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poemSplit ends smelt into ashes between her fingertips
teeth pop out, blood dew gathers on her lips
& ran from the tip of her chin
unto soggy button scraps
and she cried out,
"What of the children with gnats?"
daisies ran recluse
lightning hid in her eyes
and nobody was left
to care of the children with the flies
scenethe tip of the sword prodded dragon's throat
Hero both hands on hilt raised it a
-bove his head, poised at the thick bulging jug
-ular. He brought it down with all the skill of
a thousand years worth of slaying exper
-tise. as it clattered to ground dragon
gave a hearty chuckle, " little hero,
it is not your place to decide who may
boast my hide. you must do your duty." His
hands were trembling. "nay, I am not fit
for such a task, beast. run along before
the others arrive." it chuckled once more.
"oh don't worry , let me help
you." a serpentine tail offered Him a
mud-streaked murderer. "why, why, beast do you
plea to die?" a yellow iris bore in
-to a brown with all the knowledge of a
thousand years; "because mortal, it is the
set storyline. You are the hero, fool."
told in verbs/ fragileThump, thump
bleed, break, breathe, crum
-ple, glue, kindle, fragment,
drop, shatter, sigh, cry,
crawl, fly, fall, sob,
curl, cuddle, can't,
cut, curdle, can't,
weave, mend, unfurl
yesterday i met spidermanYesterday I met Spiderman
in second period no less
chewing cherry bubble gum
which he proceeds to stick it on his desk
I think I also saw Batman
perhaps the day before
dark alley; black hoodie;
weed strewn up on the floor
I see the Flash,
everyday on the track
in those commercial breaks
sports drink in hand, his agent patting his back
Iron Man rescues stockbrokers a lot
to him its no bother
If Superman drunk a little less
he might realize he had a daughter
Green Lantern's dishin' out diamonds
Wolverine's butcherin' them fruits
Mr. Fantastic's lies are elastic
Wonder Woman's acting is ecstatic
And never forget Dick Grayson's
Yesterday I met Spiderman
who I sit behind,
but yesterday I met
who showed that little girl where her mother was
with the map you picked off the bottom of that desk
and shined it off with your shirt, and in the mirror, she smiled
And I think that's the most super power of all.
How to enervate an egotistic entityDo you have that insolent acquaintance who does not feel the need to shut up, like ever? Does he/she/it gloat constantly about themselves to the whole of the general populace, and their mothers? Frankly, are they and their garrulous garbling getting on your nerves? If you answered yes to any of these questions, the following solutions may prove effect for any mortal in need of a pedestal chiseler.
THE FASHIONABLE METHOD
Subject must be four legged and furry. Must enjoy cold nights, frosty winters, and the general extreme conditions. Sharp teeth and claws are optional.
Step One, find a dragon. Must be of terrorizing capabilities, or method will not proceed as directed. Fire breathing and acid spitting varieties are preferred.
Step Two, anger the dragon. Additional bystanders (helpless villagers, royalty) must be present. Tail stepping is not encouraged. If followed through properly, a hero will emerge on scene.
one scribbleSometimes she remembers
back when she was a
little girl and she used
to stare at her mom
-my's signature and won
-der if she could ever
write as pretty as that
today she looks at
her own signature and
sees mommy in the
backwards threes as e's and
the balloons of o's
that letter stuck in
that awkward phase between
a u or a v
all strung on a vio
-lin string and played a sym
-phony of notes with
no keys or scale or sheets
and she stares and she
wonders if someone will
ever look at her
signature and stare and
and marvel and try
to mimic it and car
-ry that little memo
-ry of her mommy
and have her ghost visit
all the places we
wished and dreamed we could have
color coded01. ice blue
Icicles cling to the shingles in the summer suburbia;
whistle wind chimes tuned to the beating of frost sparkles
of burning cold and stinging eyes
snowflakes contorted from extinguished hearths and skewed cigarettes;
so sorry; I ate their tears with my eardrums
it's the frostbite
I murdered one right after the other
One cried nightfall
The other screamed sunset
03. deep violet
Illuminated sparklers signal to painted cousins
the looking glass blinked though, and they ran away in disheartened.
I wonder if the lemons are just as sour in Constantinople or as bitter in
Fireflies never stay long in Detroit.
04. solid green
A twist and a turn
the broken pinball machine has seen enough
eyelashes to wish cardboard forests from smoke clouds
but I never ceased to abhor; the burlesque puppet dances
russian roulette and laughs
nine of fifty four
05. murky grey
The December dusk is not lampshade
for the jack-o-lantern beneath my door
new turns old on
owlsof the mist whispers and
soggy willow branches
above the werewolves and
jasmine flower blossoms-
niched to brown liquid
flowing in veins and
the half-smile of the moon;
dragonfly eyed and hickory
wings sailing the milky
way until the sun crack
lulls reality into
how very augusti.
hour hands make bad company august,
just trust me on this, the leaves
are falling, and the sky might as well be
so it won't be long before we're all
wound-rotten apple cores.
you weren't there last summer when
we stole apollo's chariot and crashed it
into a hoarfrost glen burning all the
little bambis - june and july forgot the
anatomy of a sunrise and splattered dayshine
everywhere except the operating table -
it was months before we stitched the woodwork
into a knitted sweater. we went outside to
find the sun exactly where we left it.
every time we met you, you shook, not benignly,
but in a fierce tremble that crinkled your timid skin
into a gradient of slightly forgotten spring bruises.
it reminded me that all your hair is going
to fall out sometime soon.
yesterday, there was a butterscotch seedling in my throat;
it wasn't that bad - I needed something small and sad and shivering
to grow in the flower pot anyways.
your friends were at my doorstep today, september,
AgainForever perceiving tunnel vision
Lost in everyday traditions
Composing nonsensical renditions
To explain the thoughts within
Always falling backwards
Into the deepening abyss
Looking to the sky to find
The meaning in the myth
The Torturing DreamSoft... her skin. He knew it would be before he even knew her name.
Silent... the breath he can't catch after his gasp when she said 'Hello gorgeous. Let's go make some trouble.'
Soft... the sheets on the bed in a room he'd never seen, but was happy to be inhabiting.
Silent... the arch of her back and the tears on her face, oxytocin induced...
Hard... the concrete he sees when he awakes from the dream
Cold... the skin on his chest where she laid her head seconds before
Hard... the sound of him lighting a cigarette in the quiet room
Cold... his breath when he exhales the first drag of another day
Children of Ash and EarthThe chanting filled my head.
Staring into the gentle crackling of the fire, I could hear the twisted lullaby repeating itself as if the monks themselves were beside me. Whispers, deep booming calls, broken calls to the heavens in a language nobody understood, they rose together in a clamouring tinnient at the back of my mind. They filled my head, building in volume and harmony as they sang to the rhythm of the fire. I heard those damned voices always, even when they were no longer singing. I wanted nothing more than to silence them forever. Staring hard into the fire, I wound the hand wraps tighter around my palms, re-wrapping them over and over again, daring to hope that perhaps this time, I could stop the bleeding.
“…Will you bury me?”
The chanting stopped. I looked up, the lullaby momentarily banished by my sister’s voice. Asha didn’t stir. Sat across from me, her dull and lifeless eyes were visible only for passing seconds before she was obscured once
Embers"How are you?"
"You have a good day?"
falling like embers,
"Do you ever have fun?"
"All the time."
but burning to the touch,
"You never smile."
"Of course I smile!"
then flickering out,
"Are you keeping up?"
"I never fell behind."
but soon they build up,
"Did you sleep well?"
swarming like fireflies,
"You look tired."
turn into flames,
"Are you sick?"
taking your clothes,
"Something on your mind?"
the flesh underneath,
"You wanted to talk?"
"It's not important."
"You've been acting distant lately."
"Sorry, I've been busy."
"You missed a class."
"Must have been a mistake in attendance."
"We're worried about you."
"You need help."
War Never ChangesTime and time again we falter
Gunshots sound about us
Fighting to see who is king
Our heroes of patriots sing
At the point of our enemy's guns
Fear strikes the heart
All of our daughters and sons
Are being ripped apart
Storming a beach never again
People rise at the sound
Of their brothers and their sisters
Falling all around
Lords will fall
While heroes crawl
Through a trench of gore
Back at home music plays
Glorifying the war
The People think that we have won
But we have just moved on
To a beach so far away
No one will hear our song
A song of glory and righteousness
Turned inside out
Filling all of our hearts with the depths of doubt
NecromancyShe thinks there are nebulae
in the rough of my gutter bones,
some stargazing sanctuary
for lonely outcasts to lay their heads.
I am but a car crash,
& red inked corrections
on crosshatched skin.
Made up of moans,
the clutching of bedsheets;
I am contemplating
ripping my ribs apart
I never had a heart at all.
But my moon shy love;
she is determined
to try & wake the dead.
i don't believe in jesusno one celebrates losing virginity like they celebrate losing teeth.
i don't get a dollar under my pillow for having sex with my boyfriend.
there are no doctors smiling at me when i tell them my cherry has been popped.
i am a whore for having premarital sex.
i am a tramp for loving someone enough to open my body to them.
no one celebrates losing virginity like they celebrate losing teeth -
but i slip mine under my pillow anyway, and in the morning when i wake,
there is a quarter and a tiny folded note:
"you are not a slut."
Lost LoveShe was precious as a flower
That had come close to a frost,
Like a bird flying in the wrong direction
That would never admit to being lost.
She was beautiful as a butterfly’s wing
Just catching at the air,
And she’d find her way into your heart
Before you even knew that she was there.
She was tantalizing as a summer breeze
And delicate as lace.
She’d go wherever the wind took her,
And would be gone without a trace.
CondenseCan you hear them from your speakers?
complaining while maintaining
multiple online personas
drowning in useless megabytes
neck just barely above the
torrent of the social me-
dia movement breathing in
way of life on their fifteen
inch screens addicted to
the filtered medica-
tion they are gobbling
down like guppies in a
fish tank of which glass
walls are created
of what they forged from
their minds to forget
why all the facts
were there in the
for them to breathe
in all that is
and want nothing
HomesickI am the river's son,
my arteries flowing turquoise
and turning to rapids
rushing around my frame,
filling me with this sense
of buoyancy, minnows
tickling my sternum.
I am the river's son.
My palms caress each
silty shoreline, every
battered bank and bend,
and these places I know
so well become me
as my fingerprint,
even the bridge above me
inflamed by the afternoon
sun-glow, burning rusty and
the steel blue sky.
I am the river's son;
I bring my home along
like hermit crab,
where I step
I pull water from the earth.
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More