The world sees your bracelets
as intriguing style, trappings of
a distant culture to match
the fiery demeanour.
I see those bracelets
as a curiosity, hiding precious
inches of frayed skin betraying
stories bled out.
Embrace me.
Taste blasphemy
teased from the corners
of soft lips crested
in a wistful grin.
Tell me you understand
now. Tell me the truth.
That we are divine
and gods among
nature.
Tell me we are free.
Because our old God
had nothing to offer
but shackles
and disdain.
Hold me close and whisper
your truth.
That you are scared,
but thrilled.
That you are alive
and this moment
will never happen
the same way again.
I remember the delicacy,
the dance.
Flickering flames
in a windless tunnel.
Scared to even whisper,
for fear of snuffing out
that creative glow.
But that dance defied
our reason;
our silence.
It was beautiful.
The way two ghosts
circle around the
one living connection.
Haunts too curious
to let go so easily.
We kept those flames lit
as best as we could.
That creative blue spark.
Because we understood
each other, until we
allowed time to diminish
the light in natural decay.
And now I have reignited
my melted and disfigured candle.
Chipped away the wax
to mold something new.
And that little flame is growing
in a new and
unexplored tunnel.
Pretty in pink bombshell
what a little cliche.
Grows tired of her playthings
and throws them away.
Daddy never said no
so she'll never grow.
Never know
she's a flat-out ho.
Take for granted
the good she's got
like a small child touching a stove
she'll be burned just to see it's too hot.
But that's her life.
She'll fill it with strife.
Crossing someone's wife
uncovering the trials of a lowlife.
Take these words
as a cautionary tale.
Because we all know this girl.
And know she will fail.
I remember a place
where I was free.
When I knew that I was
divine.
A fucking goddess
weaving wonders
with each word carved
into the empty page.
When I was something more
than this shell.
When the world was more
than trials and
every new struggle
was a moment to grow.
I miss it.
That place.
My muse is a fickle bitch.
Trapped at the bottom
of wine bottles
and the burnt out
joints that litter my balcony.
I miss that place.
Where love was it
and none of these puzzles.
Breathe.
Pulse quickened,
eyes narrowed.
Start the chase.
Start the chase.
Palms sweaty,
limbs tremble.
Don't get caught.
Don't get caught.
Swallow nerves,
force a smile.
Just a taste.
Just a taste.
Breathe.
Time slowed,
feet miles high.
Ride it out.
Ride it out.
Focus lost,
nerves frayed.
Ignore the fall.
Ignore the fall.
Sheets pulled up,
guilt eating away.
Bury it deep.
Bury it deep.
Phone flashes on,
flip it over.
Just be quiet.
Just be quiet.
Breathe.
Wake up subdued,
find connection.
Tell the truth.
Tell the truth.
Pick up the phone.
Send a message.
Ask for help.
Ask for help.
Old habits die hard.
That god damned cliche
is painfully true.
Old habits die hard.
Yeah.
They fucking do.
As I inhale another
cigarette, unable to
stop myself from
digging.
Digging into a world
that I have no place in.
Digging into a past
that isn't mine.
And I will find that
sweet spot.
That name.
That clue.
That old habit.
And I will become
your fucking vampire.
Because I already asked
permission to be
let in.
You never said I couldn't
take a look around,
make myself at home
in the open and still
bleeding wounds you
try to hide.
Yeah.
Old habits die hard.
And I will drink myself
into a stupor,
chase them with smoke
and hate mysel
Everyone has a vice.
An itch for some
terrible fix.
And I am just as human
(even though I should be
a god...maybe
a devil).
Yeah, everyone has a vice.
Another promise to break.
A drink to down,
a pill to swallow.
Or, maybe,
just a ghost
to torment.
I wanted to tell a different story.
Finding myself on a city bench with a cigarette between my lips and smoke swirling around my head in a halo of misshapen and misplaced desires
drifting.
Drifting away on a rogue breeze stirred
up by a passing cab.
I wonder where they are going.
A young woman and man lost in conversation. I want to know their story.
But it vanishes as quick as the thought can enter my mind.
Nothing more than a pair of shadows. I do not know what defines them.
Just they are living and breathing somewhere else.
And I'm sitting here, with a cigarette between my lips
and a halo of smoke to disappear just as quickly.
Let me shout outto the depths by chaoticedge, literature
Literature
Let me shout outto the depths
Let me shout out
to the depths of this
wasteland.
The abyss of shattered
memories and idle dreams.
Do you remember?
Remember how it felt
to so delicately place
fingers on keys
creating.
Spinning new realities
to replace
worlds you could never
escape.
You couldn't run fast enough.
Your heart squeezed and broken
by circumstances you lied
about. Saying
they were better.
Then you come back to this
wasteland, shouting
screaming.
The memories will fade.
And I stand on the other side
of the chasm.
Shouting back.
Embrace your choices.
You can't write your way
out of everything.
Formed not from
the bone of your
forced lover; instead
from the mud at his
side.
You are his equal.
Submissive is not
in your nature. Forsaking
the will of your creator.
Scream His name!
Shout out your
blasphemy. Your
own name denied
its beauty.
Grow your wings
through no power
of His. Leave Eden.
Leave your chains.
Follow no one.
Do not return to Eden,
beautiful heathen.
Adam is not worthy
of you. First wife,
too regal for his
animal wants. Run
away. Flee to the
darkness.
Do not wait.
You are no one's
object. No one's lesser.
You are unbridled
glory.
Laugh when he
begs you to return
to him.
Eve was not
sat
The world sees your bracelets
as intriguing style, trappings of
a distant culture to match
the fiery demeanour.
I see those bracelets
as a curiosity, hiding precious
inches of frayed skin betraying
stories bled out.
Embrace me.
Taste blasphemy
teased from the corners
of soft lips crested
in a wistful grin.
Tell me you understand
now. Tell me the truth.
That we are divine
and gods among
nature.
Tell me we are free.
Because our old God
had nothing to offer
but shackles
and disdain.
Hold me close and whisper
your truth.
That you are scared,
but thrilled.
That you are alive
and this moment
will never happen
the same way again.
I remember the delicacy,
the dance.
Flickering flames
in a windless tunnel.
Scared to even whisper,
for fear of snuffing out
that creative glow.
But that dance defied
our reason;
our silence.
It was beautiful.
The way two ghosts
circle around the
one living connection.
Haunts too curious
to let go so easily.
We kept those flames lit
as best as we could.
That creative blue spark.
Because we understood
each other, until we
allowed time to diminish
the light in natural decay.
And now I have reignited
my melted and disfigured candle.
Chipped away the wax
to mold something new.
And that little flame is growing
in a new and
unexplored tunnel.
Pretty in pink bombshell
what a little cliche.
Grows tired of her playthings
and throws them away.
Daddy never said no
so she'll never grow.
Never know
she's a flat-out ho.
Take for granted
the good she's got
like a small child touching a stove
she'll be burned just to see it's too hot.
But that's her life.
She'll fill it with strife.
Crossing someone's wife
uncovering the trials of a lowlife.
Take these words
as a cautionary tale.
Because we all know this girl.
And know she will fail.
I remember a place
where I was free.
When I knew that I was
divine.
A fucking goddess
weaving wonders
with each word carved
into the empty page.
When I was something more
than this shell.
When the world was more
than trials and
every new struggle
was a moment to grow.
I miss it.
That place.
My muse is a fickle bitch.
Trapped at the bottom
of wine bottles
and the burnt out
joints that litter my balcony.
I miss that place.
Where love was it
and none of these puzzles.
Breathe.
Pulse quickened,
eyes narrowed.
Start the chase.
Start the chase.
Palms sweaty,
limbs tremble.
Don't get caught.
Don't get caught.
Swallow nerves,
force a smile.
Just a taste.
Just a taste.
Breathe.
Time slowed,
feet miles high.
Ride it out.
Ride it out.
Focus lost,
nerves frayed.
Ignore the fall.
Ignore the fall.
Sheets pulled up,
guilt eating away.
Bury it deep.
Bury it deep.
Phone flashes on,
flip it over.
Just be quiet.
Just be quiet.
Breathe.
Wake up subdued,
find connection.
Tell the truth.
Tell the truth.
Pick up the phone.
Send a message.
Ask for help.
Ask for help.
Old habits die hard.
That god damned cliche
is painfully true.
Old habits die hard.
Yeah.
They fucking do.
As I inhale another
cigarette, unable to
stop myself from
digging.
Digging into a world
that I have no place in.
Digging into a past
that isn't mine.
And I will find that
sweet spot.
That name.
That clue.
That old habit.
And I will become
your fucking vampire.
Because I already asked
permission to be
let in.
You never said I couldn't
take a look around,
make myself at home
in the open and still
bleeding wounds you
try to hide.
Yeah.
Old habits die hard.
And I will drink myself
into a stupor,
chase them with smoke
and hate mysel
Everyone has a vice.
An itch for some
terrible fix.
And I am just as human
(even though I should be
a god...maybe
a devil).
Yeah, everyone has a vice.
Another promise to break.
A drink to down,
a pill to swallow.
Or, maybe,
just a ghost
to torment.
I wanted to tell a different story.
Finding myself on a city bench with a cigarette between my lips and smoke swirling around my head in a halo of misshapen and misplaced desires
drifting.
Drifting away on a rogue breeze stirred
up by a passing cab.
I wonder where they are going.
A young woman and man lost in conversation. I want to know their story.
But it vanishes as quick as the thought can enter my mind.
Nothing more than a pair of shadows. I do not know what defines them.
Just they are living and breathing somewhere else.
And I'm sitting here, with a cigarette between my lips
and a halo of smoke to disappear just as quickly.
I am an artist. A weaver of fact and fiction. A mistress of language.
And I'm still learning.
Current Residence: BC Canada Favourite genre of music: Anything except country and rap, and even then, there are some gems Favourite cartoon character: Darkwing Duck! Personal Quote: Fighting for peace is like screwing for virginity - George Carlin
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Aerosmith!
Favourite Writers
I can't pick one favorite, there are too many to choose from.
I disappear from here for chunks of time, and it's always been a cozy little memory to return to. I come back today and what the actual fuck happened to the layout?
Just read one of the front page feature poems.
What trite highschool bullshit.
Really, DA?
I dig the visual work here, but I would be inclined to just scrap the writing community if the featured work would have gotten me a giant ass "F" on any assignment back in grade school.
I feel like I'm in constant motion. As unstoppable as the wind.
And I carry with me, a message of hope for those who choose to listen.
I don't know what this life is meant for yet. All I know is that I'm alive and as honest as a cloudy sky.
I'm as sincere as the rain.
I'm as tranquil as the moon on a starless night.