Submissions by BlackRose_Mira (trashcat)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
to love as if to burn; to grieve as if to drown
recovery
always these cold, dead-of-night mornings
and lights like stars past the darkened paddy fields.
always the midnight breeze and its bite
past my skin, into my bones, into my chest.
lean further on the balcony railing, exhale.
always these cigarettes, and they
always taste like you.
remember when i begged the gods
to take away your pain and let me bear it
in your place?
remember when they agreed?
remember when i broke, all blood and poison and remorse?
always pain in search of pain, and i
always realize too late.
...
and lights like stars past the darkened paddy fields.
always the midnight breeze and its bite
past my skin, into my bones, into my chest.
lean further on the balcony railing, exhale.
always these cigarettes, and they
always taste like you.
remember when i begged the gods
to take away your pain and let me bear it
in your place?
remember when they agreed?
remember when i broke, all blood and poison and remorse?
always pain in search of pain, and i
always realize too late.
...
711 reads
3 Comments
I can't bring myself to give this a title
"I can't fuckin sleep."
"Me neither."
It's 2 AM. Again. It always is.
2.09 to be exact
the comfortable silence we always share
Is different. Both lighter and thicker.
We're both thinking of other people.
I'm thinking of the boy from the other 2 AM. You're thinking about the girl from the cards. From my cards.
But they aren't here now. I wish he was. You wish she was.
But there's just us.
Us and our cigarettes.
You and your Djarums, me and my Dunhills.
This is our friendship, I guess.
Smoking wordlessly in the...
"Me neither."
It's 2 AM. Again. It always is.
2.09 to be exact
the comfortable silence we always share
Is different. Both lighter and thicker.
We're both thinking of other people.
I'm thinking of the boy from the other 2 AM. You're thinking about the girl from the cards. From my cards.
But they aren't here now. I wish he was. You wish she was.
But there's just us.
Us and our cigarettes.
You and your Djarums, me and my Dunhills.
This is our friendship, I guess.
Smoking wordlessly in the...
667 reads
8 Comments
Midnight
23.58
The crickets cannot chirp louder than this silence.
The vast expanse of the sky cannot stretch wider
than the footlong chasm of smoke and thoughts
between us.
The chill of the night breeze is no colder
than the ache in my bones
than my swallowed words
than the rush of yours
in my blood.
23.59
There was never any Forever with you.
There was only Now.
and so now, without you,
there is only When.
00.00
So here I am, between yesterday and...
The crickets cannot chirp louder than this silence.
The vast expanse of the sky cannot stretch wider
than the footlong chasm of smoke and thoughts
between us.
The chill of the night breeze is no colder
than the ache in my bones
than my swallowed words
than the rush of yours
in my blood.
23.59
There was never any Forever with you.
There was only Now.
and so now, without you,
there is only When.
00.00
So here I am, between yesterday and...
595 reads
4 Comments
2.00 AM - (dunhills are for remembering)
Monday, 25 April 2016
1.06 AM
I can almost pinpoint the moment I realized his breathing had quickened, when his movements had become faster, hungrier. It was two AM, and we were desperately trying to keep quiet. There were seven people in the room. They were all asleep. All, of course, except us.
It was dark, and both of us were hesitant to start, I suppose. I know I was. We'd talked about it before, planned to steal a few seconds--just a peck--in the school practice rooms--but we couldn't find a moment alone. So we both went to spend Saturday night at basecamp, as always....
1.06 AM
I can almost pinpoint the moment I realized his breathing had quickened, when his movements had become faster, hungrier. It was two AM, and we were desperately trying to keep quiet. There were seven people in the room. They were all asleep. All, of course, except us.
It was dark, and both of us were hesitant to start, I suppose. I know I was. We'd talked about it before, planned to steal a few seconds--just a peck--in the school practice rooms--but we couldn't find a moment alone. So we both went to spend Saturday night at basecamp, as always....
769 reads
4 Comments
Nicotine Lipstick
I can't stop
A part of me knows that, but I
convince myself I can
if I wanted to.
I just don't want to.
I exhale.
If I close my eyes
I can almost imagine--
I am not breathing out smoke
My mouth is not lined with poison
I am not destroying myself.
I am.
It is.
That is exactly what I'm doing.
And I don't even like it.
But I keep going,
right up to the filter
sometimes past it
until my fingers burn
until it nearly feels like
I am breathing in fire.
It disgusts me.
Makes me sick.
It's...
A part of me knows that, but I
convince myself I can
if I wanted to.
I just don't want to.
I exhale.
If I close my eyes
I can almost imagine--
I am not breathing out smoke
My mouth is not lined with poison
I am not destroying myself.
I am.
It is.
That is exactly what I'm doing.
And I don't even like it.
But I keep going,
right up to the filter
sometimes past it
until my fingers burn
until it nearly feels like
I am breathing in fire.
It disgusts me.
Makes me sick.
It's...
623 reads
3 Comments
Home Is The Last Six Doors Down The Hall
Home is the last six doors down the hall
Past the rooms with bright lights and clean walls,
Past the rooms with the spotless windows
And doors that don’t creak, that aren’t broken;
Past the posters that scream, “you can do it”
And whisper, “but not all of you will”.
Home is the afternoon light streaming in
And bouncing off the glossy bodies of our lives–
Shining on hands and strings and scores
That lie scattered on the tile floors;
It is the smiles that glow in the sunset
And stay warm as the sky grows dark.
Home is the smell of...
Past the rooms with bright lights and clean walls,
Past the rooms with the spotless windows
And doors that don’t creak, that aren’t broken;
Past the posters that scream, “you can do it”
And whisper, “but not all of you will”.
Home is the afternoon light streaming in
And bouncing off the glossy bodies of our lives–
Shining on hands and strings and scores
That lie scattered on the tile floors;
It is the smiles that glow in the sunset
And stay warm as the sky grows dark.
Home is the smell of...
565 reads
0 Comments
The Mountains Are Calling
The Mountains are calling,
from far, far away.
I hear their great rumbling,
Go on night and day.
They call to the children
Who on them were raised--
Who on their great faces
Had spent their young days.
The Mountains are calling,
I hear their low horns
From miles out come ringing
On Wind's great wings borne.
They call to the lost ones
Who've long gone astray,
Who rue distant bygones
And mourn their dead days.
The mountains are calling,
They sing an old tune--
A tale that has listening
The Sun and...
from far, far away.
I hear their great rumbling,
Go on night and day.
They call to the children
Who on them were raised--
Who on their great faces
Had spent their young days.
The Mountains are calling,
I hear their low horns
From miles out come ringing
On Wind's great wings borne.
They call to the lost ones
Who've long gone astray,
Who rue distant bygones
And mourn their dead days.
The mountains are calling,
They sing an old tune--
A tale that has listening
The Sun and...
#mountains
#rhyming
#myself
915 reads
8 Comments
Romero
O demon-fingers, blessed hands,
O friend of wood and string,
In what grand stage, what old halls do
Thy melodies now sing?
From song thou slipped, from joy walked far,
And slept come death of day.
Now passed thou hast, o'er thresholds dark,
To whither none can say.
O'er what dim vale, what dark mist does
Thy spirit find its way?
And what worn words, what empty grief
Would kith and kin now bray?
O age-worn soul, O wanderer,
Will none thy vigil hold?
The words are said, the flowers laid,
Thy memory now cold.
...
O friend of wood and string,
In what grand stage, what old halls do
Thy melodies now sing?
From song thou slipped, from joy walked far,
And slept come death of day.
Now passed thou hast, o'er thresholds dark,
To whither none can say.
O'er what dim vale, what dark mist does
Thy spirit find its way?
And what worn words, what empty grief
Would kith and kin now bray?
O age-worn soul, O wanderer,
Will none thy vigil hold?
The words are said, the flowers laid,
Thy memory now cold.
...
674 reads
4 Comments
Much Too Late
You did a lot of stupid things.
You tried to "put me in my place"
As if you were above me
And I had forgotten that I
Belonged at your feet.
That was stupid.
I stood just as tall as you.
You tried to bend me to suit your taste
As if I was a display mannequin
And I had forgotten that I
Did not have my own voice.
That was stupid.
I deafened you with my scream.
You tried to pacify me and act
As if you were never wrong
And I had forgotten that I
Was the one to blame.
That was stupid.
...
You tried to "put me in my place"
As if you were above me
And I had forgotten that I
Belonged at your feet.
That was stupid.
I stood just as tall as you.
You tried to bend me to suit your taste
As if I was a display mannequin
And I had forgotten that I
Did not have my own voice.
That was stupid.
I deafened you with my scream.
You tried to pacify me and act
As if you were never wrong
And I had forgotten that I
Was the one to blame.
That was stupid.
...
843 reads
4 Comments
s p i d e r
The itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the water spout.
Indeed, but
What they don't tell you is that
The itsy-bitsy spider
Isn't so itsy-bitsy at all.
And that water spout?
It's the food chain.
Out came the Sun.
Indeed, but
What they don't tell you is that
The itsy-bitsy spider
Isn't so itsy-bitsy at all.
And that water spout?
It's the food chain.
Out came the Sun.
645 reads
0 Comments
Is my godphone finally working?
Spiders! Eeeeeverywhere. Lots of ‘em.
Snippets of music (those ones) floating around my head.
My dreamscape smells like cinnamon. what.
There’s that quote on my screen agai—
Wait.
Did you just… ?
…ffs.
You did.
You little shit.
You little shit.
They didn’t call you ‘Trickster’ for nothing, did they? Great. Great.
Sneaky fuck.
I love you.
Snippets of music (those ones) floating around my head.
My dreamscape smells like cinnamon. what.
There’s that quote on my screen agai—
Wait.
Did you just… ?
…ffs.
You did.
You little shit.
You little shit.
They didn’t call you ‘Trickster’ for nothing, did they? Great. Great.
Sneaky fuck.
I love you.
664 reads
0 Comments
Green Dot
It's late.
Tests tomorrow.
I should go to sleep.
I don't.
I was about to, but then
You appeared.
You are
A green dot on my screen
That holds me frozen.
I try
To look away. I am not surprised
When I can't.
You flicker.
I clench my teeth and hope
It was just a glitch.
It wasn't.
You disappear. I sigh
And try to go to sleep.
I don't.
I spend the night awake
And the next day dreaming
Of you.
Tests tomorrow.
I should go to sleep.
I don't.
I was about to, but then
You appeared.
You are
A green dot on my screen
That holds me frozen.
I try
To look away. I am not surprised
When I can't.
You flicker.
I clench my teeth and hope
It was just a glitch.
It wasn't.
You disappear. I sigh
And try to go to sleep.
I don't.
I spend the night awake
And the next day dreaming
Of you.
624 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by BlackRose_Mira (trashcat)