're still with me.

I see you. 

I feel you.

you make me *****.



I wash.

                                                          
                                                                            *compressed Charcoal
Canis Latrans Feb 21
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.
The smell.
Sandalwood and gasoline.
c Mar 25
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
& unsolved

--
c
Falling in love with a stranger/acquaintance
Seanathon Mar 11
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.
nja Jan 28
GO FOR JEUNE!
- darts for charcoal.
Jeune boy is compassionate, secure, loving.
What more could a girl want?
Charcoal.
Charcoal boy is mad.
Boy, is he unhealthy, inconsiderate, hurtful, hateful.
Full of everything but love for me
Choose wisely.
Self-flagellation anyone?
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.
Joy Oct 2018
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.
Anya Oct 2018
She comes to class and goes
“There’s bees in my Head”
Then pulls out
Another mug
Of coffee
Which happens
To be the cause

Another comes
Face on the verge of tears
“He did it again!”
We all know who
“He” is
Then proceeds to
Accept hugs
While giving
An in depth narration

Another comes in
“I’m, just, dying”
She proceeds to get
More hugs
While another friend
Calls her “hot”
And she insists she’s not

The fourth comes in
She’s been sacrificing
Her free time
To attend this class
And her sad tired smile
Says it all
She gets hugs too

And here I am
In the middle
Suffocated
...
Am I emotionally immature?
Am I too much of a cynic?
Is it me, or is it them?
Am I just different?
Or too self conscious?
...
Why do they have so many problems?
...
Then class starts
And I turn to our model,
A plastic skeleton dubbed
-Bony Bonez

And lose myself
In the charcoal
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