love your bliss nightly and fuck it in the morning by silklilies, literature
Literature
love your bliss nightly and fuck it in the morning
slip and fall and bleed
and tell yourself
you are slipping slowly
from my reach the way
and evergreen grows apart
from the mossy forest floor.
i, i can breathe the same way
you do. i match my breath with
yours when we kiss, when we
have sex, i can be just
like you. but even now,
i break my wrists on the floor,
i wake with broken collarbones
and a deadly kiss planted
on your cheekbones, a
long scar punctuating
your shoulderblades,
a fire in my throat when
the sun comes up.
i need you like water,
like air, like silk and
satin. you are my butter,
bread, wine and brie, my
silver dollar, the silk tulips
on my dresser. you
are the lock
microscopic detonations
a chromatic lisp in the air, i think
i tried so hard to be something else
that i stopped knowing what
being myself was like, what
having a body was like.
sex is a complication
no an instrument, no a
creation, no some sort of
communication between
a living source and my own
heartless dead body-thrifting self
as some quiet soul
empties themself into me
with their eyes open, watching me
as i devour them whole and let
their bodies understand me.
strangers are more
knowing than the ones
i have always loved, lived
and when i am alone i stand
hopelessly unaware of the
consequences of my actions,
dripping in the seamless
love your bliss nightly and fuck it in the morning by silklilies, literature
Literature
love your bliss nightly and fuck it in the morning
slip and fall and bleed
and tell yourself
you are slipping slowly
from my reach the way
and evergreen grows apart
from the mossy forest floor.
i, i can breathe the same way
you do. i match my breath with
yours when we kiss, when we
have sex, i can be just
like you. but even now,
i break my wrists on the floor,
i wake with broken collarbones
and a deadly kiss planted
on your cheekbones, a
long scar punctuating
your shoulderblades,
a fire in my throat when
the sun comes up.
i need you like water,
like air, like silk and
satin. you are my butter,
bread, wine and brie, my
silver dollar, the silk tulips
on my dresser. you
are the lock
microscopic detonations
a chromatic lisp in the air, i think
i tried so hard to be something else
that i stopped knowing what
being myself was like, what
having a body was like.
sex is a complication
no an instrument, no a
creation, no some sort of
communication between
a living source and my own
heartless dead body-thrifting self
as some quiet soul
empties themself into me
with their eyes open, watching me
as i devour them whole and let
their bodies understand me.
strangers are more
knowing than the ones
i have always loved, lived
and when i am alone i stand
hopelessly unaware of the
consequences of my actions,
dripping in the seamless
my hands are plastic gems at the edge of the bed, my cough bringing up dragonflies as my nails scrape walls. his arms brace me, caress my bones. "babe." the air seems full of dust, my head goes light. i try and remember the expressions on his face while turning tricks with my fingers. "babe, breathe." cards flip and i pick the same one he did after shuffling my deck. see, it's fate. look how i found him, out of all the kings and queens, he was the three of hearts.
there was always a way i could not be what they needed. i felt myself slipping because i couldn't be that wide-eyed girl, sad eyes, soft features. it was a brand new day, every day
could have mentioned you by silklilies, literature
Literature
could have mentioned you
being without you is ugly.
my flesh turns the colour
of a moth catching fire, its
eyes white in the smoke.
i lose my breath slowly,
coughing up the excess.
the ocean's tides pulse
beneath, some monster
lurking behind my eyes.
you say i'm being weird
and i think, "i know." i started
crying when i thought i heard
you in the doorway. it was after
i'd found my suicide note and
watching myself die again
gave me more time to mourn.
i put lipstick on and started
crawling between the sheets
at six in the morning. i think
you knew i was happy just
because i was with you.
i think you know what you are.
sometimes people ask what he
i loved you - so sighed the white eye of the moon.
though i wrapped myself in your depraved mind
sick with wanderlust, seeing the mona lisa crumble
to nothing in your artless hands, i still knew. i knew -
i hoped i loved you - so whimpered the cool tide,
though under some sunbeam’s skillful fingerings i fell
hideously lustful, tearing him apart with pointed nails, his
skin ripping, my eyes unable to cry for his losses. and he’s lost –
in all good ways - so uttered the gentle lies he spoke,
i could take his words and fold them up and have them
grow mold in the bittersweet atriums of my heart. they’ll fester
and i wil
i can't make you love me by silklilies, literature
Literature
i can't make you love me
we cant figure out the math equations of our bodies combined, the way it's harder to breathe in your presence and i start shivering and you say, relax, relax. shh. and my butterfly hands find your shoulders. atlas lifts me into heaven. my spindly fingers, little claws dig hard into you nightly. boyfriend, amant, lover, pisces, our history woven in my words, in your dreams. you leave no remnants of your past because you don't want to remain. you'll be dust, one day, i think you dream about that day. i watch your knuckles as you lean into me, blowing smoke. your fingers are wise, emperors of secrets, silent watchmen. i love them, i love you.
self-hatred is quite the paradox
and i am living proof
that it is nothing worth living for. it is
something worth dying for, but remember
dying is not instant
for some of us.
i chose slow death
and my flawed suicide was what i received.
dying really opened my eyes
i realised that i loved you
that time we were trapped, both dead,
in the electric garden of eden
it was solar silence
and you couldn't handle it
you could not touch me
not where i became
so cold
deliberate, entendre--
but as ghosts, we melted
together
i wanted to hate you, i said,
but you turned me inside out
there is something else to open my field of view.
i am in love with the idea of you, your landscape
as vibrant in its darkness as any monet in detail
and perception. i want nothing more. your hands
lace my waist, telling me, with soft sounds in
your ear, that you need me. the world ignites on
the spark of our lighters. you say, kiss me. biting
my thighs, kissing my hips, the place where my fury
bit into my skin and left scars. i am here only to
be yours. the water condenses and cries down the windows
as ice, encasing me behind glass skin. i say, i think
i am in love with you. i do not say it out loud.
there's snow on the ground. y
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how lilies weep by silklilies, literature
Literature
how lilies weep
obstacles
are a kind of faith,
bleeding through
intention
as if through some
amorphous skin,
red silk,
a bruised clock
covered in
veins and cloaked
with skin,
timed to burst.
i am nothing
if i am not a dream
of yours, waking
from the geometric light
of my window
into a shimmering cup,
poured full of your words
my hips dripping
their tiny mechanisms,
whirring impatiently
my mouth
made raw,
swirling in incense,
growing new teeth,
finding ulcers
to bleed through.
i drip and cough
and sleep and bleed
and hope
that i am strong enough
for someone like you.
i am taped
and bandaged
and covered up
"If you want to become whole, let yourself be partial.
If you want to become straight, let yourself be crooked.
If you want to become full, let yourself be empty.
If you want to be reborn, let yourself die.
If you want to be given everything, give everything up."
— Tao Te Ching
"I used to cry myself to sleep because I didn't write The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe, until my Mum pointed out that there were other people who also had not written The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe"
i have a big poem forming in my head, but the pieces are coming in one-liners. one sentence at a time, my mind is forming something. once i figure it out, i'll gladly piece it together.
until then, the one-liners melt into the tapping of my fingers, five seven five, the seventeen syllables of haiku.