[x]

Therapists, I don't like their taste.i.
in 7th grade
i didn’t know depression
until she told me her name,
carving forever scratches
along my limbs like
little love notes on the bark
of a tree.

she stole my rings
and left me hollow.

ii.
i had only ever met anxiety
in passing, until one day
he handed me power and told me
to hurt someone else with it.

iii.
inexperienced,
with an uncontrollable
quivering in my fingers,
he whispered, “ to survive,
you must learn quickly.”
as i shoved the bevel of a needle
into a strangers arm.

iv.
so, if a therapist
could talk away my scars
like iodine disinfects,
guide the ships
through

Please,don’t make me
fall in love with you,
again.

I don’t want to remember you,
those Sunday morning
wake-me-up kisses,
or the way your
lost boy eyes always,
always found a way
to find mine.

There are only so many times
I can allow you to slice
through my scar tissue
before I finally

fall
ap art.

lion boyi knew a boy with
eyes of gold & fire
in his footsteps.

he would roar to the
stars, declaring himself
as fearless as a king
& as regal as a lion.

"ad lucem,"
he would announce
every night when leo
would coax the virgin
from her radiant
castle.

five times around the
sun & loyal fangs bared
to shield his kingdom,
my lion boy
dances with flames.

ExposureThe wind invites itself
from underneath my door,
it reaches under
it pulls open-
the leaves come in.
A bird hops over the
threshold and tilts its
head in quick, informative
motions.

The rains follow in
after the wind and
now I have to reason with
both the animals and the storm.

Those abandoned wooden barns
with one wall collapsed,
overgrown with vines and ferns.
The epitome of giving in.

I close the door
and all the windows,
leave it to the glass
to challenge the rain.

That little bird,
somewhere in here,
is searching for where
the wind has gone.

Thunder knocks
once, then
twice.

I imagine lying
on the hood of a car
beneath the desert su

i shouldn't write when i'm stonedpeople say you're
an asshole. but that's
okay because people say
i'm an asshole, too. maybe
that's one of the reasons
you love me and i love you.

but i think more than that,
i think the biggest reason
we're drawn to each other is
that neither of us fit anywhere.
we are both lonely. and we are sad.
but we don't care, and we love it.

we are good at being
alone. we are good at
being together. if i could,
i would paint a picture
of two souls tethered close
but sitting in separate rooms
and i would point to it. then you
would understand why we will
never come apart.

String TheoryThis is determination,
existential numbness in which
I drown from the paranoid spittle
of that dreary-eyed girl
lost in the mirror.

Jesus,
what would you do

if you saw me now, all grown in
to my predetermined curves and
the nihilistic fabrications knotted in my skin.

Maybe you still want to be
a brain surgeon. Maybe you still
weep when you’re happy and stop
when you’re lonely, drooping over like
the puppet no one remembered. Maybe
you still smoke like it’s a defiance, and love
like it’s a war; maybe time preserved you
like a corpse in formaldehyde, and maybe

you still think of me,
too.

ExperimentalistShe always said she was
An experimentalist.
I knew otherwise.
This girl was raised to
Believe that the ability of
Counting the bones in your
Rib cage is beautiful.
Sixteen years old
With sand in her blood
And shoulder blades
As sharp as knives
As long as wings.
That day I knew
Her smiles were painful
And her laughs were just
Recorded in her throat
From so much practice
In a life that was once
So happy.

A little punk rocker with a gift for singing songsGirl with the rock and roll smirk curled behind her teeth
Burning her insides for fun because there wasn’t much else to do
Aside from skipping stones across car parks
And sipping the last dregs of forbidden liquor
Behind broken trees to keep up the act of normality

Late at night when the moon is asleep
She lies on dismantled bed frames
Counting stars because lambs are too often sent to the slaughter
Lucky star heartbeats and posy veins
Hides broken windows behind her pupils

Ceiling lights tracing patterns on her cheekbones
As late night contemplation's lead back to Rome
Atlas limbs curled into her ribs
With a sense of obligation she

Pack rats I want to be
that
stale as bread,
peeling
picture of her
that you
stow(ed) away
in the beating
of your breast
pocket

this habiti have this habit of thinking without thinking.

my mind will be walking down a road
between cities

while i am plugging away at the factory,
while i am putting groceries away.

if someone were to ask me what i was thinking,
i wouldn’t know what to say.

i would have to wait hours,
long after they’ve gone,

until my mind comes through the door,
tracking all manner of shit onto the floor,

and explains himself.

Love LettersWith their condescending ink
They wrote patterns of gold
Upon parchment leather paper
Within letters of words foretold

Perhaps with this envelope
And its rose tainted scent
I can find peace in myself
In the summer days spent

Where I took in the musky smell
Of your heart.
As I held it against my chest
I picked up a pen and began to start

Dear love, oh love
How I wish to see your lovely face
These days, these mornings are
What keep me hoping in sovereign grace...

AdultsI envy those people
who leave home
at eighteen
and live like twenty-five year olds,
looking out for themselves
like folks did in the good ol’ days,
drinking whiskey straight,
driving all night with no limits,
loving and fucking without apology,
never having to remind someone
that they’re old enough—
Goddamnit, they’re old enough
and if they’re not cut loose
they’ll suffocate to death

without ever having breathed
on their own.

Sea sonnet for the girl with ocean eyesShe was southern Californian storms
On a good day
When the skies nursed the shoreline like a wound
And the rain tasted like two scoops of mint chip ice cream

She held the nebula in her palms
And poured it out onto the sidewalk
So that the gutters would have something
To talk about at night

She swallowed the ocean
And held it in her eyes
deep pools
Of mountain rock blue straining against the sky
The bluest eyes I’d ever seen
Sparrow girl with the breathless wings

Embellished in vinyl’s and cassette tapes
Gramophone gilded lashes and half-moon wrists made up
Paper tapestries taped together with Shakespeare and Green

Sunday mor

Alaska is hiding behind her eyesA girl caught up in the same game
Where circus tricks and trapeze artists
Are nothing compared to the burning of lungs
Where insomnia stains the people’s smiles
In a pale wash of sea foam angst bottled up and thrown
Into the horizon where the sky meets the earth
In a disjointed seam

She had hurricane rage eyes
And wishbone sleeves pulled tightly across her chest
To suppress her Medusa heart from cracking
The stars open and drinking their flames

Ocean funeral where Chaconne
Is played to sirens and sea urchins
Coiled beneath the oily depths of seascapes
Where her kite string spines push against the thin membrane
Of split grin skie

On the road again searching for lost thingsLake bones carved into words
The slow baked Texas heat seeping into
Galaxy veins and Saturn ring irises
Like cross hatched road maps
Leading to lost cities gilded in gold
The skies nursing oil spills like a wound

Your cat eye palpitations lingering
Behind drowsy eyelids
Where childhood adventures of never growing up
Spark between neurons and sneakers pounding
On old dirt tracks
Boyish dreams of Milky Way heroes
Make up the constellations of your breathing

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More from ~Arcane-Shadow-Razil

Elegy for a DreamHow do dreams die?
Do they simply fade away,
Like fog after a rainy day?
Do they go out with a bang,
Like a shot heard around the world?
Do they go out with a whimper,
Like a wounded animal dying in a hidden hole?
How do dreams die?
Do they change until they are unrecognizable,
Like the evolution of life?
Do they corrupt and corrode,
Like death and decay?
Do dreams kill other dreams,
Like people kill other people?
How do dreams die?
Can they die with a person,
Never shared or known?
Can a dream become reality,
Before it dies?
Can reality be a dream,
Before it dies?
How
do
dreams

ErasedWhat would you be if you erased your sorrow?
What would you be if you erased your pain and hurt?
What would you be if you erased your embarrassment?
What would you be if you took it all away,
All the negative things in your life?
What would be left without those things?
Would that leave you pure as a child?
As weak and defenseless as a child?
Now,
What would you be if you erased your happiness?
What would you be if you erased your joy and pleasure?
What would you be if you erased your pride and confidence?
What would you be if you took it all away,
All the positive things in your life?
What would be left without those things?
W

Where Have the Gladiators Gone?Oh, my dears! You’ve come to hear the truth of where the gladiators have gone, have you? They tell you that the gladiator and it’s bloody sport in Rome has long since died, or that sports like football have taken its place.
I tell you they are wrong, that these things are simply not true. No, gladiators are still out there, the spectators are always watching, and the violence is quite prevalent in this world of ours. Oh, the names have changed, of course, and so too has the field. But this is to be expected from a people who claim to be above such things as our primal blood lust. Then where are they, you ask? Why, they are everyw

Sleep or lack thereofSleep! What a wonderful thing!
Too bad it's been dodging me
For as long as it can, of late.
Funny how sleep or lack thereof
Can change your mood.

EmotionQuick! Bottle it up!
Before anyone sees!
Put on your mask and hide your emotion!
Mustn't let anyone see how weak you really are.
Bite down that anger; let it sizzle for a moment before it burns out.
Swallow that sorrow; release it only when you're alone.
Hold that happiness; make sure your grip is tight.
Balance that pride; too much and your arrogant, too little and your insecure.
Hide that lust; make sure the cage is secure, such control is what differs us from animals.
Let go of that fear; most of it is only a hindrance.
You have no love, but if you did, I would tell you to cherish it.

I don't understand, i really don't.Why is it that in claiming liberation some of you oppress others?
You claim that by ridding yourselves of a belief that you're suddenly free and that others can to.
Free of what? A certain belief system?
But the ironic part is that you say it so angrily, so hatefully, so hubristically that you oppress others who choose to believe.
Not all people with a faith are bad, nor are all people without one.
So why do you insist on acting as such?
Why do you think there's some kind of war between religious and not religious?
I'm just curious.

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Submitted: March 21, 2012
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If, Me, We, and You

by ~Arcane-Shadow-Razil, Mar 21, 2012, 1:24:22 AM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

I walk in shadows
      And YOU will never truly see me
                                           I wear my masks
                                                     Like every one else, but
                                      I like to pretend
                     That there is more beyond
    What WE see
                                       What YOU see
                                                          What I see
                    That there is more out there then
    The mundane
                                       The norm
                                                          The accepted reality
I see so many realities
       But I'm not crazy, YOU see it too
       I know YOU do
                                            To never imagine
                                         to never dream
                                    To never believe
                             To never think
                        To never be
                                                    How horrid
                                                How inhuman
                                            How boring
                                      It would be
                  If WE lost ourselves
                            If YOU lost yourself
                                       If I lost myself
                                                          WE all know it
                                                       YOU Know it
                                                 I know it
                                      To be
                          TrUe