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Pinecones, Not Star Chartsclouds shed: not tears,
but clothes,
which transcend
to swaddle us
in threads finer than those of the
spider

we trade our skin for theirs

most would hide to shelter themselves,
but i was never meant for
roofs and hot chocolate,
(more like barefeet
and
lightning)

scuttling across my skin are so many words you already know,
making speech obsolete.
there's a melody in our muscles,
that brings your heart to my lips-
keeping time with the descent of heaven's nectar, drip
dropping to soothe sahara eyes

you drink the rainwater from my hair
with a hand at the base of my skull and your wrist pressed to my cheek,
i can f
Crickedi.

i keep my bulbs bare
cos i like knowing where these burns come from.

i lie to sleep red-handed,
and have a hard time remembering if the highest fell or the lowest
rose
in response to your half-mooned request,
namely that i dream with this [your] ultimate synapse
.behind.my.back.

it's your sense of touch that holds me

ii.

and i don't want to see your face forever

i know those eyes are the keys to mine but
you know i never lock up at night

i don't want to see this face forever

iii.

these and those cliffs have faces to recall the fallen
so why don't i,
why don't i

inhale on purpose

iv.

it's your sense of touch that ho
Hold Me Stillupon waking i felt unfamiliarly comforted-
an almost foreign
sweetouch
maybe more of phantom third and fourth gentle hands
than his real ones
see,
it had never been like that

"i shouldv known you'd still be feelin this,
seeing me when i didin once look back"

one of those hands had run through my gun-metal hair
i remember that
i remember that from before the leaving,
you did love me, even if you don't right now

[this weed-dream
-grew-
what i really wanted
from what i had gotten.]

oughta know i liked what i had
you should know i love what i had

[takin my shears to your tender roots
-teenage thorns in a spice jar-
layin
Raised By Wolvess
eg
men
t
me like an orange
or maybe a grapefruit
somehow the latter seems more appropriate-
cos i bite back.

like

cancer.
oh, you know, cos it's always
cancer.

nothing romantic about it,
nothing romantic about t h i s

i loved you for your hair
now it's gone and
i.
am.
stuck.

between
this stale-air waiting room with plastic
on the chairs instead of leather, well, i hate
leather anyway so.
and
the barred walls of your
crib

everysingleskincell that i've got is
swollen so i can't get this
---forsaken
band.
off.

in other words:
i can't leave and you
won't die and

i'm out of excuses for me,
i'm out of excu
Love, LondonDear Riot,

It was your precarious posture that threw me:
You both sat and stood so dangerously.
Even as I swore to myself I'd realign those hips,
Your heart promised your hands you'd mangle me.

[we  D E F A C E D  the Baldwin in my mother's house,
lifting priceless keys with dirt-laced nails,
re-carving those seven ivories,
into things like thrift-store love.]

I sliced through ancient scars to resurrect my mob-mentality,
To purge my 'kingdom' of your peach-sweet tyranny.
My self-destruction leaves you pleading the fifth and toasting unaffectedness.
Don't let your facade fool you, darling.

You never mind
Echo Location[he] hold[s]
[her breath]
in lead hands because it's
sweeter
than her, and
sugar l e s s

it's just that monday mornings still smell like [your] cinnamon skin,
and if i open my eyes slowly enough i can find yours in the
dark n [e] s s

[W]ill To Live left
w[h]en he pulled
out
UnsentDear Peter,

The space between us is a living creature,
saber-toothed & homely,

a hangman's grip in its ill-shapen eyes-
nightmarish, sure, yet,
defeated by my one-track-minded shrug.

Journeys with missions are waltzes on two feet;
I keep in step, nocturnal eyes pealed and snow-glazed.

Dozens of night-light headlights gleam like the heaven I'll never see.

The space between us is a living creature,
machete-clawed & restless.

yellow lines weren't meant for feet
like I wasn't meant for you

but
let nature pity the beast who tries to stop me walking down the middle of every street between y o u a n d m e

Love,

London
White in the Wayia.

To think it the -poetic throat-,
her member of least resistance,
our reason for this semi-constant state of breathlessness,

ib.

To blame this dim conditioning on the -irregular drizzle-,
our audible reminder that the world is growing without us,
the excuse we keep tucked 'neath our tired mattresses,

ii.

For now and for later,
til death reigns: -crowning us true-,
or painting us biologically ignorant.

iii.

Contrary to popular belief,
it's not all in the follow through.

It is in Her Softest Soul.
Not ArtHopelessness is not a few flecks of dirt in your hair or an ant skittering across the skin on your toes. Hopelessness is a few million parasites that swim through your brain and your lungs and attach themselves to the outsides of your weakest bones and the lining of your stomach. They munch on the delicate vessels in your heart and squirm into every cell in your body. The type of hopelessness that stems from profound guilt is an especially powerful strain of the aforementioned parasite.

I can feel the guilt settled into my upper lip like poured concrete. Even as my mouth's rosy corners turn up, I have an insatiable urge to return them to the
Elizai.

your mother swallowed acid
fireflies
extacy-

these locked your stubborn fetal jaw,
lit you up from behind lidless eyes.

[    ], stoke that fire,
spoon-feed those flames 'til they rise:
to warm and loosen your vocal chords,
to melt your heart.

ii.

Paul could not
cannot
read

ghost letters in
grey ink

iii.

shake the son but
shun the daughter.
what madness,

what madness is this?

iv.

something of a beautiful deceit,
she was.
not that she's not now, i just
wouldn't.

know.
Boarders and Blackmailshe will swear her mailbox is broken and
her panties say 'drama' cos that's how she likes it.
their violins drip for her, but they needn't;
she blossoms through frost.

love is still love after it's gone.
if you don't believe me
Watch Love Leave.
-she will be looking  k c a b-

you will notice three kinks in her left ear
and a bird-shaped birthmark: twice touched.
[some day]
the babies inside her will stop decomposing.
If You Forgot Then,when you first realize that it's your bath water
that has given you those fingertip wrinkles
so you press all ten (or at least eight or so)
to your happy cheeks,
and then you stream them along your forearm veins like maybe this feeling
will turn their blue to pink.

when you first realize that the ocean actually tastes of salt
and you find yourself wondering
if maybe you'd like this better than pool water if you could get used to it-
but then they're calling to you so you run to shore and no matter how many
times you've done this your towel is never quite warm enough.

every time i've ever been in the water is the same time.
it'
Mightlava eyes
&
why you aimed them at me

gaunt-hearted:
grass gone to seed, she
lets Summer's heavy breath slither in through her pores

love's eyes
versus
lover's eyes

he watched her brain melt and seep
through his
w i d e s p r e a d  fingers

& these webs that could not hold held what could not catch hold
A Collapsible GodMy teeth hum to the static
of your spine scraping our headboard.

Absentmindedly, I trace my thumb and forefinger
along the base of your skull
to find the point where
.brain.meets.body.

My nails pierce skin and dive through vulnerable muscle.
Yanking up, I rip out your backbone and shake your body limp.

I've got your vertebrae rattling across mahogany floorboards,
-let's see her try to sweep those under the rug, s w e e t i e -

You would be whimpering, but I love
love
loved you
for your voice and for those chords, d a r l i n g .

Your luscious chords were being wasted
 in such a rabbit-eyed-boy.

I can't listen one more day
Universal TruthThe south pole sun
looks as though she's been crying.
She is no actress.

When all her twelves snap back to ones
she hands clocks instead of handshakes.
Let's call it impersonality practice.

She waits, cross-legged on a ballroom floor.
Her ninety degree neck gives her skylight eyes
and they wonder
Browse More Like This

More from ~londonrey

Small But Finelet we the hapless stream along with calculated marchings- let we!
stir this forest's copper underbelly
with grave-robbing palms
with prey-seeking cries

though, we daren't find comfort here,
this brittle cradle of earth's isn't no place for even a one youngthing.

mama red-breast,
teach us how to hunt to kill.
i've had this all planned out,
but i'm not so good at the finishing.

if we didn't swoop so low we wouldn't crash so much,
but see,
i'm awfully hungry.

just last winter's mute-
in a sugar-spun dress,
i used to be made of realness
now i'm knowin i talk too much an i say so little-
no matter what ima be lonesome in my own
Hold Me Stillupon waking i felt unfamiliarly comforted-
an almost foreign
sweetouch
maybe more of phantom third and fourth gentle hands
than his real ones
see,
it had never been like that

"i shouldv known you'd still be feelin this,
seeing me when i didin once look back"

one of those hands had run through my gun-metal hair
i remember that
i remember that from before the leaving,
you did love me, even if you don't right now

[this weed-dream
-grew-
what i really wanted
from what i had gotten.]

oughta know i liked what i had
you should know i love what i had

[takin my shears to your tender roots
-teenage thorns in a spice jar-
layin
Let me Outsidefeeder of ducks-
her snow-tipped river waves
surge below

in this chunky
blue
purple
pink dawn
there are few clouds,
[a deliberate smattering]:

white-hot blood
s p i l t
s p l i t
& weeping [horizon]tally

with something of a
wounded god
in her rearview,
the blade forests
aren't the only organics afire

with someone of a
windswept shriek

Featured in Groups

:iconprosepoetry-elegance: :iconlit-community:
×

Hearts on Her Breath

:iconlondonrey:

my bottom ribs dig into the counter-top


    i exhale bluish smoke
    {wonderfully//desperatelywonderfully}
    onto the kitchen window

    both my lonely eyes search
    {delicately//desperatelydelicately}
    for your finger-paint hieroglyphics


my knuckles morph into baby teeth, threatening to burst from taut skin

    it's not that i'm tense.
    it's not that i'm used to you holding me up to see out this window.
    it's not that all the color from my upper body is draining, dripping, and pooling
                      on the linoleum between my legs.




    it's just that
    i want to know in my heart that when you're eighty and you have your ruddy grandkids making carpet angels in your new plush shag and you're reading the sports section of the newspaper in your rocking chair with the back support…

    and when your wife of sixty eight years smiles and shakily grasps your gnarled hand telling you just how content she is with her cilantro eyes…







i need you to smile back at her with a little ghost {little desperate ghost} of me in your eyes.

923

47 146 11
:iconlondonrey:

Hearts on Her Breathby ~londonrey

DescriptionDetailsShare
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Why should the fire die
My mom and dad kept theirs alive
It's early yet, don't say goodnight
I know in time you'll be all right

You're shining still behind the clouds
Saying I won't figure you out
I like it true, but let me try
And try and try for the rest of my life

I'm not scared of being alone
I'm not scared of being alone, being alone

I'm just happier being confused
Beside the fire, as long as it's with you

Why should the fire die
My mom and dad kept theirs alive
It's getting late, she says goodnight
I fall asleep, I'll be all right

Nickel Creek-Why Should the Fire Die


her tears fall freely tonight
her tears freefall tonight


please, please, please, please..
read this.
read it because you know i mean it and you know i hate that i mean it.
i hate that i need the people who will never need me again.
ihatehatehateme.
©2010-2013 ~londonrey
Category: Literature / Poetry / Romantic / Teen / Free Verse

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Submitted on
October 24, 2010
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:iconwolf-flash:
~Wolf-Flash Feb 27, 2011
There is something so yearnful and sad and resigned in this. :cries:
Reply
:iconlondonrey:
~londonrey Feb 28, 2011
Resigned.
Yeahhhh. Something I was but hope not to be again. (:
Thankyou so much for your glorious comments. :hug:
Reply
:iconclearsound:
~ClearSound Feb 2, 2011
I recently found this in my favourites again, and I just love it to pieces.
The whole thing...it just makes me feel so much. I can't really explain it, but it makes me sad, in such a beautiful way.
Reply
:iconlondonrey:
~londonrey Feb 2, 2011
You are sooo nice to me. :hug:
Thank you thank you thank you.
I know that kind of sadness that you're talking about.
Reply
:iconclearsound:
~ClearSound Feb 2, 2011
(: :hug: I also featured this in my journal today: [link]
Reply
:iconlondonrey:
~londonrey Feb 3, 2011
asdkfnaskdnfkkk!!!!!!!!
You're such a doll!!!!!!!!!!
Reply
:iconcartheinsane:
~CartheInsane Dec 30, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
Brilliant. :)
Reply
:iconlondonrey:
~londonrey Dec 31, 2010
I know you are but what am I?!
Reply
:iconcartheinsane:
~CartheInsane Jan 1, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
:giggle: Silly billy. :)
Reply
:iconyelshua:
~Yelshua Nov 25, 2010
There is so much sadness here, but you portray it in such a way that it's hard to be just sad in reading this.
Reply
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