skin mazes (cold/comfort contest)sun fingers trickleskin mazes (cold/comfort contest) by betwixtthepages
across a gooseflesh maze:
a brief respite from winter's bluster
HaikuWriMo 20171. ice fishingHaikuWriMo 2017 by betwixtthepages
rainbow koi paint trails
in a backyard pond
while cat skates thin ice above
2. Rorschach musings
homemade lava lamp:
vinegar and oil churn Rorschachs
in plastic bottles
3. bathing rituals
toasted sugar wafts
from pruned fingertips:
lotion after hot baths
4. commuting weather
fluffy flakes rendezvous
with black asphalt
as wet tires slur sluggishly
5. cloud curtains
day shines a flashlight
through thick folds of curtain:
a break in the clouds
6. shower scents
morning bliss and peppermint meringue;
hot water runs rivulets
down aching muscles
7. backyard at night
outside closed windows
a loud, maniacal laugh:
ducks at rest on a pond
8. morning murder
tiny black specks
smeared across ridged fingertips:
9. Sahara tongue
patched and parched,
desert crevices fill quickly
as water falls
10. stroke of day
mother moon jolts awake
surrounded by blue sheets;
11. alligator heels
TeaClouds attached to string
filled with tattered leaves and Earth.
Raindrops in a glass.
hypnoidalI should know better-
I was always
plaster of Paris to you.
little to offer but art- a story stuck to the walls
of a dusty corner.
I can hear your
endocrine glands pretend to pump-
I can feel your heart empty
and your lungs distend. It's all too faint,
too shallow- your body is suspicious. Even here,
lying next to me- I don't trust your existence.
please don't leave me under past
summers' slumbers with your hand
gripping my waist, laying me to waste.
don't put me to bed in this space where
I can't blink but the desire to collapse
is there- awake but out of place,
like the gentle press of a
dream before you fully enter sleep
and your whole body jerks:
fight or flight?
another sleepless night.
you can't hold me hostage here-
in this bed I'm hypnoidal and neurotic.
I'm hearing the soft words you use on pretty girls and
I still pretend they belong to me because
I was the first.
don't you remember the power
of breathing over speaking?
it's an ugly delicacy- fucking you then sl
CohabitatingFlies splay a constellation in reverse
across the wardrobe door sky.
They thrum and gossip at the smell of blood.
Their wet little feet patter every surface,
patting every surface, testing them as their own.
Tiny black hearts ache to take my kingdom
if only the knife would slip -
they buzz excitedly as I wretch into their airspace.
They don’t want to share this room with a human anymore.
I grasp for the precious edge of sanity
- someone knocks
What am I doing? Just thinking about feeding the flies.
things i've learned from punching walls.i. walls are hard.
ii. walls do not protest. even when you're pounding holes into them after your last fight with your parents or that day where you were feeling nothing was real.
iii. wounds heal. but in the time in between, your knuckles are peeled back like oranges and hot showers feel like death and people ask too many questions
iv. you may not feel it the first time
v. it will inevitably hurt. sometimes you'll feel it after the twenty fifth time or the moment you're about to buy groceries
vi. you won't always cry. but there will be times when you will become a waterfall and pound into the rock in front of you as if it has been keeping the answers from you the whole time.
vii. you won't always lunge like a wildcat. soft punches will feel like knocks on a door no one ever answers and at times these will be the ones that hurt the most.
viii. more times than not you will regret it.
ix. broken bones do not learn like muscles do. so you must learn for them.
x. maybe yo
the world turns slowly and i step with itthe world keeps turning
even when i stand still;
i found secrets hidden in dark places
and i wonder why i never
looked for them before,
never studied the reasoning behind
hiding them in the first place.
(or maybe i might have,
maybe i wanted to forget, try to forget,
try to be forgiven --)
the world keeps turning
and the night turns to day even when i have
passed hours sleepless in the confines
of a restless mind; i wonder where
the time goes as it drags me through
forever, i wonder how long ago
i should have found myself and wonder if,
i've fallen behind.
i've tried to love three times
and every time it ends in broken-
(not for me, you see, but them --)
and every time i feel a twinge
and i fear that this part of me
may be something broken.
the world keeps turning
and the fan on the nightstand keeps spinning,
gives me chills that warm
my frozen heart.
i'm terrified, i've found,
of getting close to the people that could
hurt me the most; i
pelagic seas.i wake up dreaming in aphotic waters,
i sleep with wide rabbit eyes, how can
you escape a phantom that is veined through
your skin? i am a whale swallowing beaches
to find weight in all this buoyancy, i am a stag
tangling antlers with oak branches to find br-ea-k
in all this armour, everyone tells me i look good
for someone biting the plum flesh of full-moon
nights, grinding teeth on the rinds of soured
no-one should repeat my mistakes.
i am a haunted new showroom home,
no-one seems to suspect that there are cracks
under all this smile, under all this laugh, under
all this light. my scars fibre-webbed, opal,
moonstone, the weight i carry masquerades as feathers,
the slow pull of bones from sockets, feet from
ocean floors hides in glass-cracked puddles,
i am a shipwreck disintergrating in plain sight.
no-one should repeat my mistakes.
i am a collection of fireflies, if you hold
too hard i will vanish. there is too much to
think about and not enough to say, how
can you explai
Lacrimosa She breaks harp strings
She tells me, in a hour
She has a backbone
Stronger than anything
I've ever seen
She breaks harp strings
She tells me, with delicate fingers
And violent heart
Loved by a ribcage
More fragile than
Her fluttering start
She is orchideliruim
She is lemon vodka, peppermint tea
Cold champagne spiked with
Like the things she used to make for me
She writes nocturnes in her sleep
And she cuts
But she can't let them see
She's a butterfly
Breaking at the wings
She is gilt and guilt and
Gold-tone trills, brilliant
She tells me she breaks harp strings
And we'll play the piano one day
I talk to her late at night
And miss her my whole life long
She shines like the delicate moon
Over spider-silk rewoven
Summer LovePeople speak of
like it’s worth more than love in winter
like it crunches beneath fall branches
and escapes spring’s fleeting hold.
They revere it
like it lasts longer
than the time it takes for summer
to appear, flash once and filter
out; like summer stays so long.