[x]

how to pay the plumberthe sun is born of ink that leaks from dog-eared galaxies

and the night is made of copper eyes that pipe the constellations
but we are too polite to stare.
any hand that may brush my back must bleed the alphabet
from wearied fingertips, and this is why:
happiness is ice and crinkled bones all wrapped up warm in the
childless rings of saturn
and your smiling face-of-a-cliff that scorches pretty spring skin dry.

we will never say we will never love so

i will die beside,
you die below.

apatothe ocean air is selling
moist and salty caresses
there is a metaphor to take
in each skimming wave
but I am tired so I
so I will
will let it rest
my turning mind
with the tides
and breathe
with the gilled creatures
below the rhythmic surface
gulping gaping gas-gasping fish mouths
mine will open too and
open till wide enough
for the cry clenched in my
throat to caw-claw
its way out till I am
chorusing with the seagull
and if I fall
into the water now
it will envelop me
wrap its foam arms around
my corporeality
touch its crest to my head
kiss me dead
I will be complacent
in its sea indoctrination
this is how I will stay
above the darkness
infinite below me

Dionaea MuscipulaWatch and be enthralled as
Aphrodite lullabies with love songs
using her luscious lips and
nimble tongue, trident-pronged-
promises so serene, one cannot resist
She is like cursed vino
maddening yet too numbing, too giving of peace of mind
for a drunk to refuse slipping sips

All hail! All hail!

One can only imagine how succulent
the dew caressing her form must be
As the liquid collects
into her cavities,
You fall deeper
into the mercy of her eyes;
in their reflection is you, utterly mesmerized

You are a gaunt-legged youth
and as you approach the diosa
so do you your desolation

All hail! All hail!

Her fingers are hing

pumpkins, pogo-sticks, and lip-to-lip
dear october.

the leaves haven't fallen yet.
maybe this year, they will not.
i am sick of things dying prettier than they live.

i am walking streets full of dead carcasses
and making sure to step on them to feel the bones crack
beneath my feet and it makes me feel powerful
and alive and deadly and beautiful.

i am three months away from january
and my unfulfilled new year's resolution is still
sitting heavily on my collarbone, trickling down my ribs
melting into the soles of my shoes.

last year, i celebrated the new year in my friend's friend's apartment
in india and two minutes after the countdown was over,
people set off fire

don't you stop 'til you know you're gone the bone-flutes are flooding out my lucidity.
nothing makes sense, but everything belongs.

the sheets are oily and hot on my skin.
exhausted, i try to escape,
only to drop out of reality and through the floors.

her god reeks of whiskey and stale tobaccoshe speaks in monochrome
stringing together words in every shade of blue
so blue
she choked on the sea.
syllables crashed against her teeth
wearing away the enamel
and carving out monuments in honor of all the things
she never meant to say.

tiny birds with oil-slick wings
and salt-stripped throats drowned in her esophagus.

she prays to a god that reeks of whiskey
and stale tobacco;
his eyes are as barren as an arctic tundra
but he loves her
like he loves the lichens growing on his spinal cord.
compared to the vastness of his embrace
her pollution is nothing more
than a prism of color after the rain.

her veins took root when

The River Acheron(a movement of blood - destiny)

It is a place where life ends and love begins..
It is the river where lovers meet
~ A river forged in deepest scarlet.

Lost in the silence of blackened candles,
clad in silhouettes of poison — I seek love

In the song of a ravaged dawn I hath drowned
Deep in the flesh of the underworld I bathe in
the nectar of requiem
O' father, caress my untamed wounds with
your dread, lest I wander among angels
Dark'n dreary the river's sorrow, as shadows
spill from mine eyes unto gardens of ebony
— where my ache forever sails in portraits
of scarlet & decayed dreams

Dearest love,
Un

Dead Bodies Don't Cryi.

You are born with twisted feet
and a pockmark on your chest.
Your poor mother is drenched in sweat,
straining to breathe,
thanking God it's over.

She cradles you in her arms
and kisses your forehead with curved lips.
Your father reaches out to hold you
but has to pause because
your mother will not release you yet.

The family pays a visit,
hovering in awe, praising, laughing.
You look around for someone to blame.

ii.

When you learn to write
you use all the wrong letters
because you feel sorry for the ones
that get left out, like X and Z.
And you wear mismatched clothes
because you don't like the idea that
only certain c

mad houseyou are a moan that
crawls like a tarantula
down the hall to my room.

papier-mâché girls dance
in the garden, wild women, burning
with their dreams of becoming
skeletons, and through their
parchment skin i can see their
wasted hearts struggling to beat.

a dead boy visits me at night.
i lie rigid in my bed, paralysed
while he stands by my window, white
as the underbelly of a fish,
still dripping with water
from the ocean that stole his life.

and i can still feel their hands
on me,
as cold and rotten as the hands
of a corpse,
the prick in my backside while
they fill me with their venom.
they rape me of my life
a

five lies they told me about the sky i
"my daddy said that he'd come back from the moon
and bring me something to keep in my room.
he told me that when he and his friends launched
into the sky, i would be able to see him.
when the man had counted down to zero,
i had looked up at the horizon, and saw nothing
but fire and smoke. my mom had cried and
told me to come inside because we had to talk."

ii
"'i'm boarding a plane from boston to la,
and me and the kids will see you tomorrow.'
i was still asleep when my phone had rang
when my wife called me from logan.
that's the last message she had sent to me,
and the last time i ha

UtopiaYou write poems about love and hate
You write them about pain and fate
You believe words can set you free
You believe they can make you see
See the reality the way it is
See it as everybody else sees
But, really, nothing is real
It's only about how you feel
How you feel about who you are
About if you can get so far
Far enough to find your freedom
Enough to build your own kingdom
A place where you can be calm
Hold your future inside your palm
If you can find that utopic place
Where your mind is free of haze
Invite me over for a drink or two
So I can drink from that fountain too

strange preoccupations with skinwhen the chill settles in your valleys
to make mountains of sweet, brown mole
hills on your tough, sun-kissed skin
your warm laugh will sink teeth into
the cold reality of being human
of being only a little while alive

a drug or choosingYour oily prints upon my eyes
Blessed art thou
You bleed through the cracks in my walls
Eyes, pores in every centimeter of wallpaper
Watching me sleep, watching my night-mare
The horse running from the fire-like river
Pouring down the mountain to the plains below
Engulfing my atmosphere in golden red smoke
I am not addicted

POP! goes the Bubble .I'm twirling in ecstasy, feeling high on life,
almost as if my fingertips are caressing the sky;

I'm living in a bubble, think the air around is cursed,
so please don't rush in heart-first like a fool

and make it burst.

SubmissionThere are words I don't recognize
written on the walls of my contentment.
I'm not sure what language they're in
or who wrote them, but I do know
that it says something about surrender.
I've given up more times
than I've given anything else.

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More from ~mismatched-misfits

stardust in your eyes i look up into the skies
and there my mistakes glisten,
hundreds of millions of broken memories,
still giving off guilt though they may be light-years away.
i'll never be able to reach them,

but they still reach me
every time i look up into the skies.

borderline winter a single
solstice
holds us apart.

springboys + wintergirls springboy,

i don't know what you want,
and neither do you.
but i doubt it's this little wintergirl,
with her broken knees and frozen eyelashes
and an uncertain mind that flickers back and forth.

you're thin like sprouting dandelions and pale like daisy petals
with eyes of spring water and hair soft as the new grass.
planning for growth and life ahead,
you hold onto the present as time to prepare for the future.

i'm splintered ice and dead wood crackling underfoot,
fragile and loud and scared of being alone.
i reflect on the fall, watching the past
impact my present, and, as for my future,
i'll get there eventually.

you may have seen wint

a brief memoir of a formerly asexual teenager l
o
v
e
is one of the most wrongly used words of our generation.

love isn't synonymous for like, just as gay isn't synonymous for screwed up.
but most teenagers think it is.

so as a teenager myself, i discounted the existence of love. just wishful thinking on the part of my friends who were so obviously "in love." and just as any explorer who blindly wanders through the unknown grasslands, you aren't aware that there is a hole in the ground until you
f
a
l
l
into it.

exordiumwhen you left for the very last time,
the bruises on my neck still hadn't faded.
i was naked amongst the evergreens,
shades of blues and greens pushing against my skin,
the sky paling me with the gray-teal of sunset's afterglow.
as you forced yourself upon me,
you insisted on reasons that made no sense,
yet the echoes of your words resonated through my mind,
so loud that i couldn't hear reason.

later people said that it was my body.
"it got the better of him," they said.

i am shutting down,
only a fragment of my old self.
i can feel my body becoming dormant, for now.

the bird in my chest is long gone,
after all,
you killed it.

allotransplantation my chest is hollow after he scraped it out with his tongue and fingertips. his movements were sharp and intricate, like a surgeon, removing a tumor. i could feel pieces in me break under his touch, yet he swallows the fragments as if they were lost travelers trying to wander out of his dark, cavernous interior. i'm being stripped bare, inside and out. he's filling himself with me, a bag of bone fragments and blood clots for his consumption.

he left with my insides, left the hole gaping open and prone to infection. "i'll return them in a week," he says, referring to the pieces of me that he has hidden himself in. but a week without par

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cadaver

by ~mismatched-misfits, Jul 18, 2012, 11:53:05 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

_{she was born with arctic lips
and overcast skin.
her hair fell like fresh snow
and she was far too thin.
her bones in locked closets,
joints creaked and shrieked
like a rotten floorboard
under gossamer feet.}

cadaverby ~mismatched-misfits

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

©2012-2013 ~mismatched-misfits

_{partially written in my a thought a day lifetime journal.
i'm just glad to finally have something to submit for you guys.}

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

*thesquareroot Apr 15, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

"her bones in locked closets..." excellent line

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~Unseen-reality Feb 20, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

_{oh dear, absolutely astounding.}

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~ocean-whispers Feb 3, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Featured in my journal here: [link]

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~leorabbit247 Jan 20, 2013 Professional Digital Artist

love the rhythm in this one.

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Mood: Love

*Blacksand459 Jan 8, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

As I read this, I could smell the snow in the air, and felt a haunting sense of melancholy for the girl...so beautiful and lonely.

Outstanding!

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~mismatched-misfits Jan 16, 2013 Student Writer

_{thank you so much!}

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*Blacksand459 Jan 16, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

You're welcome!

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*lantern-rose Dec 17, 2012 Professional Writer

I love the last line, very clever and well written ^^

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*dickroman Nov 2, 2012

this is the most gorgeous poem,
my favourite one that i've ever read
wow
i
this is absolutely incredible :") <3

Reply

~mismatched-misfits Nov 3, 2012 Student Writer

_{wow. really?
oh my gosh, thank you so much.}

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