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Storybook AddictionsI want you to love me as much as you do
the thorns in your side; seeds planted and
forgotten and bleeding cyclically.
when the swallowed night drowns and
drains darkness like a trickled lullaby, I want
to be the last thing in your dreams.

I want to be your mistake East of Eden, your lack
of redemption; when they tear apart your paper
flesh with metal claws, I want to be the one you
come crawling back to with bloodied knees.

[right now I am an empty vessel, unfulfilled
and metaphorically obsolete. I want to clear
my throat for once, without seeing the ashes
of my disease.]

I want to love you like a swansong;
breezes make your bones ach

IfWe can
draw lines and give them names
like elements
as they are discovered

Or etch into our skins
this soloecal desire
until it is impossible to tell
where words stop
and life begins.

I would

Find a common rhythm that includes
you in my arms, my hands
and lungs and thoughts
tracing the outline of you
entangled with me
colliding like two lost particles
locked in a shared gravity
drifting through the vacuum
of space.

I could.

Exhale, and
remember
sentence structure.

GlassI always laugh when you refer to me as glass.
Not just because of the way you say it,
(glass-as-in-gas).
Or because I know it's a crack at my fragility.

Glass is pure.
I am like granite -
my body nullified from too many clashing traits.

Glass is transparent.
I am like clay -
illegible from all the plastered smiles.

Glass is unyielding.
I am like chalk -
easily broken and scuffed away by meagre things.

Glass is hung up on walls and in great cathedrals,
tinted for enhancement, but only ever painted on by fools.

I am hidden behind keypads and camera lenses,
coated in a thick paste of deceptiveness.

No, my love,
I was never glass. (Despite

the day we diedIt started when space imploded
you pulled me back, landed me on the moon,
so we could sit in the vacuum silence
and watch suns spiral down to hell.

You radiated, my minuscule flare,
your worn heat baked my bones brittle,
but it somehow made me stronger.

-

It ended when your eyes slid lateral,
fractured feelings leaking out in tears;
it was the first and last thing
I ever saw again.

This ridiculous happenstance,
simple in its impossibility,
was what broke us apart:

While solar light is beautiful,
it blinds when reflected by
automobile metal.

Continental DriftI suppose you call this time fall.
It’s always autumn to me. Your alien mind
likes to speak in a distorted tongue.
And when we see the spinning leaves
drifting down an eggshell sky
I catch oak, and your hands are empty.
There half the houses stand empty,
you say as you watch rain fall.
There the world is bigger than the sky,
with room for my restless mind.
I know you pine for maple leaves,
for bittersweet syrup on your tongue.
The words are waiting to leave your tongue.
This land is small and your heart is empty.
That’s why everyone ups and leaves.
This place is paradise after the fall,
There you can be naked. No one would mind,
no one would see you bare yourself to the sky.
Through the window is my perfect sky,
the places that come easy to my tongue,
If we left maybe no one would mind
but me, I say. But if your land is empty
who would catch me in your wondrous fall?
If your land is perfect, wha

Why I Don'tWe are too permanent
for the transience of poetry,
each brief line speeding on toward
the next at breakneck speed.
And I have never been one for writing
epics, you know that.

Reality Verses The DreamReality Verses The Dream.

Above the confines of the earths atmosphere.

I am embraced by the luminous clouds.

With the stars in reaching distance.

Surrounded by the acoustics of the sea.

Accompanied by the alluring scents of nature.

Observing the planets that stand like monuments.

This is the place where my body wants to be.

These are the sights my eyes want to see.

This is place where my mind can be free.

This is the only place where I can truly be me.

Now back to reality.

And the self perpetuating insanity.

Constricted by the codes of a conscripted morality.

Living in a world that is drenched in disparity.

How will I ever be a

Living a Lie.Living a Lie.

You say things you don't mean when you're angry.
You call me a waste of space and that you can't stand me.

When the dust settles you say you don't mean it.
You say I should know better than to believe it.

As usual I foolishly upkeep your illusive hold on me.
I allow you to mute my thoughts and take control of me.

You promise and reassure me that it will never happen again.
That this is the last time and you will put it all to an end.

But I know promises only comfort fools,
Who readily allow others to pull the wool

Over our eyes because it is easier to swallow the lies.
Can it be a mistake if it happens more than tw

Liquid Cityhere, at the bottom - lovers.
there are lovers disassembling
themselveslost in and to the
desperate motion in
of - waves.

- did you think the continents
moved themselves? see them slip,

in an open sleep. less go, come.
come and, and - again. trembling

here, at the bottom - their eyes
are lightless. hollow bodies left
restless,

the sea does not sleep.

MonologueSpinal fluid seems to be seeping between the cracks
Of the dark hardwood floors beneath me
As if all the cartilage from my being
Has been used to paste together an arthropod heart
I’ve white washed my pupils and folded them
Into hazy envelopes and sent them off to strangers

SolsticeOnce upon a time, when you were still sunlighthouses and shimmering existence wherever you were needed most, you found him. He was November, shaky on his first last legs, and you saw through the mind-twistings he feigned to the mind-twistings that were really there, knotted up in his dreams.

You were still birdsong then, and thunderstorms, and your bodyheat melted the frost claws that held him tight. You held onto him as his November deepened. When he howled, you howled with him, and the wind played with your voices and pressed the softness of your lungs against your cageribs—and then against each other's.

November became solstice, and

short-term memory.and you'll never forget:

When you realized that everybody dies alone.

When you didn't take your eyeliner off one night, so in the morning
your eyes would look as hollow as you felt.

When you spent a year blacking out the sad endings in your books.
(When you wished that life could also work like that.)

When you learnt that "We need a break" means "I am going to break your heart."

When you fell in love with the stars, and the way he says "us."

When he told you, "More than just a long time."

The first time you hung up to the sound of your father laughing.

When you walked home from a party in January, and couldn't remember
if you were

rootslike drowned men who have lost their
clothes and faces, they lay suspended
facing the sun and grinning without
eyes through the ripples of the water.

those passing by wonder how they got here,
these homeless men without fingers or toes
long spindly stumps twisting into lost roots:

reaching to the east, to the south,
to the homes they have forgotten.

A ParenthesisYou were (a parenthesis, that paused
the daily, mundane stuff
of life;
a bundled breath
of fresh joy,
and borne in the wonder
of love.

Gasping and grasping,
'til in quiet you laid
still;
and I, my Child,
lie in quiet, still
tears).

And now, that is all you are,
and still so much more.

BreatheI am a small box crammed with sensation.
I am not here, yet every heart
tingles against mine, resonates
with my essence.
We occupy the same space, same atoms
same breath, never slowing
still fanned out on
fractured glass when we exhale.

Not many notice, lots don't care
but some see.
Some wonder about
the hummingbird throb of my pulse
and I feel fear and suck gasping heaves
of inadequacy.

I look around at all these students and
wish to write each one love letters.
I am all that they love. I am their voices.
Equations, formulas, written, whispered words.
I am all they bite their clenched lips to keep inside
while sitting

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I can't think on a computer-CHAPTER 10Chapter Ten

I'll bet you're wondering when this story is going to start. But its not a story. I already said that. This is just me. So stop expecting me to spin you a tale. I gotta be genuine. I got to be.

I can't think on a computer-CHAPTER 9Chapter Nine

When I write
And read what I wrote,
And realize its good,
I feel all
Hollow
Inside

Which isn't exactly
Good,
But isn't exactly
Bad, either.

Because when you
Feel
Hollow
It's a chance
To
Start
Over.

Because you can
Take that hollow
And fill
It
Up
With good
Or bad
Or sleep.

Maybe that's
Why I write poems.
Maybe not.
But I write poems
No matter
What the reason
That's important.

I should say
No matter what the
Consequences,
But I'm feeling
Optimistic
After writing
A suicide note.

See what I mean?

I can't think on a computer-CHAPTER 8Chapter Eight

At some point in your life, no matter who you are, what you are, where you are, everyone considers suicide. Everyone wants to know what it feels like, death. Whether there's an after life or whether you're just, dead. Even if you're happy. Even if you're rich. Everyone considers. Everyone. No. Exceptions. But everyone also denies it. Everyone but those who are brave enough to answer the questions ask. Everyone. Even me. Even you.

I can't think on a computer-CHAPTER 7Chapter Seven

I love you. I want you to know that. In a platonic sense, but still love. Maybe stronger than the other type. Maybe not. I don't know. That's up to you. I don't know if this is a boy or a girl reading this, but I love you none the less. Because you are so persistent. You are reading this. And therefore you are helping me. Thank you.

I can't think on a computer-CHAPTER 6Chapter Six

Resolution #2: I'm
Going to write
More
And more
Poems
Because I can
So I will.

You don't need a
PHD
To be a poet
Although I may have one
I'm not telling

Poetry isn't
Metaphors
And similes
And alliteration.

It's more
Than words on a page.
How much more
Is up to you.

I can't think on a computer-CHAPTER 5Chapter Five

I bet you don't even know my gender at this point, which is kind of sad on my part. But its better than squealing about a bunch of boys in our grade and giggling and blushing or trying to challenge you to a fight through the pages of this book, in a manly way of course. In fact you know zip about me. Not my age, my name, my appearance, my friends, my hobbies, if I'm gay or straight, anything. Nothing except the stuff that actually matters. Like my secrets, my personality, my resolutions, that I'm genuine. In fact, I might never tell you. It doesn't really matter, does it? Is your opinion of me going to change if my name was Edn

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The Nature of Lungs

by =schongslipper, Dec 11, 2011, 4:06:35 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

There's that
feeling
you get
when you
keep
breathing in and
are
so concerned with getting
air into
your lungs,
to fill them up
so fully
that
you'll never
need
to inhale again,
that you forget
about
breathing

out.

But when you do,
the emptiness feels
so
much better than all
the oxygen in the world
pressing out on that one
overcrowded lung.

The Nature of Lungsby =schongslipper

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

©2011-2013 =schongslipper

--

Thank you all so much for your comments, favorites, and attention! I'm honored to receive them, and doing my best to personally convey that to each of you. I apologize if I can't get to you right away.

Daily Deviation

Given 2013-01-15

The Nature of Lungs by *schongslipper has an exceptionally executed structure to complement the content of the poem. ( Featured by ^NicSwaner )

~~mad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~SakuraDreamerz2 Jan 16, 2013

This is amazing!

Reply

=schongslipper Jan 16, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you so much!

Reply

~SakuraDreamerz2 Jan 16, 2013

You're welcome!

Reply

~Skylanth Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist Artisan Crafter

Wonderful! Love the structure.

Reply

=schongslipper Jan 16, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you! I tried to pull it off without having that one word a line thing going. I hope I achieved that...

Reply

~Skylanth Jan 16, 2013 Hobbyist Artisan Crafter

I think so! It really has the rhythm of a deep inhale and exhale.

Reply

=schongslipper Jan 16, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

thanks =]

Reply

~restlessreverie Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist Digital Artist

congrats on the DD~^^ great piece!

Reply

=schongslipper Jan 16, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you!

Reply

~rockerjase Jan 15, 2013

This could be about all the useless crap in people's lives (including my own) and how humans always want more and more as if it will make them feel more satisfied, but in reality we would best off getting away from all these petty distractions that clog up our lives. I don't know though, I didn't write the poem... :/

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