Like a lover's touch, so smooth-
But bitter, like the winter, cold,
Slipping down a mucus coating
With a gulp of clear so quiet-
I miss this,
This ease of joints under my brow,
From pills under false names
In correct cabinets for wrong reasons.
I want for the overstretched fingers,
The numb, numb cheeks and jawline;
How such a small dose
Could comotose
My thoughts into a lagging, steady drawl
Of words like a heart flat-lining,
But lower, bass-like;
A strong, but subtle, continuous tone.
Those days, my thoughts
Were easier to take.
Easy as sipping down a gulp of clear
To press the white and lettered
Circle-capsules to my s
Beats Are for Breathing by sabrina-is-angry, literature
Literature
Beats Are for Breathing
muffled yells coloring mumbled vowels
screeching, we are animals
and next we will be biting for revenge
a shutter to tell
reds and reds and red lips
your teeth are bleeding
gums receding
bleach to keep the bug away
fists are good as kissing fish
we generalize this depression disease
with a pen flick, knife-blade style
across the line, the lines the lines
im starting something necessary
perscription and description
of gel filled bottle eye pills
the label, which what and how much
dry knuckles and throat
both flaking and raw
pull down a lip we can examine, start here
a maze, your dead ends are blocking the sun
no clues here for you
just carbon and hand creams
and question marks the spot
together we stand clasping colors on the edge of this iris
girls with black buckles
singing soprano
repeating the notes like line space line space
and wrist bones are so little
but eyes sit so large
salt on the edge of spewing over, louder
a symphony, brass edges
that point, stare, contemplate
your face on trial on fire
the wings of a higher bidder
can keep you alive longer
yet fingertips tip you off
a push, youre over
black meets black and yet you see
water as an aquamarine
my eyes just sting and i cant reach
or vocalize these jointed things
of which we speak on darker nights
in rooms badly heated
but warm in the heart
yet, keep this up
a peak valley line space valley line
kind
hey baby scream at me
i want to see your lungs
heave in and out, chest up and down
rib cage expansion
hey doll i can see your ribs
you better put something in there
attaching emotions to the seams
the easiest alternative
oh lover hit me hard
i want my skin to sting
lecture, lecture, lecture
a childish form, see me
plastic, nylon, bag lady
i am barbie-brained, through and through;
bubble gum breath and delicious hands.
they keep yelling,
i keep secrets.
When we're smothered by blankets of smoke and snow
Maybe that's when I'll realize how little I meant to you.
A chin lifted, a simple kiss,
And I was gone- riding high.
That was all I needed then.
Now it's sleeping pills and caffeinated breakfast bars
I guess anything can become an addiction.
Well, honey realize you were mine, and you were right
I got too dependant on those blooming, laughter afternoons.
But I hope you know I lost myself somewhere inside of us.
---
So now she's afraid, of you and hands and love-
The girl with blonde hair and green eyes-
And who knows what night will be the one when she gives in.
Oh, maybe those p
i was sad again
today.
drew on my walls and wrote on my face.
cheeks colored blue.
beats in the background werent enough to distract,
i was cold then- and colder now- with empty hands.
i learned honesty doesnt mean
everything is suddenly
black and white.
he was there to help,
turning faces back to peach blush.
my eyes were healthy, alive.
but now we're back to honesty,
believing everything should be in black and white.
cheeks are blue, lips frozen again.
and i am sleeping.
I'm afraid if I touch you, you might fall away into a sleep
And dream of nothing- monotones and static mouths
Needles stuck in my flesh and holes with jewelry in them
There was a girl outside my car today holding up a sign
She said she'd work for food and I thought about taking her home with me
And polish up her eyes and share half my meal
But I just kept driving, and I know she cried
If I put anything on paper, it just crumbles up, its shit
It lands in the garbage can with all those notes I wrote you
A year or two ago, I cant even recognize her now
She wears my name on her necklace, yet still in my eye she's unidentifiable
A glass
subject.
matter.
doesnt.
matter.
its play-doh in my hands.
play on, play-doh.
build up my vivid-color dreams.
then smash to the floor a dozen more
and copy newspaper headlines in their flesh.
i am run by the media.
simply influence.
influenced easily
by statistics
and runways
opinions outside my own are crashing in around
i cant stop them.
but subject matter.
doesnt matter,
its the details that count.
detailed headlines, play-doh flesh,
that are keeping me from my dreams.
but what are my dreams
if they are not my own
but run by media?
sometimes
i am
lost and typical.
you're welcome sorry if it was overwhelming. i haven't been on DA in about a year or so, and i felt compelled to look at all the deviations that had collected since i was gone.