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Literature
the quintessence of her bones.
her amaranthine eyes
as slits in
the sky; crescent
moon scars
spectral
in the
crepuscular
street light
and with
sharp features
stretched on
achromatic
bones she was
ethereal, like
the glow
around
an angel appearing
at midnight whilst
the world
slumbers
in darkness.
(ever atramentous)
Literature
bladespace
and if i was to
fence
with the human condition to
prove what it’s worth
who would stand alongside
to judge
each
touch
and if each flick would
align stars
constellating across
the chest, and each lunge would
(frame by frame)
fraction the blades-width between
myself and
mortality, would i then be
irreversibly immortal
and would we ever truly
touch, if the boundaries of particles can be
defined as space then my aren’t we
galaxies apart, emotionality
and i
and at the end of the bout
would our footwork not mark our
styles, design us
by the nature of our
elegantly moving
soles
Literature
liquidation of the self
and while it lasts,
the craved weakness
behind the ribs,
behind the skull,
carve the notches into
the the kneecaps
and the wrists
(to count the days past
to know how much longer
till the disappearance, till
invisibility usurps the heartbeat)
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I'm not even sure if I like this sdkfjghdjfghdkjglf This poem was written in honor of a picture on my computer titled "163", whcih I won't be uploading because my face is in it ;V; I'm the girl in this poem and that's all you need to know!
Thanks for any and all potential support - it really means a lot to me!
I might scrap this later because it's pretty lame dskjghdfkgjhfljg
Thanks for any and all potential support - it really means a lot to me!
I might scrap this later because it's pretty lame dskjghdfkgjhfljg
© 2014 - 2024 peaseblossoms
Comments17
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You think it's lame? No, I think it's absolutely beautiful! The reader is very easily able to tell that the setting is New York, and by the end, we're able to tell that she's getting her picture taken. And I like how it's called 163; I figured that it must've been the number of the photograph, and I guess I was right! I especially love this part "she is too young to paint every millisecond of this moment onto the canvas of her ever-spinning mind" and I love every single bit afterwards just as much too! Very lovely job! 