[x]

fragment 16for z

you were only great
because i had nothing else
to compare you to

nebraskafor s

it is three am in
every sense of the time and the
place there isn't enough
space between my nerves
these days and god
damn
when you touch
me i get goosebumps and my synapses stop
working. winter boy,
kiss me when it gets cold and hold
me here so i'll remember what it's like
to feel okay.

moments are not
temporary, they are
memory, they
stick,
and if i could just linger in this i
would. the world is gold
and flat and
simple,
and we will conquer every
stretch of pavement and
dust trail
in between.

make a pillow of your chest and
a blanket of your body
and let me lie
there
for a little while: find

the fervor
and the fever in the

swell. (collaboration)i.
a little birdie told me
that when the kiss of dusk
comes knocking, the night owls
come out to play -

i heard birds singing
mid-may, i thought you said
you'd come back to stay, but i
must be listening to star-dust
without sound;
i must be watching the sun
rise for us
in the wrong hemisphere

the thing is, it burned out
years ago;
light just takes
so long to move (on)

ii.
a little birdie told me you've been
staggering late
into everything, and

god, where did the time go?

the white rabbit took
two months from me
he bites my skin, & ebbs at my sea
i knew it by the way that he shook-
i saw it in the way he couldn't look
at me

(i must be in

swell. (collaboration)i.

a little birdie told me
that when the kiss of dusk
comes knocking, the night owls
come out to play -

i heard birds singing
mid-may, i thought you said
you'd come back to stay, but i
must be listening to star-dust
without sound;
i must be watching the sun
rise for us
in the wrong hemisphere

the thing is, it burned out
years ago;
light just takes
so long to move (on)

ii.

a little birdie told me you've been
staggering late
into everything, and

god, where did the time go?

the white rabbit took
two months from me
he bites my skin, & ebbs at my sea
i knew it by the way that he shook-
i saw it in the way he couldn't look
at me

(i must b

creature comfortsand so I guess I'm just supposed to sit here
and wait for the boy
two towns over who deals
Godspeed with his tongue
and the tattoos
that wrap his hands like
lace, or laced
drinks & laced weed. & I know
it doesn't do me any good
but I owe him
nothing. I will barter sex
for control
and someone to hold when the haze hits
and my pulse skips.

he places my hand on the burner
and the smell of gasoline and smack
has filled the kitchen where the
wallpaper, faded yellow, has begun to peel
at the corners, and the cracks of the windowsill
which sprout little green
weeds, ugly and very much mine.
I do not flinch. I close my eyes
and turn the flame fr

here lies the remains of the snake river kidsmy father is pouring his grandfather into the river
after having sat in a whiskey bottle in his closet
for ten years,
and I never knew the guy, my
great-grandfather, right, so all I could think was that
that's a lot of ashes for one body
but I guess having lived so long
you'd have a lot of dust, a lot of ghosts
and then all the sudden, you only are
what you have left
a few generations
down.

there are four of us here. my father, his sister,
her husband, and myself. my aunt,
who is from california
and wears a lot of makeup but grew up
in the country, tells us how she'll videotape it
and send it to
my grandmother and my great-aunt sue,
because

molt.french class-
i am sliding in and
   out of dreams,
    semiconscious,
   the dialogue of some
    jeune garçon et sa
         petite amie
    streaming in the background
                 to drown out
   the rest:
            not the moon, the
              creatures exposing sin after
                 sin in layers
                   of skin - liquid

lolitai am jane doe's naked knees,
shaking but still standing
bruised but still standing
swearing it's not
weak ankles to worry about it's
those goddam knees,
miss,
we have crooked
wires,
and
bad chemicals
quit thinking you're made of
iron when
you're really mostly
clay,
so
impressionable
(all skin, cartilage,
blood and nerves -
god,
it's only natural to feel)

beari.

there is a bear in the forest. he breathes out ghosts, inhales the most
incredible brilliance - forgive me, i'm selfish about this one
i swear i didn't live before him. he's the loneliest soul,
i wrap my jeweled fingers around his bones because i'm alone within

his skin is pale as aspens
he looks alive in the autumn; grinds his teeth in the summer heat
'don't speak' he'll tell
me. he roams with wild eyes & broken bones, he's

the sweetest hell. he's a cavern in heaven. he's
more human than i'll ever be

his fur is made of afterthoughts & lulling birds
twin stars dangling high above his head
to mask a sound you'd give your life to he

there is no three day hump with peoplecan you swallow my spirit and tell me how it tastes?
tell me what it does to you, baby, i am a hallucinogenic-
i am your favourite narcotic-
i am your dead father's leftover
bottle of pills:
nowhere near good for you
and certainly not yours.

you'll start to
see things that aren't
there, believe
everything you hear. i'll
keep you awake at night
even so exhausted,
even with your eyes
sutured-shut.

in the mornings you'll drift
in and out of sleep,
in and out of me,
i
tend to linger long after you mean to
go but you can't stay mad at me
forever, you

know,

i have a bad habit of becoming
other people's
bad habits
and this
addiction
never

nataliahave you ever watched somebody
become you?
it is the scariest thing. it's like watching
the little kids in scary movies that
open the door and don't turn on
the lights. the ones that forget to grab
the golf clubs from under their beds
when they go to check the backyard.
it's like watching someone get lost in the woods.
when you know you burned the last map
under the last tree and when you know
something slender shadowy and sly lies
just behind the branches. and they laugh
and think wow
there is finally something happening in my life.
and you think no, no, there's been plenty
happening, I swear this isn't the kind of happening
you want.

they

and you don't feel the poison - it drips, it dripswe had sex because we
no longer knew
what to say to each other.

i've never liked
pillow talk,
so this worked out perfectly.

we were busy.
you, with your new job
and a sudden interest in
cigarettes -
me, with my half-written novels
and a quiet relapse into
suicide.

when we fucked
i would close my eyes and
move my hips like i could somehow
fuck
the hate out of
myself.

it didn't work,
because i loved
you (still
do)

and when
we made love
i would close my eyes and
kiss you like saying goodbye
because every time had this habit
of feeling like
the last time,

and the last time
really felt like
the last time.

after, on the worst nights,
i w

the art of being forgettableonly speak when spoken to
and only say enough
to satisfy them with an answer
and bore them with the truth.

don't be tragic. people will
try to pity you or worse,
help you.
they'll ask questions and,
if being forgotten is what you want need,
don't
you
ever
let them
get to know you.

still,
if you're mysterious enough
they'll get curious
so don't be clever. don't be
intriguing, don't be
thought-provoking,
don't make them wonder
the way your mouth moves
in the dark, or how you are
when you're feeling good.
(too good-)

be simple
and polite:
do not say anything
crude or
funny,
it'll throw them off.

don't be beautiful. keep yourself
hidden a

i need to be with someone as sad as mei need to be with someone as sad as me

inertia ridden

soliloquies

of imperfection

i need someone who will drink coffee at eleven am

on their dirty porch, & doesn't give a damn

thumbs bukowski lyrics through his skin

i need someone as sub-human as me

i need someone who dreams about dying, &

writes poems in upper-case letters

i need someone who is so human they're afraid of lying

i need someone who is chock full of morals passed down by

their mothers. someone clinging unto their sunday school shoes,

& singing the blues in the shower

someone who drives by a field of flowers; pulls over

snaps a photo they'll never

'see the same mo

sunday died in my arms last nightmy father is
passed out on the couch,
with some
half-rate horror movie playing
fake blood & all;
a half-eaten bowl of chili
on the table;
and an empty can
of copenhagen
on his chest.

and i am thinking,
maybe i should just take the keys from the counter
and pretend that i am any good
at driving stick shift
when your hand is hot on my
thigh.

and i am thinking,
what would he do-
my father, i mean-
if he knew just what i've been up to
this week,
this month,
this year,
et
cetera,

i swear just one
honest story
would lead him straight out the door
with a cross hanging from his
neck and a shotgun
in his hand, dead-set
on killing
someone, if

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you are wasting your time (a warning)and
no, i don't hate you,
i don't love you
and i probably won't even
remember
you, five years from now:

you are just another drunken soldier
decaying the flowers
in my front yard,
fighting a war i never meant to
start,
sink
ing
into
the insipid ache
of my is-
olation

on the eventual recession of everythingfull title: on the eventual recession of everything i have ever felt

listen listen listen
i am a honey bee and the things i say
sting, but they kill me,
they kill me and i am so
sorry,

you have got
to believe me when i say that
'cause baby it's all i have.

and i know
this won't matter in the morning
when you're too tired or
too hungover
to remember it,
but i didn't mean
what i said,

not a damn
thing-

not even
the good parts.

fragment 27sometimes i wish someone would just
grab me by my shoulders,
shake me, say,
"cut it out!
you've got to stop
being such a
whore!
you're going to hurt
him, and
him,
haven't you done enough
already?"

on needingfull title: on needing what is worst for you, or not needing what is best

i can't explain to you why i
need him, and not you
and i am sorry
i am sorry
i am
sorry,

but sometimes i play a little game
in my head, telling you
both the same things
and seeing where it goes, seeing
what kind of
reaction
i can get.

it is overcast, not
too cold, not
too hot, but it is always too hot
for you. and god
all i want to do is just
go out to the woods and
swing myself on a pendulum -
the one you've both
hung me from - and
all i want to do is just
unclip the chains from my chest
and
take my chances with the fall,
on his side
of the
bank.

you both
ache for

fragment 26you were the last to leave:
of course you
made sure to lock
the door behind you.

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Submitted: February 23
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on people as places

by =vvolatile, Feb 23, 2013, 3:36:04 PM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

t,
you are
the elementary school playground
scraped knees
‘cooties’
and all;
i still sit on the swings
sometimes.

-

z,
you were the house i grew up in
and grew tired of,
so very familiar;
every secret door revealed
every hiding spot
discovered,
still -
i couldn't help but linger
long after it
fell apart.

-

c,
you are the forest
i have been too afraid to wander in
for long;
so beautiful and inviting
so full of poisonous
things.

-

mn,
you were the last car
on a train: temporary,
in transit and moving
(on), but
nobody can travel
forever.

-

b,
you were
the dusty hotel room
i got comfortable in for
a few days, the one i
found love in
again,
but hotel rooms belong to no one
and i shouldn't have been so
surprised to find that
someone else had been
sleeping there,
too.

-

j,
you were the
girl down the street's
backyard,
littered with red solo
cups and
bottles,
and not much
else.

-

sg,
you are the back room
of someone else's
house,
the one i've come to hide in
when i can no longer stand the sight of
people.

-

sh,
you are every state border
i intend to cross.

-

mr,
i don't think i could
pinpoint you, even if i
wanted to.

on people as placesby =vvolatile

Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

edit 3/18/13: had to add a couple names, ha.

this is the best thing i have written in a long time,
in my opinion,
which by default means that nobody else will like it.

alt title - a chronical of every boy i have ever been involved with, or at least the most notable ones

i tried to keep them chronological
but some are still in my life
(their presence questionable)

(c)

Critique by ~silentangeldying Feb 24, 2013, 2:27:08 PM

Hello again!
I am catching up on reading all your work I've missed and thought I'd leave another critique.

I'll start with the good points:

The connection between each of them (comparing them to a place/transportation) and the individual anaolgies are absolutely amazing. It is a very unique perspective and one that I find is a reoccurring theme in your work.

The "-' between each stanza, and the use of a "," after the intials vs. ";" or something else are both examples of wise use of punctuation and phrasing.

Additionally, I am recieving the impression that there is an underlying metaphor/meaning you wanted to get across, yet wanted it to be open for interpretation. I enjoy how this piece has layers; each stanza says a complete points, add them together to create a picture, and adding the underlying, behind-the-scenes creates a gallery of sorts, a collage.

Now, onto constructive criticism:

- Perhaps you used the word 'but' too often... it is in multiple stanzas, and I think the phrasing would have been more poignant if you had used a less common way to interupt the thought; (In the first part you use "still -" )

- My only other criticism is the ending. I found that you could have created an anology to make that point, rather than spelling it out. It WORKS, it just doesn't shine.

Overally, I thought this was definitely one of the best pieces I've read of your writing. It was emotional/anti-emotion, it was beautifully crafted into comparisons and layered description, and you bring about this light from pesronal situations, leaving the reader to reflect perhaps on their own trains, back rooms, and hotel rooms.

Amazing <3

What do you think?

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~Flummoxative Apr 6, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Pensive and lonely, quiet and quite lovely. I hope you find whoever you're meant to be with.

=vvolatile Apr 6, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

thank you

I hope so too

~touristEYES Mar 18, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

i am fucking blown away. this is so good. how did i miss this?

=vvolatile Mar 18, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

thank you so much

~YogaTeacher Feb 25, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I can tell that there is a lot of thought wound up inside this- but what it has become feels effortless, which makes me think you've found out how it's right. It's intriguing, both knowing what is there and not knowing what went on. A glimpse of another reality that is a blessing to have.

=vvolatile Feb 25, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

thank you so much

~diddlyhohum Feb 24, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

i love this

=vvolatile Feb 24, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

thank you

~forelskets Feb 23, 2013 Student Photographer

b would be my favorite if i had to pick.
i love the whole thing though

=vvolatile Feb 24, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

b probably has the most interesting actual story as well.
thank you <3

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on people as placesby =vvolatile

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