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 Aug 2017 Wyvern Queen
I've been homesick,

It's been a long time since I've last given birth to gods in my poetry; so to the old truths and the new: 'hallelujah'

My tongue was a slave to lovely things---I'll admit it was easier that way, but now I've been writing it down again; turning spiders into stories and cancer into planets

who was I to begin with,
who was I.

I'll say it now. I will never escape the wolves. Those wolves with their chalk outlines and their lakota moons. They'll try to teach themselves how to walk back into your life again and don't you dare forget the ruin, oh don't you dare forget how the fire kissed you

she was moonlight sonata,
but he was clair de lune.

He fed me to the bullet feast when he saw fit and I left his ashes on the sidewalk; daybreak can have it for all I care now.

"I don't know if I'm in love with you anymore"

I remember my body as a garden of stars disguised as flowers; my roots merely empty spaces dismantled by the light. I remember the bullets in the soil he planted, and the wars that grew in it's place. I became a walking example of death; a soul in the process of decay.

Who was I,
who was I to begin with.

Dear all that has haunted me all these years: I am ready for you. I have always been ready for you.

Tell me where to sell my soul, and I will meet you there.

---Swimming in the moonlight
you wanted to fix me
you lied

© Copywrite Skaidrum
 Mar 2017 Wyvern Queen
new moon
"just let me sleep,"
moon eaten
my absence upsets all.
Look at me, really look at me,
stare up at the belly of a loved sky,
watch fingers dipping into bowls of blood holding hope,
feeling around for a sliver,
of sweet milk,
of relief,
of anything;

new moon whispers
on the dead bodies left behind,
god sighs---
he knows;

"I am not the same"

waxing crescent
map out my wreckage,
my skeleton of poetry;
in the spines of books loved by mankind,
bury me there in a pages of flowers---
in the altitude of words;
read me with a hunger you have never known before,
over and over;
whenever it seems fit~
like the light of the moon is a cigarette.

he's always smoking now.
god takes another drag;
he describes to me:

"You could be my bible,
you book of blood"

I can't stand smoke...

"I have no business in being your  holy snakeskin."

first quarter
I've been searching for
solid ground, solid shadows,
a solid compromise;

I wanted a little more
than ordinary love from him so I

asked him where the static began,
for me it's below my bottom left rib
and found that it was also where the spiders started too.

Time, that quiet thing
obeys god, only
because it waits for no one

it loves
unzipping the law of alchemy,
cause ink flowered in my blood again;
I should thank time
it was this saving kind of grace;
always has been

god stroked my hair this time
and said quietly:

"You see,
the saddest thing is realizing
that there's nothing more they can do for you"

waxing gibbous
Oh, where's my love?
Is it in the fever I call happiness,
is it in the sword my mama raised me to be

Is it in the way
the moon tiptoes closer
when he says my name
in that beautiful way he does

or breaks my name
over his teeth like it's just
glass apples

God doesn't even look at me
he doesn't have to;

"Do you believe in angels?"

the wreckage answers him
"not lately"

full moon
And it begins again
I watch as he just looks away
and says it's fine
it hurts

god narrows his eyes but shrugs

"Pain had other plans for you."

I breathe out raggedly;

"I guess,
if there's no key
then I'll just swallow the whole door."

I trusted you.
I love you more than anything.
© Copywrite Skaidrum
I laugh all the time
and I smile with glee,
but my heart never feels truly open and free.
I may look happy, and most times I am,
but I can never forget the sinking feeling within my heart.
It's all inside my head,
the thoughts and the memories
It's a mental issue,
is the only conclusion I have...
No matter how happy I think I am,
i realize that my heart doesn't feel the same

Despite that,
I'm glad I built my walls too high,
too thick to penetrate
Because I don't want my friends to see that,
i don't want to let them know,
what is constantly on my mind...

I've heard people say that I'm as simple as a book,
that my walls are no more than a pitiful snow fort,
and I almost laugh
because they couldn't be more wrong

If my walls were so thin and so meek as to melt under
the heat of the sun,
I would have been figured out long ago

I feel that I am no longer able to carry my own weight
whether it's the weight of my responsibilities or just myself,
i'll never know
I eat slower, much less than what I used too,
finally becoming conscious of that weight
Maybe even trying to lift my physical burden,
in hopes that it will relieve my mental one

I have yet to find answers for myself,
in the **** storm of my head
Is it a real, mental problem?
Perhaps a phase of the teenage mind?
Or am I just... looking for attention...?
i was awoken from a spooky nightmare and wrote this really quick so its probably ****, i might change stuff later
Physically, I am alone.

During the day,
My father,
and brother,
all work.

While I am still young,
without a car or a job;
unable to leave the house.

The days feel long,
Paranoia makes it impossible to sleep in,
As it makes it impossible to fall asleep.
“Summer is the perfect time to regulate your sleep schedule!”
That's not what's happening, as much as I may wish.

During the day,
I will draw,
I will write,
I will play music on the stereo so loud that it could be heard from outside,
Just to keep my thoughts from going astray.

It’s no better when my parents get home either,
I still end up avoiding them.
I've never had a close connection with them anyways.

. . .

Mentally, I feel alone.

My parents have never understood me,
Nor have they ever tried.
I know my brother cares,
But I’ve realized that he doesn’t understand either.
I know that my friends care,
And I'm sure that a few of them understand too.
But when they ask me what's wrong...

I have nothing to say.

Maybe there are so many things going wrong that I don't know what to say.

Maybe there is absolutely nothing...

    *Maybe I'm fine...
                                                                ­                   Maybe I'm hiding it all...

I feel I'll never truly know,
Maybe I'll even believe in my own lies so much,
that they end up becoming truths.

I'll stay alone,
I honestly don't mind.

It's never bothered me,
I've always been this way,
It's just another year this way.

Loneliness is not always a bad thing,
I feel fine by myself,
Away from others with no expectations.

*I enjoy being alone;
As much as it breaks me down.
c Ashrah
another rant i suppose. that's all this is.
that's all these ever are.
i should really try to branch out one of these days...
and i have many, good friends..
but these thoughts have never left
i thought, maybe if i wrote them down, it would make my thoughts quieter.
 Jun 2016 Wyvern Queen
Spare me, if you would

It's a foreign land but a familiar street,
red broken teeth and alabaster snow;
I remember it fondly.

Sober winter and blue cloth;
I still see us there.
I'm almost certain, that
St. Petersburg questioned our youth.
just a little closer
"Dance with me, Kirusha?"

All those years ago,
and we still drink up this disease.
The sour love of iron and wine
with shots of homesickness.
Russian rouge
American Dream
"Why did you have to leave?"

I ache to recall it,
because those gates still leak with cold.
This value withers in the white noise;
"Don't you ******* dare say that his death was just an experiment."
'You failure'

I sought it,
the ribbons of old confidence
while the stars looked on from their chairs.
I never found what I was looking for.

Go ahead and criticize;
the way we baptized my betrayal.
Knot up all the love you wasted
and send it overseas.

All that matters to me, Romichka
is that Death paid no mind to you.

Ruby apples at my doorstep
flowers that need blood instead of water.
A sense of hunger in this forsaken city
does not comfort me.

I just suppose
I've been thinkin' too much
And the bitterness let itself in again.

So when you find the time,
Write whatever's left of me in the fire;
along with all the other things.

I want to see you again
© Copywrite Skaidrum
 May 2016 Wyvern Queen
One day you'll find that in reality people don't care, they're just curious.

Do not follow this black willow dog
"I'm not following you."
The lucid smoke hums you lie
"I don't smoke."
Of course you don't
"Then what do you mean?"
You merely burn

"So...why are you always by yourself?"
It was a quiet war
"Quiet war?"
I lost so many
"So many what?"
Beloved souls to the book
"What book?"
Death's wish-list

"Are you the only one left?"
"How do you know?"
This rain spares nothing
"So you don't know."
Time knows
"It's 3:04 a.m."
So it is

"Are you going home?"
The city is laughing, little lamb
"Why is it laughing?"
Cold feet of the crossroads
"Why are we talking about crossroads?"
Home was eaten there
"Excuse me?"
That is why we stray

"You look sad."
I am indeed
"Why don't you rest for a while?"
Is the riverbed dry?
"What are you talking about?"
Drought season isn't here yet

"Are you hungry?
I drank chipped starlight
"I asked if you were hungry."
The abyss always is
"I'm lost..."
Nothing needed to be found

"Who are you?"
A stray willow dog
"What's a willow dog?"
Yellow bones rattle the concrete
"Why are they yellow?"
I'm grieving
The sky died in his heart

"What if I told you I loved you?'
Coins in the fountain
"That has nothing to do with..."
Forget them
"Forget who?"
Sweet water wishes
"But wishes are not forgotten."
The smoke is humming again
"How peculiar.."
You take these for granted

You have disobeyed
"Oh?  How so?"
You followed me to the cobblestones
"Oh, I'm sorry."
Blue mirrors
"What about them?"
Reflect morbid futures
"But you don't have one, don't you?"
Willows weep for  many  reasons

"'re going the wrong way."
Am I, now?
"Heaven's this way."
It's a merciless road.
© Copywrite Skaidrum
“How are you able to sleep so much?”
I’m tired, I guess...
“Why do you nap almost everyday?”
I’m trying to forget, I guess...
“Why did you stay up so late?”
It’s quieter at night, I guess...
“Why do you still fall asleep really early sometimes?”
“I don’t want to deal with anything anymore, I guess...
“What do you mean, you didn’t fall asleep last night?”
I was dreading tomorrow, I guess...
“There are a lot of insomniacs out there, be grateful that you can even get sleep.”
I know… i am...
“You need to fix that sleep schedule of yours.”
It’s not that I need to fix it… it's probably just my body knowing when everything’s become too much…

. . .

“Why do you sleep so much?”
I want to, I guess...
“Do you enjoy sleeping a lot?”
… yes
“Has anyone ever asked you that before?”
… no
“What are you trying to achieve by sleeping more?”
I’m trying to forget, to procrastinate, to waste time, to not deal with anything, a lot of things, I guess…
“Why do you keep saying, ‘I guess’?”
I’m unsure of myself, I don't know the exact reasons behind my want for sleep...
“Those answers were pretty... honest.”*
Now that's a first, isn't it?
Again, this didn't turn out like a poem but o well :>
copywrite Ashrah
 Apr 2016 Wyvern Queen
I like to convince myself that she's a walking solar system.
­                                                          (It will never be enough;)        
She has the sunken cheek bones of Mercury;
~filthy shadows, caked in crimes~
they forge her face,
oh so well,
and engrave her smile in
stone; the sun
laughs sourly,
and then,
he spits on her.
                   ­                    (Because sorrow is a sweet thing.)
         She reminds me of Venus the most.
         Her hair is the murmur of violet,
         her beauty, it lingers,
         ~like cigarettes beyond the boundary~
         the cosmos, the constellations, and the milky way.
         She is my dragon princess,
         draped in stars and wounds.
         She bleeds
         the somber color of night.
         She is royal, yet alas
         "The queen didn't come
         without a crumbling castle.

                                                                ­  (Three)
                                            (So take it in, don't hold your breath)
                                                      ­   Beneath the arc of her spine;
                                                         Is where Earth plays
                                                         poker with her bones.
                                                         It's such a shame,
                                                         that her ace is her 'unkempt heart,'
                                                         and she lost it to a pitiful bet,
                                                         with a certain ghost I once knew.
                               (The bottom's all I've found.)
            Her fingers gouge through time's fabric, and her hands
            remind me of Mars;
            Powerful and ******,
            Oblivious to what she's created;
            I'm afraid
            the phantom
            she wishes so dearly to see,
            is only getting hungrier.
               (Diamond wings were meant to be torn)
Jupiter is the core of her anxiety,
and she basks in it every day,
never by choice, never by desire.
Muscles and skin of iron and goldenrod,
they carve out our very own Aphrodite,
which is you,
it's always been you.
A rabid angel,
a calamity of chaos,
frothing with  blackened fear.
                                                        ­       (Six)
                              (Spill every flower from your garden of thoughts)
                                             Subtle depression lurks between the
                                             the crooked sea of her ribcage,
                                             it's Saturn smoking rings,
                                             brewin' up the cinders.
                                             ~I reminiscence in the white lace~
                                             of the cobwebs that hold her
                                             heart together.
                                             I've plucked them,
                                             those strings play a mournful
                                             sonata, with her name written all over it.
                          (Promises bend at every funeral we attend)
              In the graces of her palms we found Uranus,
              like teal teeth
              and whimsical witchcraft,
              I watched her thread magic into this world.
              Her hopes shift-shape into 'nocturnal fairies',
              and 'grim reapers' with broken music boxes.
              She is naïve, but that is
              a trait she needs to survive
              in our world of
              metallic dreams and navy nightmares.
                                       (Rejection is a survivable heartache)
                                                   ­  And so what if her heart reminded me
                                                      of Neptune the most?
                                                      The royal vastness
                                                      of­ blue and ivory;
                                                      ~rip­tides on the walls of her soul~
                                                      I want her to know that ambitions
                                                      l­eave more scars and
                                                      tear more crystal flesh;
                                                      tha­n her polished wishes ever will.  
                       (Have you ever seen blood and water in love?)
And her lungs,
they remind me of the honesty of Pluto.
So small, and docile,
like an elliptical smile of grey fire.
Would you lay with me a while,
count your unconditional lovers;
like our burnt stars in mason jars?
Struggle is the birth
of the void and the 'rapture'
~Your king and poet will wait for you,
in the radiant abyss of our ink-hearts~
I will guide you to his open arms,
              a hug awaits my dragon princess.

                                                     ­                   He wears the stars for clothes,
                                                      li­ke an outlaw,
among the banks of the universe.
               Where disease can't reach him, or she,
                                          Cancer can't harm you anymore,

                                                       ­          "Not anymore, Belle."
Sincerely, Capricorn.
© Copywrite Skaidrum
Why do you yell at me?
Why did you never yell at him?
When I'm defending my mother from you and you look back and tell me,
"Why don't you keep your ******* mouth shut and speak when I tell you to speak"
Why do you only say that to me?
Why do you say "it's none of your buisness"
When you're yelling at my ******* mother
Of course it's my buisness and if you think I'm not going to fight back then you're dead ******* wrong
But why
Why do you
You only yell at me
You never yelled at him
When he spoke his mind and pointed out your wrong-doings
You didn't do anything
You didn't yell at him and tell him to shut his ******* mouth
You didn't tell him that
And now that he's in college I'm alone to face him
God knows that he doesn't care what my mom has to say
I'm alone here and there's nothing I can do
All I can wonder
Is why he does this to me
And not you
Why does he yell at my mom when she didn't do anything wrong
Why does he get mad when I defend her
Why does he get mad when I open my mouth
Why does he yell at me for this
What am I doing wrong
Is helping my mother wrong?
Why am I not allowed to fight back?
Why won't you let me talk until I'm spoken to?
Is what I'm doing really so wrong?

I'm crying and this is **** but I have to let it out
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