[x]

Seeing Red AgainShe kept saying something about cardinals, yammering on while I continued to study the swaying cattails, watching sunlight and wind smear through the reeds. I heard her mumbling something about beauty and youth and color but I couldn't quite hear her. I was captivated by a flaming sunset, observing the fire trickle through rippled lake water. Seeing for the first time an effervescent inferno dancing on ever-distant hills. I yearned for heat.

She told me of blood: moist, hissing, exquisite.
She said it was fire; a delectable, searing ecstasy.
"It feels like roses, maraschino cherries, iron scalding across your tongue."

Head down,

The Beginning To A Better Ending. That's me, the quiet one popping her fingers in the corner. At the moment I'm feeling acutely awkward. I really don't know anyone in this room except for my "x" and his new girlfriend, not exactly prime candidates for conversation.

I notice Austin: six foot four, quarter-inch shaved hair and patches on a bleachedout jacket. Sam persists that he's hilarious but I've yet to hear his German pornstar impression. He mozzies on over to join our circle, plopping down beside me.

I feel the cool of glass pressing against my wristbone. Someone passes me the pipe. I think her name is Minnie but most people calls her Hollywood. I ignite the n

Pisces"…so drown me. I mean, if you can."
A threat in her eyes. Triple dog dare.

And I'm on edge but I don't wanna show her just yet.
"Now you can't honestly expect me to be foolish enough?
Drowning fish is a fruitless endeavor."

She smiles, all fury and triumph. Her ocher eyes ignite; flickering then flaming.
"O' but sister, are you not a fish, same as I?
Are we not of the same blood, the same scales?"

And I hesitate, ever-cautious.
What's she hinting at? Huh, sis'?
What's that card sewn up your sleeve?
I hesitate for just a moment too long.

"And you would believe it impossible, no?
A difficult enterprise to say t

I am what you made me to be.You know what this is.
(I never knew

beneath.)

No matter how hard,

typical of reptilian whores,
and you were dirty,
much the same,

alive in kaleidoscope
concepts.
(Intercourse at every

angle.)

Only in the seconds I
couldn't count

strings.
(We are but

puppets.)

Exhaling supernova
influence, tasting.

Control.

Paranoid ClairvoyantI wanted it.

And I did not allow direct acknowledgement, wrestling with the idea. More than want,
more like need. And the absurdity of it! Why should I feel this craving,
this magnetic necessity?

He was more than I had ever allowed myself to hope for. And maybe he wasn't exactly angelic, but something within him was untouched, tucked safely away from the world.

Sometimes I could see it; this stability, this utter sureness. And as I hoped for something else, any other explanation, I saw him struggling, trying not to let it touch his eyes. He'd always been ready to leave.

My heart swelled past a unmanageable volume.

rotted
nake

And Maybe I'm Morbid For Loving You"I'm starting to feel the maggots," she spits from gnarled lips.
Her yellowed eyes reek of festering wounds; infection seeping through her skin.  I stare closer, noticing the wriggling masses clustered behind her eye sockets.   Cream-colored grubs swim through her facial flesh.

I am appalled.  Revulsion pools in my mouth, spills from my teeth.
"Oh God . . . "
She flinches, shame floods her features.  Her muscles go rigid, stiffening at my reluctance. She senses aversion, animosity, hostility.  Fiber glass slamming against her sensitivity; tiny shard

Even The Ocean Is Weak.Rivulets of moisture along a wilted iris.   The lush velvet is soft to some but sharp for many. Foreboding purple petals.

It once consisted of kisses; youth and growth and light.
          " Petal lips may feel smooth now, but happens when they wither?
          Am I not the first to tell you that all flowers die? "

-

She said it like it was the only thing she ever wanted
"Leave Me Alone."

          the ocean is tumultuous
    &#

Delicate ConvulsionsSmall, minute shifting, scarcely detectable.
Shivers in the gravel, fidgeting stone.

Glory is sex, muscle and heaving flesh.

I am of glass.

People expect it, requisite.
Required, necessary. Not an option.

And you wouldn't notice it.

LEGALLY literally INSANE I could tell you a story of beauty and butterflies and fuzzy feelings, but it wouldn't be accurate or useful. It wouldn't be entertaining, or helpful, or even truthful. It would be lying, and I would be the liar.

So I'll start by saying, I have a freckle between one of my toes. His name is Fred, and I try to talk to him, but he refuses to respond. I speak of the garbage disposal, tell him of the tiny teeth people trying t

TheismThe black widow martyr
drips misery across the scenery
while the sky bleeds acid into unmarked graves
and headstone cracks
[[with worm hole veins]]

Her flesh is tissue paper
creased in four dimensions
but she remembers her prayers
and questions her motives
[[does she still believe?]]

Today, the rope is playing God

Note To SelfTruth is, I don't know anymore.

Every string, unwinding, unweaving.
The unlikely demise of a tapestry.
The tapestry.
My tapestry.

I'd like to remind you of… well, a lot of things.
Everything.
Everyone.

And I'm sorry, but there's no theme.
No message to be had.
These are just words.
I am just words.

Dirty Needlesmy skin is an embarrassment of preconceived genetics
without sensory or proof
and all they could say was
My Dear, it's comatose.

the statistic
recovery
and
relapse
tasting forbidden flavors
mountains of unconsciousness
memory is a sieve

capability in the mouth of my nightmares
organs conjuring art
quiet shocks of color

tremolo voices breed beauty with lightning
misunderstood power
Defiance.

they claimed it was premeditated murder
an idea of expected growth
and efficiency

__________________________
the cadaver is resilient; remaining
simply to leech sleep
from oceans
of abandoned opium

Fading awayDon't cry anymore,
I no longer feel.
Don't know who I am.
What lie is real?

Girl in my mirror,
That girl should be me,
Her eyes are empty.
I'll never be free.

I'm lost, alone.
Forgotten who I am.
I still don't understand,
How it all began.
Minute by minute,
step by step.
I'm fading away.

Can you remember,
who I was before?
Who was that girl,
that is no more?

Virus inside me,
eating me alive,
No one can see,
Keep it all inside.

I'm lost, alone.
Forgotten who I am.
I still don't understand,
How it all began.
Minute by minute,
step by step.
I'm fading away.

Those empty eyes,
That blank stare.
That pale face,
Look

Crucial PerspectiveWho are you to solidify me?
Crisscross vertigo
sloppy, still shameless.

At least it's easier.
Fuck it.
She knew much more than I could say.

Why wait for assistance?
Get on your feet.

____________

( partially.
please don't make me admit it.
she is slamming through my soul;
unfortunate and profound. )

Crucial filament distorting imagery.
She is a tumor
a malignant mound of flesh.

Spoken with idealistic assurance
Promises projected from warped paradigms
She becomes less of what I see, and more of what I know.

Simply A Lapse of JudgementI don't want it. Quarrel quizzical quencher. Cold.
She is flamboyant; manic delirium. Yet complacent,
strangely accepting
Defeated.

I am a fragment, a glimpse, a reflection
weightless, splintered, incomplete.
I am inconsistent
false
and sparkling.

She was an aberration, unintentional
and utterly free.

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 771 bytes more ▶

More from ~EmaciatedandEpitaphs

Flip U The Birdie[lookatyourselflookatyourselflookatyourself]

Can you do it for me?

Fuckin' roll out the red carpet of that razor-slut tongue. Lap at the pus riddled pride, it's oozing fuckin' delicious. And you know what the best part is??? This is soundless, and you won't hear it,
will you?

I have the ice of a vulture's heart and the survival talent of eagle claws. So little birdie, would you please fly away?

Abandoned.
[butalwaysbehind]

Popov in plastic bottles. Cheap liquor at 2am. Alcoholic shadows lurking in the stairwell.
Sorry, my complexities do not hold the capacity of a spiral staircase.
[lookatmelookatme]

Mirrors pol

Cynicism of the Corpse(and my lips are cinnamon ribbon. twisting but always a curve of silk elegance.)
Won't you smile back?

Cherry velvet crushing into my pores, tasting of messy maraschino fabric.
Dirty girl stays to gawk at the sloppy red.

Sheep-faced conformist, shave the wool from your pride.
Quadruped intellect seduced into the sickness of a follower.

The words write all the same. Every language scrawled in a different shade of
B U L L S H I T

Elbow in deep a stranger's lungs, and I am disappointed to see they are not my
own. You look so silly when you choke like that, and I must admit it's
entertaining.

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

#Dark-Asphyxiation
A group for morbid minds!

#TheScribblists
Slight Writing Obsession...

#DieMatrix

#PsychoArtistUnited
Macabre, gore, unstable

#LoveNeverEnds

#Horror-Writers-Unite
Bring out your bad side.

#WritersInk
What's your story?

#WordsOfPower

Details

Submitted: December 27, 2012
File Size: 771 bytes

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 2
Favourites: 17 [who?]
Views: 127 (0 today)
Downloads: 6 (0 today)

[x]

truth is, I don't wanna love you.

by ~EmaciatedandEpitaphs, Dec 27, 2012, 11:45:51 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Is it really fear?
Till my blood runs silver, pure mercury.
I know little of coherency.
-
Today feels like chalk and phlegm and pheromones.
I remain a retching mound of meat.
An undulating mass of muscles and organs.
-
When I thought of you I thought of flesh.
Sensation and numbness,
breathing while holding my breath
alive but always dead
-
I saw red, maraschino streaks.
Lines of flamingo pink creased across the surface.
Then I thought of flesh and blood and feeling
and for a second,
I couldn't hate you.
-

Is this fear?

truth is, I don't wanna love you.by ~EmaciatedandEpitaphs

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Something wriggling inside me,
i wish not to give it life.

*Vagabond-Arcadia Dec 30, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I feel like I favorite your work without commenting quite a bit. I might try to change that.

This is truly excellent, in so many ways. Your style is always so powerful, like I'm being punched in the gut whenever I read a line, and I love it. This is no exception.

~EmaciatedandEpitaphs Jan 2, 2013

Thank you, this piece is so personal I almost didn't put it up.
Although I must say I have missed your comments, and thank you again for choosing to do so now.

More from ~EmaciatedandEpitaphs

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

truth is, I don't wanna love you.

truth is, I don't wanna love you.by ~EmaciatedandEpitaphs

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style