[x]

white blank pageThe problem.

Sometimes, I have to rinse my mouth out because of that. I still have their taste on my tongue. Hers and his and yours.

(Especially yours.)

I can't get rid of this and start scratching my tongue with the sharpest words I can find.

Piano Strings. Thorns. Glass. Edges. Fear. Grasp. Coldness. Heart ache. Claws. Saturn. Lemons. Tango Argentino. Summer Camp. Lips. Beer. Razors.

But now the taste is a composition of other peoples' souls and an aeruginous copper coin.

Like tea brewed with sewerage and withered moments. That and 300 grams full of blood.

I try to fight fire with petrol and end up in an uncomfortable faint. Deep in

Half My HeartCrawling in circles like some broken animal,
Walking toward the impending danger,
Running to the one who broke my heart in half.

I once loved you more than you understand
And to this day I still do.
You see right through me now,
No more than a ghost of your past.

Do you see these tears falling down my face?
Do you hear the screams I utter,
Every time the blade cuts a little deeper?

I can't go on like this forever
And I can never have you back.
I can only love with half my heart,
But half my heart...
still belongs...

POP! goes the Bubble .I'm twirling in ecstasy, feeling high on life,
almost as if my fingertips are caressing the sky;

I'm living in a bubble, think the air around is cursed,
so please don't rush in heart-first like a fool

and make it burst.

Blood Brother's PastYour essence engulfs me like the periodic elements
  but my eyes act like a magician and makes you disappear.

My voice impersonates the devil's games
& causes you to stab my ears with hollow
   threats & i'll listen to every one until
    i'm deaf, because i love you as much as I'm
     obsessed with my whiskers.

I'll play blood brothers with you if it
means forever will stain my veins even if
  you inject your goodbyes in them.

I'm marinated in love for you
because of the way you drink in
  my coffee eyes.

I'll never leave.

She Won't Inhale RealityBreathe in the insanity
you deny you gave me.

Yank the happiness
you thought you could
only give me.

Make me spit out
the cliche phrases
you had no courage
to confess.

Kiss me before
i become your
next victim.

Tell me you
love me after
i say goodbye.

2012"2012"

O sweet array of light and grotesque sounds

Rise up from the ashes and let your symphonies be found

Tambourines will clatter and horns will be heard

The sun will explode and all vision will be blurred

Grueling noises of slicing spleens and cutting throats

Horrid noises of screams from drowning boats

Creatures from your nightmares warp free from your mind

Fears from your haunted pasts are present to unwind

Ugly monsters and evil spirits will invade every church

And nowhere will be safe for even birds to perch

Dancing teapots and writing utensils come to life

Furniture will eat you alive; O what a sight!

The vultures and wol

numbering the steps.I'd like to count the number of times you fucked me over, but I only have ten fingers and toes.

-

I never mentioned this but I really should have.
Because it was so hard that you were blowing me off, especially after the third/fourth/fifth/fourteenth time.

Or in September, when your eyes could look everywhere but mine – when I finally stopped telling you, because I knew you weren't listening.

Oh, and you killing yourself last April. There's that.

(Your note said: "Tell Scarlett I'm sorry." And oh God, Charlie, please believe me, I tried so hard to make it right, I did.)

-

Fourteen days, two hours, and fifty-nine minutes: how long

don't you stop 'til you know you're gone the bone-flutes are flooding out my lucidity.
nothing makes sense, but everything belongs.

the sheets are oily and hot on my skin.
exhausted, i try to escape,
only to drop out of reality and through the floors.

palpitationsMy veins,
blue born licorice whips,
weaving webs for blood spiders on my thighs,
thin cerulean shoelaces tying knots around my wrists,
hold fast, heartbeats pumping like gasoline,
I am living, but I am not alive.

The Spectrum of Colorstrails of neon green coiled down my spine,
highlighting each ridge and crevice
in too-bright color; the echoing feeling of bliss
creeping to my toes, slow swirls ignorant of time.

navy blue sparks fly, attracted to your skin fleeing from my fingertips
encasing the two of us in tendrils of heated amber,
opposites coalescing; grey moths drawn to flames colored ochre
as your hands grace my body, teal gliding performing faultless flips.

gentle paths of silver wind between our hands,
now joined as our passions meld;
swimming within oceans of lavender, chocolate eyes held
still connected by intertwined emotions, fandango bands.

spools o

Painting ThunderstormsI will remember you in flowers, dead and never given.
We are broken promises and shattered glass.
In your traitorous arms,
I wish I'd never closed my eyes,
You are like all good headaches
in that, you will fade away,
In painkillers and flowers on a grave.

DriftElectric flashes upon the skin;
reflections of fear's loving advocate.

Infect me white and loud,
cracks of rumbling noise rolling
over brittle bones
making me a beautiful

O c e a n.

and how he loves to rock within me;
a sailboat on blue tremulous waves,

waiting for tsunamis.

helium balloon lungs
i. You write me notes scribbled on sandpaper
and I run them across my face,
scraping away layers of saccharine skin,

ii. Your eyes, made of cookie crumbs,
I'd like to dip them in milk
and watch them melt,
smoking like dry ice,

iii. You churn my childish heart
in circles and in circles
till I slip into cardiac arrest,

iv. I just remembered that time you
wrapped your arms around me like vines
and held me until you couldn't,

v. Oh what I'd give for a pair of
fortune cookie lungs,
inhaling intuition,
exhaling self-fulfilling prophecy,

vi. I've been fishing for horoscopes,
pasting them onto my bedroom walls
and on the backs

now it's just dirt under my fingernails.Novak carried an umbrella with her everywhere for nine years. And when he asked her why, she told him, "Ever since my dad died, sometimes it feels like the sky is falling."

That was six months ago, and he still catches himself checking for cracks between the clouds when it rains.

-

vii.

He likes to remember her eyes. The left was blue and the right was brown, like two people in one, and faded, like old photographs.

But then he remembers that old photographs are the only things she exists in now, and his office will get so small that he needs to go outside to breathe.

-

vi.

He wanted to be gentle, even if he couldn't think of a way how

Breaking NewsBreaking News.

That's somebody's mother.

Who was beaten and raped by another

Individual who couldn't control their seedy sexual desires.

Just because you can't smell the stench of burning skin.

Doesn't mean this world isn't intrinsically on fire.

That's somebody's daughter.

Who was kidnapped, molested and tortured.

By another who couldn't control their dishevelled cravings.

Super heros do not exist in this reality.

Does that mean this world is not worth saving?

That's somebody's father.

Who was shot by another individual who would rather

Resort to violence to settle a trivial dispute.

The things humans can do to each other.

No

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You gave me sunset loveShe was grass-stained
with bleeding, bare-foot
dreams,

because she’d always said
that shoes were for porcelain girls
afraid of callous skin.

and she was not fear.
not anymore.

when it crept in on white
manicured edges,
she would make lions of trembling girls,
which craved and devoured
from her temples
a sunset-blossom
love.

You can't hurt me anymore.

lessons in surrenderi.
She wished to be dressed in poetry
but she didn’t understand that
imagery fades and that metaphors
are too easily forgotten.

ii.
She asked why I didn’t utilize my
alliteration eyes—why I hid the tag
‘ hello my name is: writer ’
beneath San Francisco bays
and rotting ink grenades,
still in dead crusade.

iii.
I broke pencil shavings in
skybound veins, just to taste
the words
and I bled like a sinner
for mere dreams of some redemption.

“I’m only a poet of capitulation”

InkbrokeI cry words of ink
because my soul has not the worth
of salt;

and your heart had not
the capacity
for love:

I can only gape
and gasp
like krill,

while whales digested,
regurgitating me to aching bellies
of sand; and I am burned
for love and breath…

but I became glass
and dazzled in shards,
while I wrote enough words
to drown you an inkbroke
ocean:

the only heartbreak a poet
could feel.

Dear Foolish Heart:You don't match my sleeves today.

The FesteringBetrayal had never been my Mistress. Though perhaps before she had been gentle raps upon my door. Often we exchanged friendly smiles, but never before were first-name introductions or conventional greetings shared…

Until Him. He gave her to me. He knew the time and the place, and He shipped me off to misery; He made filthy my soul, in the festering shame of places touched, in the childish girl who left sobbing shoulders for hidden why-me smiles; and with those smiles she wondered why her lips were of cement.
The festering came twice thereafter, and still vocals stayed locked in rot and love.

He did this... That man who collected so e

had I wished for sight.My wish-on-me star,
whose ears I filled to secret’s brim,
whose implosions I hemmed
still layers deeper:

I’m sorry I wore stitches
and scabs with try-agains.

You sacrificed paper dreams,
Crumpling and sending airplane
answers until my skies were
wishgiving.

Apologies have sweetened
on tight-pressed lips—
a thick and sultry wine—

but you’re now constellating
apparitions, in city skyscapes;
and my vocal chords
are coarse sand

and silence.

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Submitted: August 14, 2012
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[x]

If Love Would Leave a Legacy

by ~Nullibicity, Aug 14, 2012, 8:24:42 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

_{Your lovely crystalline bones,
wrapped tight inside chilled casing,
laying strewn against old cherry wood
with company of lover's notes upon your lower lip;
a last caress of parchment as we bury you in earth.

Goodbye my love, Goodbye,
words that refuse to leave lips chapped and clamped in mourning,
as silent and white as knuckles curled in trembling fists.
Reddest rivers slink sultrily down tight airways, filled with aching hunger,
and sliding alongside sores of salivated lies,
where I swallowed all my silent sobs in concurrence with
these barbed and yearning sentiments.
It was nowhere near enough.

Regret shall rid unsightly bones until someday
reunion brings souls superficially together;
adjoining beds of cherry wood
where I can desire you to depths of resolution.
and it is nowhere near enough.}

If Love Would Leave a Legacyby ~Nullibicity

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

_{I'm starting to become a little more picky on what goes into my gallery, and what is sent to scraps (it's like a maze in there! ). The problem? I can tell which ones obviously lack talent, but the better choice of substance poems are always what get me. So if I can, I'd like to ask my watchers if you think this is good, but would better be in scraps... I'm just not entirely sure of it as I tried to incorporate a few different things.

Critiques, as always, are greatly appreciated!
_{I know I butchered the flow a bit... hopefully it is still enjoyed!
-------------
EDIT: I've decided to let this make a home in my normal gallery. Thanks to those who gave feedback! It is warmly appreciated}}

love 1 1

joy 1 1

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~barbzzp Dec 28, 2012

very good imagery! nice write!! <3

~Nullibicity Jan 2, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I'm happy you could enjoy the images... some don't seem to look for them anymore. Thank you very much! I'm happy you could enjoy yourself with this poem (:

~scorpiandoll Nov 24, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

Can I ask you..where do you find those words?

It's like you take a bath in special, new words and sentence.
You're talent amazes me every day.
I wonder how these poems would be in dutch, so I can understand every little detail of it.

It's so true this one...

~Nullibicity Jan 2, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Honestly, I don't feel like much of a poet, normally: There is much talent in so many writers, styles of description I wish I could create, sentences that stir hearts in a way (as of right now) I can simply only dream of. I feel inferior usually... so I was blown away by this comment. I am aware of the progress still needed and ahead of me, however your words stirred such appreciation within me: thank you. You are always there for me with feedback, and that is such a gift.
and if I knew Dutch, I would absolutely translate them for you... however I still have problems with my own language

. Perhaps one day I will learn? There are always possibilities

~scorpiandoll Jan 2, 2013 Hobbyist Photographer

haha

that would be great

~v3n0m607 Aug 26, 2012 Student Digital Artist

I may have gotten a little inspiration to making something out of one of the lines here

we'll see what I can come up with.

~Nullibicity Aug 27, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I'm so very glad I could provide something inspiring, and wish you luck with whatever you produce!

You can always link it to me if you'd like me to take a look, as I am still sorting through deviations in my inbox, and may take a while to get to it.
But that's only if you want me to =]

~v3n0m607 Aug 27, 2012 Student Digital Artist

If I come up with something worthy of the eyes of nulli I will be sure to link it

~Nullibicity Aug 27, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Psht. Anything and everything attracts my eyes
_{including shiny objects}

But yes, if you'd like to, I'd very much like to read it!

~v3n0m607 Aug 28, 2012 Student Digital Artist

I will

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If Love Would Leave a Legacyby ~Nullibicity

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