Dragons BloodYou are an art journal,Dragons Blood by DearPoetry
all scraps of paper and profound quotes
of those you say "I'll fucking know one day",
because you love to shock me
with even more profound profanities
and those watercolor fingers
you use to shut me up.
Gently. Always gently.
You leave me moon-eyed;
Dragons Blood still lingering
in the wake of your
heartbeats against mine.
I miss you, and i can't say i'm sorryI miss you by DearPoetry
because these slender, spider fingers
ache to trace the curved letters of your name tag,
emily. i notice you write everything in caps.
( have i ever told you
how much i enjoy saying your name, -EMILY. )
you are screaming to the world, quietly.
but we, we are mid-morning whispers
over stale, back room coffee,
silent eyes, and window pane love.
these hearts were runaways once;
hitchhikers on a trail to nowhere.
you shared pieces of yourself with me then,
emily, between beats and bathroom stalls.
you were a gargoyle under the heat
of july summer. evenings were our playground;
rose garden beasts lingering in feverish night.
DNAJagged teeth tear at my fleshDNA by alleykat14
Silver steel slashes the mesh
Blood drizzles from open wounds
The apparition of it soothes
Pacifies the wrath within my soul
Appeases the hate that leaves me cold
Keeps me sane and keeps me real
Can't help I like the way it feels
It's in me, part of my mind
Written in DNA that binds
Knife connects with soft unscarred skin
I try to stop but I always give in
To the monster within me
He craves the pain
So I give it to him
And for now I am still sane
From the Tree of Spoiled ApplesUnnurtured and picked before ripe,From the Tree of Spoiled Apples by madamsarah
you're one of many bad apples grown from a tree that is rotten to the core.
Forced to grow in disastrous conditions,
only the destroying of the root can stop it from poisoning more.
Purge The SoulRifts of layered satinPurge The Soul by autumnlit
move and cover whole
and binding to the core
as the rift provides more
Ways to turn and toss
lessening the hold
Interwoven truths unbound
tethered to the sea
Currents carry taint away
let go of the handle
offered by the spout
Quench your thirst in rivers
clearing up the drought
Throw it all away
clothes cast upon the shore
'till ghostly skin is crystal clear
and find out you have more
~the purging of the soul~
DracoIt was the unwritten poetryDraco by DearPoetry
dripping from her eyelashes
that made me love her.
She was a sinking ship,
and I longed to descend
into the watery depths
of her eyes-
I could hold
It was the bruises sleeping
on the curve of her hips
that called to me like hungry sirens.
Licking her salty lips,
I traveled the scattered freckles on her back.
Shaping an angry dragon as if together,
we were part of the sky, all long-limbed,
tongues and teeth- she whispered,
"Do you know the story of Draco?"
I wish things were differentI wish things were different, I wish they are like what they used to beI wish things were different by Abraham-Alghanem
I wish people would care about me
I wish my family would stop being ignorant and look around
To what they've done to me, and that they have put me down
I wish my friends would open their minds, and realise that things aren't like what they used to be
But it's impossible, like a blind man to see
I think that what makes this journey worth the pain
That you will not live again
You won't have to deal with everything one more time
You won't have any feelings to rhyme
If broken promises and sad goodbyes are what makes this world so unkind
Then, what kind of life is waiting for me out there?
Am I going to be happy? Or sad?
Thinking about it just drives me mad
I hope things never stay the same
I hope happiness doesn't last
I hope I feel the worth of things
And I hope I long for the past
Because I think, in a way, that what makes this life worth while
The hot weeping, between our smiles
Hemingway Would Hate ThisThe trouble with the Boy was that he didn't have the heart of Shakespeare, the voice of Poe, nor the soul of Wordsworth, nor the knowledge of Rembrandt in his darkest days. He didn't have a trace of Michaelangelo's spirit nor the angst of Carvaggio and this on its own was enough to dissuade him from understanding that technique was far better than solidarity and possession far more ageless than youth.Hemingway Would Hate This by UntamedUnwanted
He didn't have any of this knowledge because his father hadn't had the courage to tell him that he needed all the qualities of these great men, to win over the heart of a woman who had the dreams of Austen, the ideas of Da Vinci and the scent of a high priestess of Venetian origin.
The Girl was all those things and more, and her value, her estimate in the market of souls was higher than most. She was an angel amongst Gods, and He should never have let her go into the world thinking that it was Keats hearted. Because like all women who live their lives story shaped, she was soon broken by
MiasmaTo be honest,Miasma by kurodokidoki
I never understood what it meant
to see poison
dripping from someone's lips,
the lies so bittersweet
each one is greedily sucked up.
But I have finally witnessed it,
and I can see right through
the miasma of your breath
plaguing through the air
and I refuse to swallow a single word.
Instead, I savor it
letting the flavor spill over my tongue
and when you're not looking
spit them all out.
I know better than you think I do
because my sugared voice
isn't really that sweet
and my ignorant eyes
are not stupid.
Everyone should know by now,
to never judge a book by its cover
and you ought to know
I have taken the time
to at least flip through
a couple of your stained pages.
Insanity HumanityInsanityInsanity Humanity by Stoatee
They, those people, that person there
I feel them seek, I feel them stare.
The glare, the sun it burns everywhere
The neon nights they haunt us my dear.
Take us away from the demon dance
Let's give love another chance.
The searching, the perspiring
The inspired, the inspiring
We all are expiring.
We are all lying, all dying
Only death is sure.
Knowing when is a dubious affair
More for the prey than the predator
We play both roles, my dear.
I have a confession,
I also am driven by the obsession,
The never ending lesson,
Of truth, of the meaning of us,
The love of death, such perpetual lust.
the summary of a half-womanI am here, in the quiet stages allowed by grief for myself and what I am losing, but that is not enough for passers-by who mistake the smoke of my imagination for the smoke of a pyre. My soul whispers often that they may be right, that perhaps my imagination and loneliness is a pyre of my own making, that I am scorching myself from the heels up into hell and back, but my mind remains unconvinced and stubborn in her ways.introverted-ghost
The cold is in my bones in these summer months, a contradiction of nature and self, but I have delved too deeply to warm myself with the fire that burns within me; it is ice cold and reddening, this fire-- another contradiction, but perhaps that is what I have become. The awakened, self-aware contradiction of peace, helpfully contained within an introverted skeleton and puckered goose-flesh that obediently walks the paths etched for it in the early lights of the dawning days.