Darkness consuming  

A tornado's eye

  Spinning

    Spinning

Speechless 

You echo

  Reaching

Blurred vision

With hands tied

Bloody knees 

Weeping heart

  An angel's lullaby

Bound at the mouth 

Lost

  In

   The

Fog

Gasp at the surface

Can't

      Breathe

My 

pulse 

weakens 

Then light emerges

Your 

  Face

Oxygen

A symphony 

Hope 

My friend 

Jane

Always the simple one,

Red crinoline peeking out beneath her hemline,

Teeth white,

Voice clear.

Never angry until you cut her off at a light.

Lucia

Butter melting, 

Her thighs barely touching when she walks

A whisper in every syllable

Like she’s hiding you under a table

While the world beats itself to death

Raven

Deaf and pale

Head tilted to suggest listening

Lips a vermillion flood

Feral truth 

She’d sooner swallow than reveal.

The land was barren, the sky was black. The world was devoid of life, feeling, light, sound, taste, smell. A dead planet, orbiting its sun orbiting its galactic center. Once the planet was quite different, but was eventually overcome by the cancer of war. This cancer grew so monstrous and deadly that the denizens of that world, harbingers of death, detonated their weapons of mass destruction upon one another, in turn killing themselves, all other life, and the planet itself. No more atmosphere. No more water. No more oxygen. No more plants. No more life. All. Gone.

I feel it stirring.

I am reminded of my knowledge of death

My friendship with loneliness

My devotion to the darkness.

I can feel the knives twisting in my back

And the razor rushing to relieve me of this life I've been trudging through.

The devil comes to my right

An angel rushes to my left

And they carry me.

Together, they carry me across the river of pain I've been sleeping in

And they tell me I'm too beautiful to be here

Too divine to destroy myself

Too chosen to break myself down.

I am the hunger of the universe

The longing of the ocean to be on the shore

And I am lonely while I'm living

Loved while I am killing

And I am a danger to myself if my hands are not being held.

Come and hold my hands.

Come and harvest my heart.

Make me into a masterpiece before I tear myself apart.

It's only a matter of time

Before I implode from lack of hope.

Maybe this angel will fill me with light

Maybe the devil will command the night inside of me to rise like phoenix

Lifting me off of the ground

Lifting me into a plane of existence that has been mine all along

Maybe I will rule the pain before it learns to break my bones.

Maybe this pain will rule me, it's made my heart its home.

-AshleyAnne

fragments.

incohesive pieces.

An identity scattered;

part genetics

part molded.

Opinionated,

but open minded.

Quiet and meek,

but full of passion.

Full of hope

but cynical at

every turn.

Hoping

she ain't broken,

she apologizes

for bumping into

furniture

but will expel a

lion's roar

to protect her soul.

Confused

at the thought of

explaining an existence

with a core that is

constant

with

constantly changing variables.

[image source: http://www.fubiz.net/en/2015/02/05/mirror-obsession-photography/]

Etymology

Noun

Charientism

(rhetoric, rare) A figure of speech wherein an insult is disguised as or softened by a jest. n. A figure of speech wherein a taunting expression is softened by a jest; an insult veiled in grace...

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I am so glad that I have found this place. Being surrounded by the works of poets, writers, and free thinkers is so encouraging. I enjoy writing so much, but have found that, when I share with those who are not as emotionally intelligent, I become quite discouraged. So discouraged, in fact, that I stopped writing. As you fellow writers can imagine, ignoring this beautiful gift is more troublesome to the soul than sharing it. I was discouraged again last night by someone who doesn't think as I do. When I shared "The Journey", this person responded by telling me not to quit therapy. My heart immediately broke. This was a devastating blow to my ego. However, after checking back into Prose and reading all of these amazing, heartfelt, energetic words, I felt at ease once more. This is my Mecca, where I feel as if I belong. We all have our reasons for writing and today I am reminded that I don't necessarily write to be understood, but to show others I understand. You all have done the same for me. So happy to be here.

They don't understand

What's it like to lose you

The pain of the needle

as it pierces your soul

That faint prick

Followed by the skin swallowing it whole

Fainting inside yourself

Just because you can't buy the new pair of shoes

Lurking at the corner of a damned thrift store

Bludgeoning into an archaic atmosphere

of pine trees and conifers

Things that smell like rain and winter and astronomy

Boiled eggs in the morning

Blowjobs in darkened alleys

The cry of passion

or anger

or despair

Sleeping next to a man

who loves you

knowing you will never love him back

hungry with passion

for an arm

a toe

a hairy leg

A castrated image of a self you once was

You cut all your hair

You spit out the unspittable

You sink lower

deeper into the bottomless seas

where Loreleis don't bother you

Cuz you're not a man

You're not a penis

You showcase a taboo of flesh

and a mesh of exciting tendrils

an arm, a hand or a bunch of feet

How neat

is your mouthwash, Monsieur

as it pools into the faint space

between the nib of my ear

and the bone that lines my bosom

Drink my sweat

Pretend it's wine

Pretend you're a tall, dark stranger

See yourself through my eyes

You're no more human

than I am a druid

Both of us are misfits