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The Journey Begins...After a couple days on the road, it became very apparent to Razabeth that she would require more than the clothes on her back to make this work. While the horse seemed content to continue on regardless of the weather, the girl did not share her work ethic. It was spring and in the greenbelt of the Empire that meant rain. Lots of it.
There really was not much left of the highborn lass that had set out afire with righteousness. It was very likely she had drowned a while back. Now her long hair was tangled and pulled back into a rough bun on the back of her neck. Her once bright red dress was dark with water and grime. The Popinjay had transformed into a sparrow.
"At least we blend in " She muttered, half to herself and half to the mare. It hadn't taken long for her to start talking to the animal. Questioning her sanity had not been high on her list of things to do lately. Regardless, she was right. When they finally gave up and approached one of the many homesteads that
Prologue Part 2While she lay on her back in the dust, looking up into the misty blue sky, Razabeth became aware of how very grateful she was that there was no one there to witness her final humiliation. The horse quite peacefully browsed the foliage, it's subtle rusting telling her it was close nearby somewhere out of her line of sight. A cold sense of emptiness began to set in. For a moment she closed her eyes and surrendered to it. Allowed herself to feel the full implication of the choices she had made in the past few hours. Two tear trails burned cold against her flushed cheeks. She allowed herself just this small moment of self-pity. Then she got angry.
Bolting suddenly upright she shot the unsuspecting animal a look that could kill lesser things. To its credit it did startle, shooting her a wounded look over it's shoulder. Of course this only served to jerk the poor girl off balance and into the dirt once again. A raw choked scream bubbled up from somewhere deep inside and clawed it's way into
TorpidThe rain has come,
It's cold drops falling like tears.
Phoenix flying caught unawares
entranced with the fiery colors of autumn.
Is battered by the freezing realization,
that the time has come,
The fire has gone,
snuffed out by the hovering storm.
Phoenix mourning lies weeping.
A bedraggled thing huddled small for comfort,
made bony and frail by the wet.
stripped of beauty
The snow falls deep.
a soft numb blanket to dull the pain.
Phoenix sleeping seems dead.
Eyes staring and mouth agape with silent screams,
Aching and yearning for the sun,
and the quickening of spring
to awake again.
FallingI tried to watch the sky fall
but you were sleeping...
and the clouds had rolled in
when I wasn't looking.
I stood on the terrace
disappointed and ready to give up
but I saw a streak of silver
in the corner of my eye.
I couldn't tell if I was crying
Or if a star had crossed my path
but I couldn't look away
in case I missed something...
So I just stood there
Leaning out over the railing
Neck craned at an impossible angle
FairytaleI am tired of chasing fairy-tales.
I see mirages in the desert.
Beautiful shimmering castles,
full of people that love me.
When I reach for them they're gone.
They were smoke and mirrors.
Fairies aren't real.
But it doesn't bring them back to me.
Now I'm lost in the woods,
and it's dark in there.
I'm chasing willow-wisps,
Arms outstretched - trusting the light
Then I'm falling in the mud,
and it's dragging me down.
Fairies aren't real.
But it doesn't bring them back to me.
Maybe there's no place
For love among friends...
Everything here is only a year and a day.
Then it's gone.
But I'll never grow up,
if it means being so cold.
It is so cold.
I'm not real.
Fairies aren't real.
No one is clapping anymore.
StrayThe past my love,
is not undone,
whether wrong or right.
The choice is made,
the door is closed,
there's no more time to fight.
It leaves it's mark,
'pon every soul,
a scar for all to see.
A wary look,
a cringing fear,
the sudden urge to flee.
Cast it off,
this heavy coat,
and let the seasons change.
Feel the breeze,
seek the sun,
though choices may estrange.
Our path is chosen
not by us,
and though the way be hard.
There is beauty,
there is truth,
hidden in the sward.
when your journey's though
and your heart has found it's home.
the path was clear,
there's a reason that we roam.
Change this lifeHiding in the shadows
Resisting in secrecy
Trying to find a way
To change this life of misery
The future is unknown
The past is to forget
The present is dull and boring
Is this what life has to offer?
I want to change
And I keep trying
Only to fail miserabily
Every single time
eight ways you've made me small1. I wish
this was for you.
2. my journal pages - the
brown one with all our monologues -
were jarred with hollow vows of
last poems of
letting you slip into a coma
of bad memories, watching you
fall to your death off
a cascading cliff of disease
and dis ease.
it was never
easy for me
3. there's a reason I ask
whether you're grey
(dark white, elusively black, in between)
or blue (behind the clouds, under wave-foam,
whateverthefuck runs through the back of my
palms); I'd rather have
than the arms
that once held you half-
heartedly. you had always been
my harmony and I
would have killed
to have been yours.
4. it could never have been just me, the way
it could never have been just
5. disasters are not beautiful,
but how is it that you
managed to make my inner linings
converge into bows
and explode into wings the very
night you decided to rebuild your walls
to a lower height?
6. I wish
on bradbury and table dancingYou are not a wordsmith
whatever you might like to think. ('Smith'
indicates precision and coldness and fire:
words are softer than that unless you mold them strong.)
It's a difficult road to follow, and not many
make it past the fork. Choose a path,
Janus says, whirligig keys spinning on his shoulders:
I am a wordworker, with my tools too crude, forming
rough-edged carvings painted with pretty imagery.
Notebooks scattered across the landscape
of a child's room, to be stumbled across,
read, red-penned, in the thick and choking breath of night.
When the bough breaks
a hanged man laughs. He carries typewriters
in his pockets, and cigarettes in the soles of his shoes.
I will never be a word mistress,
whoring myself to the speech of people I do not know and will never know me.
The oven is set to Fahrenheit 452, but the words were already aflame
before they ever took shape under your tongue.
You love everything they've ever written, and carry
unabashed loathing for every syllabl
Whenever I hurt myselfI have a feeling
Someone is watching
So I look around
But there's no one to be found
ExpirationWith you I always feel like I’m
to break in the wrong size of shoes.
Sometimes I sit and stew
over how you’re seventeen and
you think I’m a princess
the trapped-in-a-tower kind
and how you wear suits and talk about politics
and think you know the world.
My throat interrupts with an affronted gurgling sound
sometimes when I think about you,
you deal out advice where it just isn’t called for
you quote science-fiction to justify war
and you’re seventeen years old and you think I’m a princess
and you just have no blooming idea.
Darling, one of these days I will tell you my mind
But until then we’ll never fit
I’m afraid –
that even after that day
you’ll still be trimmed hedges and
when i stimulated the prayers of rib-beat
when i licked the temple of my teeth,
speed pushed my fingers shaped like confessionals
clasped holy, carved my throat to fixing-
lover; i did this for the anthem of your eyes,
the feel of strangled feet crushing the fame of stars
for the glow of streetlight worship, for the moons
of your crooning throat, for the halls of your arms,
the strayed revels of your arms,
lover: you manufactured a god out of the drugs i used
and had me addicted to the divine, to the dignity of music
you pressed in my direction: just what i am, hallelujah,
marijuana, day and night-
lover, i fell in love with your culture
that preached the real definition of dusked kneecaps,
the plea of closeted throats, the whisper of bless,
unlearning how to say please god in borrowed tongue,
i fell in love with your attention, with nervous grace
lover. i levied the rubble of my sins
Even The City KnowsIs it at all easy?
Being by yourself, I mean.
Sitting in a car, on a train, on a bus--wherever you might be now, isn't it hard to be a drifter?
There are no men with newspapers, no women with strollers, no love-crazy teenagers, no annoying toddlers, no anybody.
You stare out the window, like there are people out there, calling your name. The trees are out there, and they've lost all their leaves, all their buds--they've lost everything, just like you.
The sky is out there, and it's gray and colorless, just like you.
The stars are out there, and they're so blown-out-of-proportion, and they're just like you, too.
But the trees, the skies, the stars, they're used to being left alone.
You lack the ebullience of your drink, but it, too, is fading.
Frost has gathered on windows, on the ground, on rivers, everywhere.
Frost comes and goes, just like you, when you finally melt away.
The city draws to darkness and quiet--it disappears, just like you.
But, even frost
Death to the LoversHe screamed,
He tore his hair from his scalp;
But it didn't bring her back.
The beautiful girl
With the gorgeous smile
And witty remarks
Would always lay six feet under.
She would lie in her death bed,
Her arms folded on her chest
And her face full of peace
Known only to the dead.
He would be the first to rot.
First his health,
Then his sanity.
She would forever feed on his emotions
Like a pretty little leech,
Sapping his well being
And happiness from her underground world.
And he would let her,
For a fool like him
Who allowed himself to love,
My personal Mr. HydeDoctor, Doctor!
Give me a pill.
A pill to kill the pain,
to kill the darkness inside of me.
To kill the voice inside my head,
that won't let me sleep for crying.
How could the arrow miss it's mark?
Collateral damage and innocent bystanders.
I asked for an assassination,
got a bomb.
Now I 'm surrounded,
burnt out husks
and radiation poisoning
Christmas in July.
it doesn't feel the same.
I don't believe in fairies anymore.
All illusions stripped away.
I don't feel right.
What have I become?
I think a monster crawled inside me
Do you know what's going wrong?
I think that it wants out.
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More